Leftovers
Awareness is the ineffable intelligence intrinsic to all life.
The quantum clayness is but the means to the given nature-nurture context,
And evolution’s natural selection the sculptor timelessly fashioning the space-time creation.
* * * *
To convince any critical thinker of anything, you must use reason.
Not assertion, not sentiment, not superstition, not hope,
Nor any other variety of gobbledygook.
* * * *
Everyone seeing your mask but you.
Everyone seeing everyone else’s mask but their own.
What a friggin’ mystery.
* * * *
Why create some inexplicable imaginary deity
To explain an inexplicable imaginary mystery?
Let it tack its own course without the absurdity.
* * * *
The Socratic method is a form of cooperative argumentative dialogue between individuals,
Based on asking and answering questions to stimulate critical thinking,
And to draw out ideas and underlying presuppositions.
Socrates, where art thou now?
* * * *
Many things are said and written,
But it is you who must translate them
As your frame of reference deigns.
* * * *
What is wealth?
Power? Fame? Fortune? Pride?
Or the fulfillment, the contentment, that cannot be bound?
* * * *
Why is knowledge, why is anything born of the Ivory Tower
– Science, mathematics, history, et cetera ad infinitum –
Any less imaginary than Alice in Wonderland?
All consciousness is but the thunder and lightning of mind.
* * * *
All thought is habit, the conditioned outcome of the given nature-nurture.
Genome, geography, culture, gender, language, intelligence,
What choice does any have in their foundation?
And how can that original programming ever be overridden?
* * * *
War and peace are states of mind.
Ever rising and falling, ever ebbing and flowing,
Neither ever reigning supreme for long.
* * * *
Even at its best, science has a great deal of arbitrariness in its process.
Who asked the question? Who designed the experiment? What was its hypothesis?
Who funded the experiment? Who did the experiment? What equipment and technology were used?
Who interpreted the results? Who published the results? Who duplicated the experiment?
And whatever on-and-on and in-between in the theater of rational exploration.
* * * *
Yet another way vanity gains more power, more fame, more fortune,
In its unyielding, uncompromising, unstoppable paradigm of insatiable greed.
* * * *
Identity is a finite creation of consciousness, of imagination.
In the ultimate, indivisibly, timelessly infinite reality, you are pure awareness.
The imaginary you, materializes whenever the sensory-mind believes the manifest dream real,
Whenever it identifies with, whenever it attaches to, the finite body,
And its finite world, its finite cosmos.
* * * *
Consciousness is neither life nor death, existence nor oblivion.
An imaginary quantum dream-state make-believing time and space real and true,
Created by the evolutionary happenchance of the sensory mind-body,
Playing out the theater inspired by a collective collusion.
A genomic paradigm spun of mystery.
* * * *
The forces of the world are strong and unrelenting.
It takes great fortitude, great heart and mind, to withstand them.
Strength, courage, resilience, guts, staying power, grit, stamina, determination,
Endurance, sense, shrewdness, practicality, initiative, resourcefulness,
Gumption, get-up-and-go, common sense, presence of mind,
Are pragmatic concepts for any spirit to cultivate.
* * * *
Whose version of Schopenhauer are we talking about?
Whose version of Wittgenstein are we talking about?
Whose version of Lao Tzu are we talking about?
Whose version of Buddha are we talking about?
Whose version of Comte are we talking about?
Whose version of Bacon are we talking about?
Whose version of Heraclitus are we talking about?
Whose version of Kafka are we talking about?
Whose version of Hume are we talking about?
Whose version of Ikkyū are we talking about?
Whose version of Rousseau are we talking about?
Whose version of Russell are we talking about?
Whose version of Hobbes are we talking about?
Whose version of Machiavelli are we talking about?
Whose version of Foucault are we talking about?
Whose version of Plato are we talking about?
Whose version of Kierkegaard are we talking about?
Whose version of Krishna are we talking about?
Whose version of Mill are we talking about?
Whose version of de Beauvoir are we talking about?
Whose version of Hess are we talking about?
Whose version of Aquinas are we talking about?
Whose version of Carneades are we talking about?
Whose version of Diogenes are we talking about?
Whose version of Smith are we talking about?
Whose version of Confucius are we talking about?
Whose version of Arendt are we talking about?
Whose version of James are we talking about?
Whose version of Parmenides are we talking about?
Whose version of Pascal are we talking about?
Whose version of Chomsky are we talking about?
Whose version of Thales are we talking about?
Whose version of Sina are we talking about?
Whose version of Patanjali are we talking about?
Whose version of Watts are we talking about?
Whose version of Ram Dass are we talking about?
Whose version of Osho are we talking about?
Whose version of Derrida are we talking about?
Whose version of Marx are we talking about?
Whose version of Vonnegut are we talking about?
Whose version of Wollstonecraft are we talking about?
Whose version of Descartes are we talking about?
Whose version of Sartre are we talking about?
Whose version of Muhammad are we talking about?
Whose version of Locke are we talking about?
Whose version of Emerson are we talking about?
Whose version of Nietzsche are we talking about?
Whose version of Arendt are we talking about?
Whose version of Dewey are we talking about?
Whose version of Zoroaster are we talking about?
Whose version of Whitman are we talking about?
Whose version of Kant are we talking about?
Whose version of Shankara are we talking about?
Whose version of Plato are we talking about?
Whose version of Epicurus are we talking about?
Whose version of Ashtavakra are we talking about?
Whose version of Aurelius are we talking about?
Whose version of Socrates are we talking about?
Whose version of Jesus are we talking about?
Whose version of Yogananda are we talking about?
Whose version of Aristotle are we talking about?
Whose version of Camus are we talking about?
Whose version of Voltaire are we talking about?
Whose version of Spinoza are we talking about?
Whose version of Thoreau are we talking about?
Whose version of Hegel are we talking about?
Whose version of Socrates are we talking about?
Whose version of Heidegger are we talking about?
Whose version of Krishnamurti are we talking about?
Whose version of (fill in the blank) are we talking about?
* * * *
Assertions mean nothing, opinions mean nothing,
Sentiments mean nothing, wishful thinking means nothing.
What overriding evidence is out there anywhere,
That will prove these thoughts wrong?
* * * *
Awareness can never be owned, nor can it be acted upon.
It is the ethereal ever-present, within which, without which,
All things quantum kaleidoscope, all times imagined, play.
* * * *
All the deities on high, including Jesus,
Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Bigfoot, and Harvey the Pooka,
Are as real as that stairway to heaven.
* * * *
So many spending their existence trying so hard
To convince others their imaginary concoctions real.
What a delusional species we across the board are.
* * * *
Nationalism is tribalism too sizeable to call it a tribe.
Conquest is home invasion to the beat of drums.
Religions are cults too large to call them cults.
One of the more peculiar things about humankind,
Is its adeptness at deluding itself about almost anything.
* * * *
The unborn-undying indelibility of this unknowable eternal mystery,
Is that the awareness, the You-ness, within and without,
Indivisibly, timelessly, permeates everything,
And nothingness, all the while.
* * * *
Do not even for a second believe that you are the only one thinking something.
Do not even for a second doubt that you are the only one thinking something.
* * * *
To be a part of any group, you must believe, or pretend to believe,
In whatever it is the group does and does not subscribe.
You must drink the Kool-Aid, so to speak.
* * * *
Sweep away the cobwebs of space and time in the quantum mind.
Be the awareness you are, ever timeless, ever indelible, ever mysterious, within and without.
The indivisible source that is witness to this illusory manifest creation.
Omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient.
* * * *
We are carrying out the definition, the actuality, of any cancer.
It is the innate potential of all biology when there are no checks and balances.
A delusional species that long ago began assuming itself more important than it can ever be.
* * * *
Fantasy is considered fiction. Reality is considered nonfiction.
Both are of consciousness, both are imaginary.
So, what difference, really?
* * * *
Ultimately, all any vessel of awareness does is wander from one here-now to another.
Ever the same kaleidoscoping indivisibility playing out in the given quantum mind.
* * * *
One of the greater mysteries of the human absurdity,
Is how so many are able to morph rationality into abeyance.
* * * *
What is the point of always rushing from one goal, one purpose, to the next?
Whatever joy there may be in existence, is in savoring, valuing, the given moment.
* * * *
Do you spend your existence struggling to adapt circumstances to you,
Or do you follow the path of least resistance and adapt to circumstance?
* * * *
Meaningful or insignificant, interesting or boring, creative or destructive,
The quantum mind in time assigns whatever flavor its nature-nurture divines.
* * * *
Wishing you were a machine or computer is just never ever going to happen.
The meat-machine mind may be able to create them, but they can never become them.
Rationality, rapidity, efficiency, consistency, detachment, are but imaginary ideals,
Not destined to materialize in this or any other paradigm of the two-legged sort.
* * * *
Is existence really anything more than conditioned habit?
A recording that plays over and over each and every day,
With slight changes that only align with that prescribed.
* * * *
Awareness is the razor’s edge of alleged existence.
Consciousness is merely imagination imagining itself alive,
But in truth, is naught but a shadow harbored in a corporeal container,
Pretending, make-believing, the sensory-inspired illusion of time and space real.
The human paradigm is nothing more than a collusion of a genetic line,
Locked in a patterned dream, born in the jungles of long ago.
* * * *
Cultivate the unknown.
Cultivate wonder.
Cultivate bliss.
* * * *
Consciousness is change, consciousness is known.
Awareness is serene, awareness is unknown.
Which is time-bound, which is timeless?
Which is insatiable, which is content?
Which is imaginary, which is real?
Which is fiction, which is true?
* * * *
What is the known but shavings gleaned by limited scope,
By consciousness born of the sensory-mind bound in time.
* * * *
One of the big lessons in history,
Is that its best to be cautious about trusting anybody with an agenda,
That is not necessarily in your best interest.
* * * *
What are the pronouns – I, me, you, he, she, they, them, we, us –
But linguistic inventions that sanction and magnify dualistic notion.
* * * *
What is male, what is female, but evolutionary currents of natural selection,
Come into being too many moons ago, to even begin to fully fathom the mystery of it.
Vain notion has absolutely nothing to do with the prior-to-consciousness process that got you here.
The body you inhabit is ultimately nothing more than a temporal vehicle,
For the awareness you are to witness its mystery.
* * * *
From their creation so long ago, your vast tree of naturally-selected seed lines,
Passed on their genome who knows how many times, how many places, how many ways,
Until, there you are, present in this timeless right-here-right-now, translating this,
Discerning the magical-mystery of existence, as relatively few ever have.
* * * *
There is no resolution to the loneliness fashioned by consciousness,
But to immerse in the unadulterated aloneness of awareness,
That is the eternal source of its thought-created torment.
To seek respite in conscious schemes is but a transient salve.
* * * *
The infant, in its all but tabula rasa state,
Its immaculate innocence, its watchful awareness,
Has yet to learn to act the imaginary role that is its destiny.
* * * *
The mind that wanders its Self is an inexplicable adventure,
Through every variety of heaven and hell, and all states between.
* * * *
The Ivory Tower is neither ivory nor a tower.
It is naught but another variety of human vanity.
* * * *
The tiger does not hate you; it is just hungry, and you are available.
One of your human neighbors just a short distance away, however, may truly hate you.
May covet everything you are, everything you have, and you are available.
Which predator, which hunter, which beast, to fear most?
* * * *
The “Me” and “Myself” and “I” is nothing more,
Than an imaginary confabulation of consciousness,
Assuming, pretending, colluding, time and space real.
* * * *
Everyone should get an Academy Award,
Or at least some sort of participant trophy,
For playing their imaginary persona so well.
* * * *
What is this indelible mystery of manifest existence,
But the timeless infinite infusing the time-bound finite.
Immortal soul, mortal body, in each and every inception.
* * * *
The real light is discovering there is no light.
The real gray is discovering there is no gray.
The real dark is discovering there is no dark.
The real point is discovering there is no point.
The real before is discovering there is no before.
The real journey is discovering there is no journey.
The real creation is discovering there is no creation.
The real universe is discovering there is no universe.
The real quantum is discovering there is no quantum.
The real judgment is discovering there is no judgment.
The real and-so-on is discovering there is no and-so-on.
The real destruction is discovering there is no destruction.
The real awareness is discovering there is no awareness.
The real beginning is discovering there is no beginning.
The real unknown is discovering there is no unknown.
The real existence is discovering there is no existence.
The real beautiful is discovering there is no beautiful.
The real meaning is discovering there is no meaning.
The real formless is discovering there is no formless.
The real mystery is discovering there is no mystery.
The real purpose is discovering there is no purpose.
The real religion is discovering there is no religion.
The real nirvana is discovering there is no nirvana.
The real eternity is discovering there is no eternity.
The real process is discovering there is no process.
The real ecstasy is discovering there is no ecstasy.
The real known is discovering there is no known.
The real wealth is discovering there is no wealth.
The real source is discovering there is no source.
The real karma is discovering there is no karma.
The real power is discovering there is no power.
The real vanity is discovering there is no vanity.
The real agony is discovering there is no agony.
The real death is discovering there is no death.
The real belief is discovering there is no belief.
The real mind is discovering there is no mind.
The real space is discovering there is no space.
The real other is discovering there is no other.
The real fame is discovering there is no fame.
The real form is discovering there is no form.
The real good is discovering there is no good.
The real right is discovering there is no right.
The real after is discovering there is no after.
The real faith is discovering there is no faith.
The real path is discovering there is no path.
The real here is discovering there is no here.
The real view is discovering there is no view.
The real goal is discovering there is no goal.
The real time is discovering there is no time.
The real ugly is discovering there is no ugly.
The real now is discovering there is no now.
The real end is discovering there is no end.
The real evil is discovering there is no evil.
The real life is discovering there is no life.
The real you is discovering there is no you.
The real why is discovering there is no why.
The real who is discovering there is no who.
The real what is discovering there is no what.
The real when is discovering there is no when.
The real where is discovering there is no where.
The real how is discovering there is no how.
* * * *
How can the immaculate awareness be mine or yours or theirs or any others?
How can You be anything but keenly attentive to the indelible mystery You are?
How has imagination so usurped your wonder that You are blind to your true nature?
How is it You accept any fictions concocted by vain notion to illuminate the inexplicable?
* * * *
What can You be once You stop identifying with the mind-body and the universe it has created?
Once You stop imagining the dream the senses every moment, hypnotize You into believing is real.
Once You discern that pure awareness is the one and only reality there is, has ever been, will ever be.
Once You realize your true nature is the ever-present here-now, the absolute totality, of all eternity.
* * * *
This magical world is birthing ground, home, garden, playground, graveyard.
Alas that we have abused it, neglected it, tortured it, maimed it, so very wrongly.
* * * *
The most pragmatic truth about regular Old School books and such,
Is that they do not require charging, do not require wireless networks,
And may well last thousands of years, and still be available to read.
* * * *
How can I see anything your way? How can you see anything my way?
Our frames of reference are entirely unique; we are all very much alone together.
At best we choose to imagine each other’s worlds through intuitive extrapolation of our own.
No sure bet even with the most expansive of minds with the best of intentions.
* * * *
Are you this mind-body consciousness that is ever-changing,
Or the awareness that has always been very much the same?
* * * *
Once upon a time You were so naturally You,
And then You glimpsed your reflection in the pond,
And gradually succumbed to the delusion of vain notion.
How to get back to where you have been all along,
Is ever the challenge of the discerning mind.
* * * *
The Supreme Being is not some divinity-entity on some cloudy on-high.
It is the supreme, being; the totality, being; the absolute, being.
It is the quantum, being; it is the everything, being, it is the nothingness; being.
It is being on the supreme level, prior to and beyond all constraints born of imaginary notion.
* * * *
The immaculate awareness you truly are, is ever absolutely alone,
Unbound in the indivisible, indelible, unborn-undying solitude of eternity.
Your illusory universe will distract the mind you occupy in every way imaginable.
Fashion every possible hook to every moment, draw you out into its kaleidoscoping theater.
And as challenging as it may be to realize, to accept, it is ever your choice whether to give in, or not.
And in every moment, you do acquiesce, in every moment, you do sip the quantum elixir,
You become but a marionette playing out an ultimately inconsequential dream.
To believe or not believe, to slumber or awaken, that is the question.
* * * *
Yoga is a Hindu spiritual and ascetic discipline, the ultimate aim of which,
Is purification and self-understanding leading to union with the impenetrable mystery.
Karma Yoga is action, Bhakti is Yoga devotion, Jnana Yoga is knowledge, Raja Yoga is meditation.
Despite sounding like different processes, they are really one in the same,
Each with its time, each with its place.
* * * *
The concept of family, the first tribe, can be such a peculiar thing.
People about which you might otherwise never even give a second thought,
You spend so much of your existence around, through every imaginable thick and thin.
Every imaginable passion, from heartfelt to heartache, from agape to odium.
Blood may be thicker than water, but it ain’t that much thicker.
* * * *
How draining all the tortures these bodies offer.
Pleasure at some point becomes the absence of pain.
* * * *
Assholes and volcanoes have a great deal in common.
Sometime diarrhea, sometimes explosive maelstroms.
Always a reasonable possibility of collateral damage.
* * * *
Inhale, exhale, and with that exhale, let go the entire imaginary life.
Drift in the awareness you truly are, have ever been, will ever be.
* * * *
Awareness is all.
A moment ago, is forever expired,
And the next more ungraspable than the farthest star.
Space and time are the weavers of an inexplicable, imaginary dream,
Given illusionary reality by the temporal sensory-mind.
Creation and creator are one in the same.
* * * *
No arguing with physics.
Mass and velocity and vectors, are the judge and jury and executioner,
Of this temporal quantum dream.
* * * *
Inhale-exhale,
Full-empty,
Come-go,
Ebb-flow,
Birth-death,
Everything-nothing.
It is the way.
* * * *
Without the cosmos, there is no perception.
Without perception, there is no cosmos.
One cannot be without the other.
* * * *
Without imagination, there are no gods, no heavens, no hells.
Imagination is the creator, imagination is the creation.
Source of all illusions, source of all delusions.
* * * *
So many memories, so many perceptions, so many insights, so many distractions,
As to often make it exceedingly challenging, to give attention to the moment at hand.
* * * *
If you can say it better, say it.
If you can write it better, write it.
If you can do it better, do it.
* * * *
The sciences have obliquely, without intention, pointed out, over and over, in many ways, in many times,
That the senses are but evolutionary, neurological creations; weavers of the mind's theater.
What would it take for the transcendental to become clear beyond doubt,
And awareness reclaim its mystery-given sovereignty,
Over the conditioned usurper fashioned by imaginary design?
* * * *
You may be more intellectual than someone else, or they may be more intellectual than you.
You may be more attractive than someone else, or they may be more attractive than you.
You may be more powerful than someone else, or they may be more powerful than you.
You may be more affluent than someone else, or they may be more affluent than you.
You may be more famous than someone else, or they may be more famous than you.
What does it matter, really, all the superficial differences, all the superficial judgments,
The human mind inexorably, with only rare respite, contrives in this absurd little dreamtime?
* * * *
Each and every morning, from the very first moments of awakening,
The conditioned recording begins playing its mind-numbing assumptions,
And another day of inevitability, another day of sleep-walking, begins.
* * * *
Why feel blame or guilt or regret for being cast by the genetic lottery
Into a quantum dream for which you bear no responsibility, whatsoever?
* * * *
It is the finite nature of everything biological in this manifest theater,
That sooner or later there is a boundary, a limit, a border, a perimeter, a wall.
It is a Petri dish thing, and the faster one rushes towards that edge, the sooner it comes.
* * * *
Whether or not you ever give it your attention, whether or not you ever awaken to its ultimate reality,
Awareness is ever the same omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient, immutable absoluteness.
Unaligned to any attribute contrived by the ever-kaleidoscoping quantum dream.
You are a drop of that dream playing out a time-bound, illusory existence.
A finite witness, peering out for a fleeting while, into an immeasurable mystery.
* * * *
That which is immortal, that which is without attributes, that which is unrestricted in any way.
Is the unmoving, immaculate awareness permeating all creation.
The eye that discerns all, knows all.
* * * *
Right here, right now, this very spaceless-timeless moment.
The simplest, most real, most true, most priceless place You can ever be.
Awareness is the driver; only a modicum of imagination required.
* * * *
What passion? What desire? What rage? What fervor?
What pleasure? What pain? What joy? What sorrow? What anything?
Can reside in the timeless instantaneousness of awareness?
* * * *
That ain’t time, that ain’t space,
That is a sensory kaleildoscope playing on the screen of a quantum mind,
An immeasurable mirage from the get-go.
* * * *
You will never know how all this is happening.
All You can do is play out your eensy-weensy little part,
In whatever way the given nature-nurture allows.
* * * *
The destiny, the fate, the kismet, the providence, the fortune, the chance, the karma,
Of any given time, of any given moment, will never ever happen again.
All dreamtimes are a one-time parade, a one-time spectacle,
A one-time theater of imaginary consequence.
All played impromptu by You.
* * * *
Call this touchy-feely, three-dimensional mystery by whatever sound You or others contrive
– God, Yahweh, Allah, Brahman, Tao, Quantum, Great Pumpkin, Whatever –
It is indifferent to all things, all attributes, including You.
* * * *
What is all the knowledge, all the wisdom, what are all the frames of reference in the world,
Without the indivisible, indelible awareness, the unknown, from which all things ascend?
* * * *
Gods and demons are all the whimsical notions of imagination,
And it is the mind's eye that must persevere unsullied,
Be renewed in the tabula rasa of eternal life,
If You earnestly seek to be free.
* * * *
* * * *
Quantum rock.
Quantum paper.
Quantum scissors.
* * * *
Your biggest delusional assumption likely continues to be,
That you are anything more than an imaginary confabulation.
* * * *
To see the infinitely large all the way to the infinitely small,
Is to perchance discover there is really no infinitely at all.
* * * *
The universe and all its incalculable attributes,
Is but ceaseless distraction from what is real.
Nothing more than a remarkable light show.
* * * *
The climate in many geographies is becoming more uncomfortable, more forbidding by the year,
But where to run, where to hide, that will not be suffering its own deterioration?
The equilibrium we once knew, is still in absolute balance,
But will humankind survive it?
* * * *
Why feel bound to squabble with dead poets, much less live ones?
It is for each and every one what they perceive it is, and not, as well.
* * * *
Is there any other species on this planet that applauds us,
Near as much, or at all, as we ceaselessly do ourselves?
* * * *
Quantum mist.
Quantum matrix.
Quantum mystery.
Quantum indivisible.
Quantum dream.
* * * *
Your face, your mind-body, is but the outcome of all the Darwinian choices,
Your ancestors made since their slime came into being in that long ago pool.
Nothing to be all vain and proud and narcissistic and arrogant about, really.
* * * *
It is the nature of our species to spend every day and every night, believing it is all about us.
Egocentric, ethnocentric, chronocentric, geocentric, heliocentric, cosmoscentric.
Exceptions only, over-and-over, again-and-again, prove the rule.
* * * *
Another instant, another moment, another twinkling,
Another second, another minute, another hour, another day, another night,
Another week, another month, another year, another decade, another century, another millennium,
Another period, another era, another span, another epoch, another age, another eon,
A quantum medley, all kaleidoscoping in the very same eternal now.
* * * *
Yet another pleasurable or painful or monotonous experience.
Yet another memory, another perception, another insight, another fragment,
Churning in the momentary wake of an inexplicable quantum dream.
All wrought by this sentient ephemerality we call imagination.
* * * *
What can anyone do but meet any given moment,
As square on as clearly as the mind-body,
In all its nature-nurture, allows.
* * * *
From what I have discerned,
It is pretty likely there is only one of any of us,
And the same goes for any aliens that may or may not be out there.
* * * *
Everything is subject to interpretation, relatively little of it objective,
If such a thing is even possible in the consciousness born of mortal fare.
* * * *
What is that face, that body, that mind, but the genetic outcome of the natural selection,
That began long before your most ancient ancestors were but slime in some muddy pond.
* * * *
All religion is absolute absurdity; there is no need to worship anything or anyone.
The universe is an unfathomable mystery, an inseparable quantum reverie, pure and simple.
And we are all the same mystery, and the same mystery is all of us; all ultimately equals in every way.
No need to make it any more or less than that; all else is but vain hollow notion.
* * * *
Now is the only moment, in which the enigmatic awareness, you think, you, exists.
There is no before, there is no after, there is no past, there is no future.
There is naught but the awareness, right here, right now,
An unknowable, timeless sentience, witness to a quantum dream.
* * * *
There is no such thing as history; there are only historians.
Storytellers, who persuade you to imagine their stories real.
* * * *
Is youth a blessing and old age a curse?
Or old age the blessing and youth the curse?
Perspective is all in the eyes of irony and paradox.
* * * *
Sometimes you do one thing; others, many others.
The passionate mind is not a trustworthy beast.
And ideals only serve to make it more obvious.
* * * *
For corruption to end, the corrupt must look within, to discern, to rectify, their ravenous minds.
And that, dear friends, as anyone paying attention will have noted,
Is not going to happen anytime ever.
* * * *
Try not to be harbor to too many immoderate vices.
The Seven Deadlies are not called deadly for no reason.
* * * *
You are the same now that is, has ever been, will ever be.
Despite all notions to the contrary, there is no time to it.
* * * *
Why must you always label your Self this or that?
Being anonymous within and without is much more real.
* * * *
You are your own rendition of normal.
It may be batshit crazy to everyone else, but it is what it is.
And it be more than a little likely there ain’t nothing you can ever really do to change it.
* * * *
Rushing, rushing, always rushing, as though you have the clout to compel eternity,
That mysterious presence that is neither time nor space, somehow move any faster.
Or slower, if you believe digging in your heels will have some effect that direction.
* * * *
Imagination can wander every possible agony and ecstasy, but it ain't ultimately real,
N ever has been, never will be ... more than the fanciful glitter of the time-bound mind.
* * * *
Consciousness born of mind, born of the illusion inspired by the senses,
Ever conspires to usurp the awareness that enables its imaginary dreamtime,
But cannot because fallacy can never reign when smoke and mirrors is its only hand.
That which is but time and space can never capture even for a moment that which is eternal,
That which is unborn, that which is undying, that which is not of times and space,
That which is indivisible, prior to all that is temporal and mundane.
* * * *
What would ever lead anyone to truly believe all the horrors the human species has inflicted,
Would not have at least a teensy-weensy impact on the magical garden that birthed it?
* * * *
The me-myself-and-I in which awareness harbors,
Is nothing more than a temporal concoction of imagination.
Even the ineffable, indivisible quantum matrix has no ultimate reality,
And to fantasize it does, is to assuage the insatiable mind with deceptions unending.
* * * *
You only know what the senses and mind into which they feed allow you to know,
And what is that, really, truly, but a mere sliver of the electromagnetic spectrum?
* * * *
From long before human history’s earliest etchings,
The wealthy, the powerful, the renowned, have deceived themselves and others,
Into believing themselves superior to the churning masses.
Smoke and mirrors from the get-go.
* * * *
Assertions without substance mean nothing,
Unless the insubstantial is given weight,
By ignorance or darker purpose.
* * * *
What is the expert but someone fooling others,
Into believing they truly know something,
The bean-counting mind should know.
* * * *
All have a story, some more interesting, some more noteworthy,
But a chronicle, just as authentic, just as significant, nonetheless.
* * * *
Living for what others think of you can be a very long, very winding journey,
Through an endless labyrinth of netherworlds born of imaginary notion.
The mind-body suffers, consciousness suffers, imagination suffers.
The eternal awareness you truly are – and are not – is ever untouched.
* * * *
How ludicrous to believe any creed devised by the vanity of humankind,
Would ever be anything more than a passing shadow of the reality that is.
* * * *
What is the intangible we call soul, if not awareness?
And how can it be divided into yours or mine or theirs,
But through the vain arrogance of unwarranted assertion?
* * * *
You are eternity pretending a limited, ofttimes narrow vision.
Hence vanity, and its indivisible, kaleidoscoping dance,
Of every virtue, every depravity imaginable.
* * * *
This is it, this is all there is.
Despite all the hope, despite all the speculation, there ain’t no more.
Try not to lose any sleep over it.
* * * *
Are you something trying to be nothing, or nothing trying to be something?
Whatever the happenstance may be in the mind born of imagination,
It is always witnessed by the awareness, right here, right now.
* * * *
So much obesity, so much toxicity, so much suffering.
What have we allowed the food industry to do to us?
What have we allowed ourselves to do to ourselves?
* * * *
What is ego, what is will, what is me-myself-and-I but a concoction of nature-nurture?
No more than imaginary attachment to a temporal mind-body born to die,
Oftentimes more painfully, more horribly, than any deserve.
* * * *
All any of us are, all any life form will ever be, is a pattern, a loop, playing itself over and over.
Some loops are more byzantine than others, but all have a measure of predictability, nonetheless.
* * * *
The human mind is a ravenous, insatiable, incorrigible beast; more is never enough.
And here we are, screaming toward the brink, not more than a mild tap on the brakes.
* * * *
How long will you exist in this manifest dreamtime?
Five, ten, twenty, fifty, ninety years? Five, ten, twenty, fifty, ninety minutes?
The Reaper will greet all sooner or later; who can know when,
Lest you take the matter into your own hands.
* * * *
Organized religions offer mouthwatering pablum and soothing pacifiers,
To those afraid to stand alone and investigate the mystery for themselves.
* * * *
You imagine you were born.
You imagine you were a child.
You imagine you were an adolescent.
You imagine you spent life as an adult.
You imagine so many things along the way,
Including the mortal end yet to come.
Has any of it really been real?
* * * *
If you were truly free of all earthly constraints, would it ever even occur to you?
And is there any creature on this spinning dust ball that is not likely freer than you?
* * * *
All memory, all perception, all conception, all notion spawned of mind,
Are nothing more than time-bound imagination, pretending existence real.
* * * *
Does anyone really aspire to do anything with their finite existence?
Or is it all merely the compulsion of the inherent nature-nurture?
Nothing more than the destined momentum of the given patterning.
An inescapable reverie playing out the delusion of meaning and purpose.
An inexplicable quantum cosmos, ticking away with neither rhyme nor reason.
* * * *
Each and every life form must very much alone come to grips,
With the nature-nurture scenario into which it has been cast.
* * * *
Your resting place in the coals of Hades is assured.
All you need to do is come to a clear decision
Whether or not to make it worthwhile.
* * * *
All that experience, all that knowledge, all that accumulation,
The entire frame of reference from which you draw your cosmos,
What is its real purpose but to get you to this very right-here-right-now,
The most you can be, the most you have ever been, the most you will ever be.
There is no more but what the endless cravings of imagination concoct.
* * * *
No one has ever, can ever, be the same as anyone else.
Everyone who has ever existed just wants to be accepted as they are.
Be and allow is the highest law: do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
* * * *
How this mystery came to be, how consciousness came to be,
Neither you nor anyone else will ever more than speculate.
It is only in the eternal stillness of the ever-present awareness,
That you will ever realize any tranquility in your existential quest.
* * * *
Every creation across the cosmos is founded upon one pattern or another.
Loops that play over and over until the quantum reality morphs into new designs.
Some may be moderately changeable, but only in relatively superficial ways.
* * * *
Make endless assumptions, take everything personally,
Hell is awash with boundaries of every imaginable notion.
* * * *
Artificial intelligence may be programmed to learn, to achieve great heights,
But will it not always be learning through the human mind that devised the code?
As with space travel blasting across galaxy after galaxy, exploring and battling aliens,
It is hard to believe its rise to sentience, will ever be more than musings of science fiction.
* * * *
Welcome to the Planet of the Apes.
We hope you have enjoyed your tour.
* * * *
How can you ever be anything more than a programmed script?
Perhaps a substantially complex script, but a script, nonetheless.
* * * *
Will you forever remain locked in the loop of your original conditioning?
Or will you learn to process critically enough to liberate your Self,
From the confines to which you now so adamantly cling?
* * * *
How can all the appearances of the quantum cosmos,
Be anything more than made-up states of mind,
Molded by collective assumption, collective collusion,
Evolved through natural selection in the jungles of long ago.
* * * *
Whether you have spare change or a nice little nest egg for the future,
Rest assured some vampire is looking to score whatever you will allow.
* * * *
So much loneliness playing out in so many minds in the human paradigm,
And consciousness never able to more than temporarily suppress the sorrow.
* * * *
The awareness does not care one whit whether you are good or bad,
Right or wrong, happy or sad, smart or stupid, sage or fool,
Kind or cruel, rich or poor, black or white, or any other this or that.
It is only the imaginary notions of consciousness that bother about anything.
* * * *
The mind is always seeking security,
But the mesmerizing draw of the insoluble,
The consuming anxiety born of desire and dread,
Leaves it in all-consuming turbulence again and again.
To attain at least a smidgen of serenity, of modicum of peace,
Give your Self over to the insecurity of the ever-transient moment,
Let go the imaginary universe in your weary head, at least once in a while.
* * * *
The continuity is imaginary.
In reality the awareness is born anew every moment.
Eternal life, such as it is.
* * * *
Either you play the dream real in whatever way it calls,
Or it is the railroad tracks in one form or another for you.
* * * *
The ever-churning state of imagination is endlessly beguiling,
But it ain’t never real no matter how much you yearn it to be.
* * * *
What is wrong with you? What is right with you?
What difference but figments born of imagination.
Ever-pervading chatter attempting reconciliation.
* * * *
History is an ever-churning dynamic of interconnected contexts,
Playing out the cosmic patterns, begun in the long-ago-not-long-ago.
* * * *
If you have a talent, a gift, share it, fortune or no.
It will minimize the tides of regret down the road.
* * * *
Real religion is without dogma.
The Golden Rule is all you need.
Everything else is redundant.
* * * *
There are pluses, there are minuses, to any given situation.
How they add up is the best-case that makes for any decision.
* * * *
It is all instantaneously, simultaneously, come and gone as it happens.
Beginnings and endings are but imagination make-believing time real.
* * * *
Outside-the-box thinking first requires perception of the box.
If there is to be any possibility of free will, any perception beyond the given state,
The boundaries of the nature-nurture conditioning must be discerned,
By the ever-present attention of immaculate awareness.
* * * *
You are not the mind-body, you are not the imagination.
You are the timeless motionlessness of the unborn-undying awareness,
Peering out in whatever way the quantum indivisibility has without effort contrived.
* * * *
Nature does not give a flying hooey about the human species.
She will create and destroy without compunction.
Thrive or fail, live or die, she cares not.
* * * *
How far will science explore from the smallest small to the largest large,
Before it becomes glaringly apparent that it is all ultimately nothing at all.
That all that measuring, all that nomenclature, all that scholarly pursuit,
Has really never been more than the mind’s reluctance to remain still.
* * * *
Life is full of coming, life is full of going.
Life is full of arriving; life is full of leaving.
* * * *
For those forever pursuing the ultimate answer, here it is: There is no ultimate answer.
Imagination will never find any truth that is not imaginary.
A busy mind is its own miasma.
* * * *
You are the timeless awareness that is neither infinite nor infinitesimal,
Nor any other description known to the mind-body born of limitation.
* * * *
Ignorance is self-sustaining; always has been, always will be.
Critical thinkers are forever doomed in its ebb and flow,
No matter their countless attempts to raise the bar.
* * * *
Far more challenging for the human mind to simply be,
Than it is to mindlessly believe, to pretend, to imagine, the vanity of it all.
True faith, true devotion, true fidelity, is in the being.
* * * *
It is not some deity’s will; it is our will, our vanity, our greed,
Our insatiable ravenousness for more-more-more,
That has fashioned this fine mess.
* * * *
History would indicate that many if not most human beings,
Value a pile of the glittery stuff, more than they do existence.
* * * *
What a thing to have squandered so much of one’s existence,
Justifying, rationalizing, quarreling, over the endless absurdities,
Of ethnicity and gender and other given nature-nurture persuasions.
What is any tribal mindset but imaginary fare from any and every get-go.
* * * *
If you have not somehow released your Self,
From greed and vanity before death’s final reckoning,
You most certainly will the instant after.
* * * *
It all boils down to the only you, the only awareness there is;
The indivisible all in one and one in all, call it what you will.
* * * *
After all the philosophical, all the spiritual, all the existential inquiry,
How is it your mind is still so compelled by the frolic of imagination?
* * * *
Death is the bona fide release from the mystery of existence,
But doing it ahead of time while living is the challenge,
To which mystics great to small spin their minds.
* * * *
In the total context of the cosmos, earth is little more than a tiny dust ball,
With a great variety of life forms scrambling about its relatively thin crust.
* * * *
Scientific method is the most exact means humankind has yet devised,
To measure, to examine, the parameters of this manifest quantum dimension.
If there are other dimensions in this intrepid electromagnetic spectrum,
No doubt any intelligence is exploring it as precisely as possible,
Through whatever ways and means circumstance allows.
* * * *
You may be at the top of some mountain today, victor of every skirmish,
But one day you, too, will succumb to incapacity and death,
And all your vanity, nothing more than wind.
* * * *
The newborn is but the tabula rasa of awareness until consciousness is gradually conditioned,
By the winds of time, by the agony and ecstasy of the given nature-nurture.
Awakening is to be reborn into that unadorned state.
* * * *
No ultimate point to anything at all, really; existence is but a sensory-mind dream.
And the dream is nothing more than quantum mist, born of an impenetrable mystery.
Pure, unadulterated illusion, witnessed by an awareness without beginning, without end.
* * * *
In complete attention to anything unutterably engaging,
Little self evaporates, and the awareness of true Self reigns,
Until the imaginary usurper regains its imaginary throne.
* * * *
The multitudes have never had any real say in the matter.
They are but consumers and cannon fodder for those who rule.
* * * *
Swaying the masses into not looking inward is what the absurdity of religion is really about.
Focus on mythologies, dogmas, idols, rituals, symbols, dress codes, hierarchies, not your Self.
* * * *
So many things we all have to live with, to endure, like it or no.
Fate is meted out each and every moment from first breath to last.
* * * *
Reality is not as concrete as thought would have it.
In fact, it is not concrete, not tangible, not palpable, at all.
Dubbing it a quantum dream is as close to truth as truth allows.
No need to create, no point in creating, any belief system, whatsoever.
* * * *
The mind is a willy-nilly wanderer.
Only the most focused attention tames it,
And likely very few attain that level of intrigue,
For any great length of timelessness.
* * * *
The so-called real world, the one playing out in your mind,
Is but an ever-rolodexing set of very imaginary perceptions.
* * * *
There is no power above, there is no power below.
There is only that which is neither within or without.
* * * *
The actuality is, you do not know who, you do not know what, you do not know when,
You do not know where, you do not know why, you do not know how.
You do not know anything but right-here-right-now.
And even that ain’t no sure bet.
* * * *
Stories, history is chock-full of them, and every group across time has them.
It is the attachment to any of them that warrants fathoming the deeper current.
* * * *
That myth, that saga, that chronicle, that fable, that folktale, that legend,
Is most certainly not vaguely true, or remotely possible,
By any law of physics ever written.
* * * *
Nationalism is nothing more than tribalism on a substantial scale,
And tribalism is nothing more than the collective me-and-myself-and-I,
That is all about the imaginary you peering out into a sensory dream.
* * * *
No one is ever going to see, to perceive, anything the way you do.
So it goes, too bad, so sorry, oh well, deal with it, get over it, move on.
* * * *
What is the point of all this trying to measure the immeasurable?
What is this inquisitiveness, this curiosity, this mind that never rests?
* * * *
Who happens.
What happens.
Where happens.
When happens.
Why happens.
How happens.
* * * *
The sensory mind, mesmerized by the sirens of quantum to wander the vibrations of light and sound,
Cast all creation into an impromptu theater that ceaselessly kaleidoscopes on in its metered way,
Carrying all organic life forms though a dream of awareness made apparent through time.
* * * *
Time is but a memory, a perception, a vision, an insight, a timeless flicker of imagination,
Sparked of the electromagnetic spectrum generating the invention of existence.
Upon a more esoteric scaffold, it has been called the Lila of Brahman.
The means by which the mystery may be eternally distracted,
With but a relative few stimulated by stubborn doubt,
To quest, to wander, prior to consciousness.
* * * *
Given the nature of the human genome,
The newborn may not be full-on-free-and-clear tabula rasa,
But for all practical purposes the awareness is without a cloud in its windless sky.
Its untrammeled mind is as blank a slate as it ever will be again.
* * * *
All existence is process.
No beginnings, no endings, just process.
Cause and effect streaming seamlessly, ever-kaleidoscoping,
Ever dreaming on until death takes center stage,
And the curtain forever falls.
* * * *
Original sin, original goodness, you decide each and every moment,
In the way you talk, in the way you walk, in both action and deed.
* * * *
You see all from your perspective,
And others see you from theirs.
None of them ever the same.
* * * *
Do you give? Do you take?
Do you heal? Do you injure?
Do you create? Do you destroy?
Do you nourish? Do you consume?
Do you think? Do you regurgitate?
Do you dance? Do you march?
Do you live? Do you die?
Were you ever born?
* * * *
Like air filling up a balloon, unconcerned its size or shape or color,
Who-what-where-when-why-how it will wander, when it will pop or deflate.
The same indivisible essence, equally filling all things small to great, for all eternity.
* * * *
A moment ago ,may seem more real than a vague long-ago memory,
But in reality, both are equal time-bound filaments of imagination.
* * * *
This eternal moment is all you are, all you have.
Observe it well, for it is ever come and gone,
Before you can even begin to perceive it.
* * * *
Without sight … hearing, taste, smell, feeling, would craft a different universe.
Without hearing … taste, smell, feeling, sight, would craft a different universe.
Without taste … smell, feeling, sight, hearing, would craft a different universe.
Without smell … feeling, sight, hearing, taste, would craft a different universe.
Without feeling … sight, hearing, taste, smell, would craft a different universe.
Without two or more of the above, the ones left would craft a different universe.
* * * *
The gradual shaping of self-imagery,
Frames all minds into spontaneous roles,
That fulfill the synergy of the human genome.
* * * *
There are few creatures on this planet,
That cannot be tamed, that cannot be domesticated,
By a discerning handout here and there.
* * * *
Regarding tattoos: T-shirts, sweatshirts, baseball caps, and other hallmark billboards,
Are much less expensive, and far less permanent, if change remains the-way-it-is reality.
* * * *
Most every problem, every conundrum, is so much more nuanced,
Than most minds have wit or discipline to even come close to grasping,
That it is all but impossible to come up with any clear-cut solutions.
* * * *
Across this garden world, across all time, every culture has contrived folklore and wisdom,
To rationalize the mystery from which all have come into being.
They are all right; they are all wrong.
* * * *
You do not know who, you do not know what,
You do not know where, you do not know when,
You do not know why, you do not know how,
Nor do you know any other diddly-squat.
* * * *
The fear of loneliness, the fear of pain, the fear of being without,
The fear of not surviving, the fear of whatever, are all self-made.
* * * *
Far more likely, most are far more fascinated with their own lives, than anyone else ever will be.
Exceptions might be mothers with their children before they learn to talk back.
That, however, might be more of a genomic survival thing.
* * * *
Each and every life form is witness to its own death,
Completely alone, no matter how many are watching.
* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how is who?
Who-what-where-when-why-how is what?
Who-what-where-when-why-how is where?
Who-what-where-when-why-how is when?
Who-what-where-when-why-how is why?
Who-what-where-when-why-how is who?
* * * *
You assume the crunchy-chewy-gooey flesh and bones, out of which You peer, is your body,
And yet, You are able to observe it only partially, and in a most peculiar way.
Why is it that You have never ever seen your own mortal face,
Nor has anyone or anything else seen theirs,
Is indeed a koan for all.
* * * *
No one cares about you anywhere near as much,
As you in your illusional-slash-delusional way might like to believe.
The challenge is for you to balance the spreadsheet, with a detachment, equal to, or more.
* * * *
So many true believers as to make it impossible,
To not descend totally into absurdity and horror.
* * * *
Cast out the demons of vanity and greed.
Pure consciousness is untouched by all things mundane.
Only you can do it; you are on your own.
* * * *
There is no real need to believe in anyone or anything.
All belief is born of imagination’s ceaseless craving for more.
When what it is, is what it is, from any get-go, from any beginning,
The challenge is choosing contentment in whatever existence has offered.
* * * *
Who can even begin to guess all the perceptions out there, about you.
Some of which may be true, some of which may be false,
All of which fall into the relativity spectrum.
* * * *
Hard to imagine that by the end of this century
The human genome will not be either pruned back dramatically,
Or entirely extinct because of a blend of climate change and environmental collapse,
Or, given our kind’s inability to get along for more than brief bits of time,
A beyond-the-pale biological or chemical or nuclear holocaust.
* * * *
Your existence matters, or matters not, most to you.
The first and last question is: Who are you, really?
* * * *
What difference to the ultimate, whether anything is this way or that.
The indivisible realm is inviolable, untouchable, sacrosanct, sacred.
* * * *
Awareness sees nothing.
Awareness hears nothing.
Awareness smells nothing.
Awareness tastes nothing.
Awareness feels nothing.
Awareness thinks nothing.
* * * *
This cannot be taught, and as simple as it is,
Intuiting it is not at all easy for most, if not all.
* * * *
You have all the words, all the concepts, all the theories.
Now you just need to figure out what they mean,
And, as importantly, what they do not.
* * * *
Yes, the irony and paradox of these and any other times,
Is that many who investigate and discern the ultimate reality,
May well be mass murderers, rapists, molesters, abusers, or worse.
* * * *
Without the movement of consciousness,
Who and what and when and where and why and how,
Could you imagine yourself being?
* * * *
There is no divinity, no supreme being, in charge.
The given cosmos is a dynamic unto its Self,
In which detachment and disinterest,
Are imbedded in the bottom line.
* * * *
Had you been left to your own devices, without any input from the given culture,
What might you have imagined this mystery to be,
If anything?
* * * *
The only freedom from vain notion,
Is in the pure awareness prior to consciousness,
And that only for as long as the given mind can fully attend it.
* * * *
Who is happening?
What is happening?
Where is happening?
When is happening?
Why is happening?
How is happening?
* * * *
It is not Self that You should question, should doubt, should interrogate,
But the imaginary dreamtime into which all have been involuntarily cast.
* * * *
Even in the face of the most abominable roles consciousness might parlay,
Is it possible for any spirit to not reflect the flawlessness of its absolute nature?
* * * *
The human paradigm is about interacting with others.
Sometimes for a few moments, sometimes for an entire lifetime.
Sometimes beneficial, sometime harmful, sometimes trifling.
It is a dynamic from which all history is written, or not.
* * * *
You shall be right-here-right-now forever.
All yesterdays are but dreamy memories,
All tomorrows but dreamy projections.
* * * *
Human consciousness is entrenched in the instinctual mind,
Naturally selected in the fierce, remorseless jungles of long ago.
It cannot be undone but through the most discerning attention.
* * * *
You need not inwardly participate in the ever-careening dreamtime world,
Established, prescribed, ordained, predestined, decreed, designed, determined, commanded,
By any given culture, any given groupthink, any given karass, any given anything.
Assume the sovereignty to forge your own path, to chart your own course.
It is your narrative, your chronicle, to do with what destiny calls.
* * * *
How goes it in the fast lane, the slow lane, the middle lane?
How goes it on the high road, the low road, the middle road?
Or be ye a spirited lane-changer, born to fly free in the wind?
* * * *
What is true religion but timeless awareness.
Consciousness is but imagination dreaming.
* * * *
Sounds are here and gone, ever-changing.
Visions are here and gone, ever-changing.
Tastes are here and gone, ever-changing.
Smells are here and gone, ever-changing.
Touching is here and gone, ever-changing.
All things are here and gone, ever-changing.
Only in indivisible awareness does change still.
* * * *
Do not mix up who-what-where-when-why-how you are,
With who-what-where-why-when-why-how you do.
All identification is a trap of your own making.
* * * *
Sometimes you fill the mind-body, sometimes you empty it.
The variations and fluctuations of this manifest creation,
Cover every point of the electromagnetic spectrum.
* * * *
The dearth of right relationship with nature,
Only condemn humankind to a harsher and harsher future,
And far more likely than not, to extinction.
* * * *
Humankind is really no different than any other organism.
We just have more ways and means in our cancerous onslaught.
* * * *
You are a liar, a cheat, a thief, and daily plot murder and mayhem,
Between stretches of excessive debauchery and inordinate treachery.
But at least you are not a hypocrite, more often than vain notion calls.
* * * *
Surround sound, surround vision, surround smell, surround taste, surround touch,
Is the virtual reality of the right-here-right-now of the timeless awareness you are.
* * * *
Supreme being is not an entity; it is not a dualistic notion.
It is the awareness, the indivisibility, the timelessness, the quintessence,
Within all creations great to small in the omnipresence, omnipotent, omniscient sense.
It is the beingness, the nowness, that reigns unconditional.
It is the absolute, it is eternity.
* * * *
In awareness, the seeker distinguishes Self.
In imagination, the seeker seeks and seeks, on and on.
Breathe in, breathe out, to discern how eternity is far too simple,
For the busy-busy of imagination to long endure.
* * * *
You believe your power, your fame, your wealth,
Your houses, your clothes, your jewelry, your things,
Your titles, your degrees, or any other hollow airs,
Mean anything to those who see you as you are?
* * * *
How can anyone ever more than speculate,
How any other creature, any other earthling,
Discerns its kaleidoscoping quantum universe.
* * * *
To believe there is a soul that needs saving, or can be saved,
Is a notion, an assumption, that has no merit, whatsoever.
The indivisible, ineffable mystery requires no saving.
* * * *
Good friends are the closest thing to true family, true tribe,
That you can possibly have in this quantum dreamtime.
Note that your mother may or may not be included.
* * * *
You have always been right here, right now.
Imagination is a time machine born of illusion.
* * * *
Your genetic past is the foundation of the patterning you are right here, right now.
Everything you say, everything you do, was written in your sands,
Long before eternity bloomed into consciousness.
* * * *
What would you do with power? With fame? With fortune?
Would you be the same? Would you be different?
How might your dreamtime change?
* * * *
In a dualistic universe, there is no light without dark, no good without evil,
Right without wrong, pleasure without pain, flow without ebb, yes without no.
* * * *
Whether in the world and of it or not,
It is the same indivisible quantum source.
How all play it is the call of the personal kind.
* * * *
In awareness, imagination is its own weaver of heavens and hells,
And every category, every variety, every strand, of purgatory between.
* * * *
This is your story, the truth of you.
Hopefully, it worked out relatively well.
Hopefully, you did not wish it away.
Hopefully, the dream played true.
* * * *
What a thing the evolution of the brain, of mind, of cognition.
From a naturally-selected instinctual apparatus, to one delineated by the given culture,
Teeming to the nth degree with every sort of detail, every sort of trivia,
Every variety of mindful and mindless pursuit.
* * * *
Santa Claus was real, until you finally figured out, he was not.
The same with the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Bigfoot, and Harvey the Pooka.
But Jesus? No, Jesus is real. Jesus is not a lie. Jesus died for your sins, that you might exist forever.
Jesus is going return someday to take you up to heaven, no matter what evils you have done.
All you need do is believe, and hand over ten percent-ish to your chosen middleman.
* * * *
Any cult (a.k.a., religion) likely has these usual suspects in common:
Charismatic leader,
Supreme deity with supporting troupe,
Mythology, idols, dogma, rituals, symbols, dress code, hierarchy,
And most importantly, a collection of true believers tithing to support the prescribed mission.
* * * *
You are not your identity, you are not your body, you are not your cosmos.
That is but a temporal part you are conditioned to play in the given vessel.
* * * *
Do you truly yearn for the freedom of eternal awareness,
Or is it merely the huff and puff of agreeable words?
* * * *
The zombie-like stares of young minds adrift in one screen or another,
Dreaming in the virtual reality of quantum design of the mind-made one.
* * * *
It is more than likely you cannot handle nirvana; otherwise, you would be there.
The harmony and peace of rapture, is not for the meek of spirit, nor the stale of mind.
* * * *
A most earnest determination is required to truthfully inquire into this inexplicable dream of time.
Any agenda concocted by any other offers nothing more than a long-and-winding labyrinth,
Replete with every imaginable smoke-and-mirror-illusory-deflection-of-a-distraction.
Whenever you are of a mind to every moment be the timeless state of awareness,
It will ever be the same right-here-right-now it has ever been, will ever be.
* * * *
This dreamy universe is all about chemistry playing out in ways beyond imagining.
It is about how the kaleidoscoping quantum theater is every moment patterned.
The entire cabaret is nothing more than an ever-changing puzzle of a matrix.
* * * *
Endorphins are central to human behavior patterns.
How any respond to any given scenario, to any given moment,
Depends on the endorphins that are released into the given mind-body.
No one need give themselves over to any conditioned response,
But through the subjective stratums of attachment,
That rule their version of the cosmos.
* * * *
The further you are down the line in space-time’s genetic lottery,
The fewer big-picture choices you have as far as the human epic goes.
* * * *
The Titanic was not doomed until the iceberg tore down its starboard side,
And the indifferent sea rushed into the bobbing cork to finish the foul deed.
* * * *
You need not react, need not respond, need not answer, to anything, but through your own volition.
It requires only your becoming extremely aware of the chemistries blended of desire and fear.
It requires observing closely, every moment, the feelings any given combination ordains,
Rather than simply giving awareness over to the conditioned mind-body responses.
The endorphin meter is set by the level of attachment to any given scenario.
To be as free as humanly possible is to function at a level of awareness,
Challenging to manifest for any great duration of so-called time.
In other words, the indivisible now, the timeless moment,
The awareness you truly are in this reverie of time,
Is, far more often than not, being interminably shanghaied,
By the time-bound imagination you are not, were not, will never be.
* * * *
Materialism is an aspect of any human dreamtime.
One that each and every one chooses to embrace or reject or integrate,
Depending on the endorphins that play out from the perception of possessing or being possessed.
* * * *
How much more satisfying, more agreeable, more enjoyable,
More gratifying, more pleasurable, even when giving,
To do anything creative or tedious or otherwise,
For your imaginary mind-body self, first.
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.
* * * *
When it comes to any communication, clear or otherwise,
It is the level of integrity that prompts, that governs,
The ways and means, language is used and abused.
* * * *
The time of consequences is that timeless time,
In which all must not only pay the inevitable ultimate price,
But all the sundry debts between now and then.
The end is nigh, and the road rocky.
* * * *
If you are not master of your own hunger, of your own greed,
How can you ever reasonably expect or encourage it in another?
* * * *
If there is nirvana, it is surely in the purest state of awareness,
To which the myriad knowns of consciousness entirely evaporate.
A pristine state, to which complete and utter aloneness is centerstage.
* * * *
Vanity being what it is between two or more of the two-legged paradigm,
Sooner than later, something will always go awry in any given group context.
* * * *
Love is nothing more than an imaginary human concoction.
An evolutionary consequence of the mammalian nervous system,
That has no reality whatsoever in the awareness prior to consciousness.
* * * *
Where does not practicing Don Miguel Ruiz’s five agreements get you?
What happens when you do not listen well with a skeptical ear?
* * * *
All your life you have followed some so-called religious archetype,
Deceiving your Self in one way or another with the ashes of a cultish tradition.
Yet here You are with that gnawing hunger to finally discover the truth behind the charade.
To finally apprehend, to finally yield, to the immaculate awareness You truly are,
And have only lacked the audacity to fully own, to fully stand alone.
* * * *
To without doubt realize this inexplicable, impenetrable, inscrutable, incomprehensible,
Indecipherable, inseparable, indelible, mystical-magical mystery of awareness,
As indivisibly fearless and desireless and guileless as it absolutely is,
The earnest, resolute seeker, can lie to anyone but himself.
* * * *
Closely observe the insatiable craving for more of anything and everything,
And realize its intoxicating dynamic is entirely born of imagination,
That is itself risen of the instinctual origin of the species.
We are but a relatively brief advent in this magical-mystery tour.
* * * *
Pure awareness is incapable of doing anything on its own.
It is permitted entrée to the dreamtime world, to the dreamtime universe,
Through sentient proficiency at spinning the quantum ground in so many nimble ways.
Ways regulated only by any given creature’s naturally-selected, nature-nurtured, frame of reference.
* * * *
Lots and lots of zeros, way out there in the great beyond,
And bunches more on the wee side of the decimal point, too.
* * * *
You can imagine doing just about anything you please.
Playing out in your mind whatever good, whatever evil you will.
But what you actually do, is your worldly mark in the dusty sands of time.
* * * *
True belief, true faith, true knowing, do not flower in dogma.
Discern the indivisible, to slash the Gordian Knot of doubt.
* * * *
The psychic weight of space and time, is played out daily in every mind.
It is the quantum mirage that inspires endless impromptu,
In humankind’s epic collusion of imagination.
* * * *
This is what you do.
No need to explain, justify, defend,
Absolve, prove, validate, rationalize, analyze, assert,
Vindicate, support, exonerate, uphold, modify, add to, or detract from.
* * * *
What agendas will set in stone the historical chronicles,
Of this relatively brief window of the human paradigm?
* * * *
The mystery gave its Self a magical garden world,
With an abundant diversity of psychotropic and other substances,
That it might, in a temporal setting, discern its timeless prior-to-quantum presence.
* * * *
When it comes to pleasing yourself, as all worthy narcissistic hedonists so often do,
Why would solitary fantasy rather than theatrical reality ever be a rancid thing?
What hypocrites play out in their pejorative noggins need not be a concern.
* * * *
Only the relatively rare can surround themselves with opponents,
And be at peace with the contrasting realities perceived by others.
* * * *
How has this awareness come to be? And can its indelible nature ever be known?
Can its ever-present reality ever be truly discerned as more than a conception of consciousness?
How can that which is timeless, that which is indivisible, that which is unborn-undying,
That which is prior to all that is quantum, ever be confined, or even touched,
By the time-bound-sensory-mind cosmos fashioned of imagination?
* * * *
There are a variety of remarkable substances,
That will aid your discerning the truth of this mystery of existence.
That this quantum dream of time and space, of agony and ecstasy, of all dualistic notion,
Is ultimately nothing more than an imaginary light and sound show.
That You are absolutely alone for all eternity,
And cannot do a friggin’ thing about it,
Except succumb to one diversion after another,
Until you perchance wake up and stop smelling the roses.
* * * *
What has any revolution ever actually been,
But switching one pharaoh for another,
And not necessarily for the better.
* * * *
Speaking truth to power generally only brings about change,
If there is some sort of means, some sort of tool, some sort of weapon,
To influence, to leverage, to manipulate, to force, its attention.
* * * *
All histories, even the most scholarly renditions,
Are likely laced with at least one untruth,
And most likely more than a few.
* * * *
All judgments, opinions, conclusions, assessments, beliefs, prejudices, stereotypes, and the like,
Are ultimately meaningless, yet largely unavoidable, given the dualistic nature of the sensory mind.
Best keep as many to yourself as possible, if you aspire to the tranquility of political expediency.
* * * *
In any given sensory theater across the cosmos, across all creation,
Is it at all possible for consciousness to inspire anything but dualistic perception,
In all but those rare few gifted with eyes that see and ears that hear.
* * * *
There is no yesterday, there is no tomorrow.
There is only the right-here-right-now,
Of the indivisibly timeless today.
* * * *
What is this awareness?
What is this perceiving we call soul?
Is it truly something distinct, something definite?
Or merely yet another resonant assumption of consciousness?
If awareness is soul, you are soul; if awareness is not soul, you are not soul.
How any prefer to see it is their own affair, and theirs alone,
As it is for every other, under any sun.
* * * *
Mother Nature is an absolutely impartial creator-destroyer.
She will raise you up and grind you down with the same equanimity.
It is up to you, and you alone, to survive, to persist, the dream of time between.
* * * *
The singular, indivisible, ever-present now is the only point,
At which the quantum spark of consciousness is touched by the senses,
The memory of which generates the illusion of time and space.
What is called reality is but a kaleidoscoping dream.
* * * *
Whether Jesus ever really existed or not,
Humankind is 99.9999% likely stuck
With Catholic and Christian and Mormon,
And other cultish absurdity for the rest of time.
* * * *
How can the awareness, in which there is no trace of space and time,
Ever be known by the mystery that is the architect of space and time?
* * * *
What are success and failure to those who seek, those who discern,
Those whose calling is the indelible, indivisible, immortal awakening?
* * * *
Statistically improbable as it well may be in the grand immensity of the ever-expanding cosmic adventure,
It is always possible that we are the one and only civilization that this vast universe as ever spawned.
To assume other worlds were, or will be, the right size in the right sun with the right chemistry,
With an evolutionary track that fostered forests with mammalian life, opposable thumbs,
Larynxes, lungs, arms, legs , tool-making brains – or something equally capable –
Might well be dubious, despite the near-infinity of star-crossed possibilities.
And even if some alien intelligence does perchance exist, how likely is it, seriously,
Other than in science fiction, in all the books and movies, upon which we insatiably gorge,
That we or they would ever cross the vast expanses, and somehow connect in any meaningful way?
* * * *
Resisting the ever-present, indivisible nature of awareness, is futile.
Consciousness is but a very temporary passenger of a very finite dream.
And must inevitably relinquish its imaginary reverie at one point or another.
It is the fate of all forms small to great, to drown in the sea of timeless oblivion.
* * * *
Patience not being one of its greater virtues,
Avarice must always resist the urge,
To kill the Golden Goose.
* * * *
A major die-off or extinction, we are every moment choosing.
Assuming, of course, there is any further choice in the matter.
* * * *
What is any story, any narrative, but an array of scenarios moving through a series of stages:
Beginning to blossoming to thickening to darkening to blackening to resolving to ending.
Or as thinker Tzvetan Todorov put it: From equilibrium to disruption to equilibrium.
* * * *
And how often has your mortal existence,
Been what you might have anticipated,
For any great length of time, if at all.
* * * *
Whoever.
Whatever.
Wherever.
Whenever.
Whyever.
However.
* * * *
What on earth leads human beings to believe any deity worth its salt,
Would be at all interested in, at all concerned about, their pathetic tripe?
Imagine listening to all that wretched whining, day after day, for all eternity.
That deity must surely every moment wish our species would just get it over with.
* * * *
Is it as much religion or spirituality, as it is being in touch,
With the timeless legitimacy of pure, undifferentiated awareness,
Without all the missteps and mishaps and absurdities of consciousness,
And the ceaselessly insufferable array of temporal vanities,
Born of desire’s intoxication with imagination.
* * * *
It is the selfish and stupid and vain who will inherit the earth,
Because it takes great humility and intelligence to win heaven.
* * * *
Although often a temptation, giving can have its drawbacks.
Benevolence toward those who lack gratitude, those who feel entitled,
Can end up being little more than hollow gesture that changes absolutely nothing.
Pearls to swine, so to speak.
* * * *
Heaven, hell, purgatory, call them what you will, are but conceptual perceptions.
Attitudes, insights, experiences, beliefs, realities, dreamscapes, notions, impressions.
Equally witnessed by the indelibly indivisible, eternal awareness of any given moment.
* * * *
You keep trying to remember, you keep trying to forget.
Holding on, letting go, so incompatible, so paradoxical, so ironical.
The Sisyphean fate of the conditioned mind entangled in the theater of time.
* * * *
And why again is the human species in way different, in any way superior,
To any bacteria racing towards the indifferent edge of a laboratory Petri dish?
* * * *
Egalitarianism begets convergence begets peace begets creation begets life.
Extremism begets polarization begets conflict begets destruction begets death.
It is the ebb and flow of the human paradigm; it is the ebb and flow of all creation.
* * * *
Generally, fairly wise to assume all your fussy persnicketiness about any this or any that,
Means pretty much diddly-squat to anyone anywhere else in this or any other dream of time.
Getting over yourself as often and quickly as possible is always judicious personal policy.
* * * *
Now the mind-body is doing this, now the mind-body is doing that,
None of it the awareness that is You, without imagination assuming it so.
* * * *
Time is not your best friend, but for way-never-enough moments,
And will again and again betray you, whittle you down,
At every irrevocable turn, unto the bitter end.
* * * *
Pleasure is the absence of pain.
Happiness, the absence of sorrow.
Wisdom, the absence of delusion.
Serenity, the absence of dread.
* * * *
The Me, the Myself, the I, are nothing more,
Than the ineffable, unfathomable, indelible awareness,
Usurped by the dualistic notions of consciousness, of imagination.
* * * *
You are but timeless awareness peering through a quantum veil.
The you that You believe You are, is but an imaginary concoction.
* * * *
How does mountain become a plain but by flowing into it.
How does a plain become a mountain but by upwelling into it.
In every greater there is a lesser; in every lesser there is a greater.
There is no stasis in this indivisible mystery of quantum design.
* * * *
Call it God, call it Soul, call it Whatever, there is only one mystery,
And it splinters into as many shards as any given universe will allow.
* * * *
The awareness You are, is immortal, unborn-undying.
Only the temporal, mundane, corporeal, imaginary mind-body dies.
You are older than the stars, younger than the moment.
* * * *
I am better than you, and my tribe is better than yours.
Same old me-myself-and-I narrative spun across the human paradigm,
Since imagination took root in the jungle-born mind, that evolved in the time before time.
* * * *
Whenever thought attaches to any sort of attribute,
Imagination usurps reality, death raises its conditional mind,
And the indivisible awareness seamlessly dissipates from center stage,
Serenely witnessing the eternal dream from behind the veil of consciousness,
The cloak that flutters amok in every rational and irrational way imagination allows.
* * * *
‘The’ stillness before time? Or ‘a’ stillness before time?
‘The’ awareness before time? Or ‘an’ awareness before time?
Definitive or tentative, absolute or transitory, you decide.
* * * *
If there is any calling in this ineffable mystery,
Surely the highest is discerning the unknown.
* * * *
You can sit in ashrams staring at walls,
Or freely meander the dream doing whatever you will.
From any beginning to any ending, it matters nary a speck nor an iota.
* * * *
How can anyone abide this rambling cacophony,
If they lack the ironical mind, the paradoxical wit?
* * * *
Which was first, the chicken or the egg?
Which was first, the breath or the thought?
* * * *
It is the eyes that create the greatest sense of separation within and without.
None of the other senses enhance dualistic notion in anywhere near the same way.
This grand theater matrix, this quantum dreamtime, would not be without them.
* * * *
In this ever-changing quantum matrix,
No matter how many times anything is observed,
Neither it nor the mind’s eye of the beholder,
Are ever even for a moment the same.
* * * *
If something is true, it is true rain or shine, forever and daze beyond,
And many if not most assumptions, little more than fallacious notions.
* * * *
Whether to fix something before it is broken,
Can often be a question of resources and time,
As well as whatever inclination will be required.
* * * *
It is a reality all can easily distinguish, if they have the wit to give such attention to their mind-body,
That it dissolves into the quantum indivisibly, from which all manifestation small to great materializes.
* * * *
There appear to be no stops in the senseless ways,
To play out what appear to be an infinite array of insanities,
Available in this manifest theater of consciousness.
* * * *
Whether You discern it or not,
I know that I am You, and You are me,
And we, no matter the discourse, no matter the fate,
Are ultimately born of the same mystery.
* * * *
Time for mystics to stand up and be counted,
To stand up to the innumerable insufferable tyrannies,
Of so-called religions and other fabrications across the board.
That, of course, always runs risks of being stoned or burnt at the stake,
Or some other time-honored practice of doing away with witches and heretics.
* * * *
There is no ‘Me’, no ‘Myself’, no ‘I’, in the indivisibility of awareness; how can there be?
The given mind that asserts its dream real and true, is but a conditioned illusion,
An ever-changing, temporal, quantum phantom born of imagination.
* * * *
It is the immortal awareness we all equally are that carries on,
In whatever seedlings are available in this grand manifest theater.
Your particular notion of individuality is but a one-time dreamtime.
There is no heaven, there is no hell, but whatever imagination imagines.
* * * *
You have gone to all your bother, so that others do not have to,
And others have gone to all their bother, so you do not have to.
* * * *
So That is who.
So That is what.
So That is where.
So That is when.
So That is why.
So That is how.
* * * *
Imagination is but a streaming quantum dream,
Usurping awareness to fabricate an imaginary self.
It is only in a very still mind that you will be true Self.
* * * *
Anyone can fabricate a story,
But to believe it true requires a gullible mind,
Lacking any shadow of doubt, and prepared to pay any cost.
Such is the destiny of the true believer.
Let the buyer beware.
* * * *
When it comes to the instinct to propagate,
Human beings have no more restraint than any other critter.
Rabbits, cockroaches, any creature you might name, is compelled by its biology,
But only for as long as its environment, its habitat, its milieu, its niche, its nook, its cranny, allows.
Which, on the whole, is not very long, when you consider that more than 99 percent,
Of all species that ever lived on Earth, amounting to over five billion,
Are estimated to have been snuffed out by the winds of time.
Guesstimates of the living range from 10 to 14 million,
And their extinction is assured down the pike, too.
This whirling orb is a garden, not a museum.
* * * *
A rational, lucid, cynical, skeptical, absurd, asymmetrical mind,
May be the most balanced adaptation consciousness can concoct.
* * * *
If you truly yearn to be the totality,
Ascertain the right-here-right-now awareness,
As much as the given mind-body, in space and time allows.
* * * *
What was, can never be again,
And whatever will be, will evaporate, too.
Oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.
* * * *
The many attachments to which all are bound,
Are subjective concoctions of our own individual imagination.
To be unbound, one must cast off into the indivisible solitude of pure awareness,
From which all quantum creations in this mystery,
Are every moment spun.
* * * *
The human muddle is a slow-motion trainwreck working its way off the tracks.
It will only be remedied by a massive die-off; it will only be solved by extinction .
* * * *
You are but an ethereal bubble of awareness,
Rambling about the conditioned concoction,
Of a sensory-mind dream of space and time.
* * * *
Answer me this, Pilgrim: When have you ever even once not been,
The timeless, indivisible, undying, enduring, right-here-right-now?
* * * *
If you were lost at sea, bobbing in the immense emptiness, totally alone, with no hope of survival,
It would really be no different, than if you were sitting in your living room, doing the boob-tube shuffle.
* * * *
Religion as it is practiced by many if not most,
Is nothing more than a hierarchical covenant,
Inspired by one feudal paradigm or another.
* * * *
The you that you dream you are, is but a set of perceptions,
A collection of memories, a frame of reference, a grab bag of attributes,
Imagining your character real, your mind-body real, your world real, your universe real.
Real being nothing more than an ever-changing quantum illusion-delusion,
Deftly mesmerizing the awareness equally permeating all.
* * * *
Geometric forms have absolutely no reality in the natural order.
Lines, circles, triangles, squares, pentagons, and all the many other shapes,
Are but conceptual creations by minds imagining perfect order,
In an indivisible mirage born of quantum chaos.
* * * *
If you must believe in something, believe in nature,
And draw on science to explore its rhyme and reason.
Or, be very, very still, and know all there is to know.
* * * *
Is it what you want to be, when you grow up? Or what you want to do?
The reality is, that the isness you are as a newborn,
Is what you will be at life’s conclusion, and every moment between.
Do not identify with any attribute that locks you into what you are not, into what will never be.
* * * *
You are the perfect, most indivisible You.
You are not flawed in any way or shape or form.
Imperfect minds formulate archetypes that can never be,
Like geometric shapes which have absolutely no reality in nature.
Leave behind all who would limit your dream of time.
Party on as you are, Pilgrim, party on.
* * * *
No matter how much you think you know, how large your frame of reference,
There is so-to-the-power-of-n much more that you do not, never will, never can.
* * * *
The philosophers scrutinize with their language.
The scientists and mathematicians with their facts and figures.
All dispatching imperative thoughts and conclusion upon every this, every that,
To the awareness, the anonymity, the obscurity, the spaciousness, the timelessness, the stillness,
The wakefulness that witnesses all eternity with equally immeasurable detachment.
* * * *
If you believe that any words, any numbers, mean anything to the mystery of now,
You must also imagine that wind and clouds mean something to the spacious sky.
Awareness is all, and the motley shards are but players wafting across the stage.
* * * *
The pleasures the Fates offer, are balanced, if not dominated,
By the myriad consequences that will inevitably be endured.
* * * *
What meaning, what purpose,
Mean anything to the quantum sands of time,
Ever blowing, ever blowing, ever blowing, on and on and on.
* * * *
Nature is the teacher.
Pain and death her instruments.
Live or die, you choose.
Give ear to sages.
* * * *
It might have happened ten seconds ago, ten years ago, or ten thousand years ago.
What is space, what is time, but the quantum-made concoction of imagination?
* * * *
What does it mean to exist? What does it mean to be alive?
What does it mean for the quantum mystery to be conscious of itself?
What does it mean for the all but immeasurable electromagnetic spectrum,
To be able explore even an infinitesimal sliver of its boggling potential?
What does it mean for You to be pondering this thought right now?
* * * *
Memories from ten-twenty-thirty-forty-fifty-sixty-plus years ago,
Are as real as one even just a moment ago.
Imagination is all.
* * * *
Natural law supersedes any and all monkey-mind constructs.
Too obvious to need a supporting witness, or bang of a gavel.
* * * *
What is the eternal mind?
A mind that is awareness.
A mind that is perpetual.
A mind that is quantum.
A mind that is timeless.
A mind that is infinite.
A mind that is unborn.
A mind that is undying.
A mind that is absolute.
A mind that is immortal.
A mind that is indivisible.
A mind that is ever-present.
A mind that is ever-tranquil.
A mind that knows nothing.
A mind that is immaculate.
A mind that is everlasting.
A mind that is unbound.
A mind that is at rest.
A mind that is clear.
A mind that is solitary.
A mind that is sovereign.
A mind that is no mind at all.
* * * *
The consequences of the Seven Deadly Sins:
Pride and envy and gluttony and lust and wrath and greed and sloth,
Are eternities of universes well beyond counting.
Moderation is the challenge.
* * * *
What effort it takes to hold that imaginary universe together.
So much simpler to abide in the pure awareness of eternity.
* * * *
All this was set in motion millions of years ago back in the jungles of Africa.
We are all born of a natural selection process that runs through the core of our DNA.
No point getting upset about the fact that men do what men do, and women do what women do.
The contemporary world may make the tango of our species absurdly complex,
But the fundamental patterning is ever very much the same.
* * * *
The mind is an insatiable beast, ever hungry for more.
More food, more sex, more things, more power, more fame, more fortune.
Tamp down the ceaseless more-more-more of consciousness
If You wish to wander about free and clear.
* * * *
Awareness is pristine and immaculate and clear of any blemish or stain,
But is it at all possible for consciousness to be without judgment?
Is not everything thought one form of judgment or another?
Opinions, assumptions, stereotypes, conventions, ideals,
Ethics, principles, labels, laws, pigeonholes, beliefs,
Conclusions, notions, expectations, values, norms,
Any patterns, any definitions, any attitudes, whatsoever.
The roots of pride, of vanity, are saturated with all of the above.
* * * *
You do not exist in any way, any shape, any form, you think you do.
You are an imaginary, whimsical, fantastical creature,
Really no more real than a unicorn.
* * * *
Why are some so surprised that our fellow earthlings are intelligent?
We are all products of the same indivisible quantum essence.
We are all playing our parts in the same dreamtime.
Why would they not be our equals in their own awareness?
* * * *
What is left to discover? What is left to win? What is left to conquer?
A battered-tattered-shattered world is not much to write home about.
* * * *
We are all very much alone together,
In this beyond all pales, magical mystery quantum matrix theater.
Everyone has their own vision, their own insight, their own conclusion, their own frame of reference.
No one can possibly see anything the same, so why should anyone be all that concerned,
What anyone else thinks or says or writes, or how they spend their time?
All the gossip is just imagination galloping its merry way.
* * * *
No matter how far You wander, how long You wander, where You wander, how You wander,
You will ever be abiding in the very same eternal prior-to-consciousness awareness.
You will ever be enduring in the very same perpetual right-here-right-now.
* * * *
What do You do when You are alone?
What do You do when there is no other about?
When there is no expectation, no reward, no punishment.
When there is no applause, no sanction, no rejection, no confinement.
What do You do when all bounds are entirely your own?
* * * *
What point to knowing it all, having it all, being it all, seeing it all, winning it all?
No matter the genetic role allotted, You are forever the same awareness,
You are ever the same essence, the same undying ever-present.
* * * *
Every life form ever born is of the same source.
Biological organisms sculpted of the same quantum essence.
No matter how large, no matter how small, none are really different at all.
For humankind to assert itself distinct or superior in any way, in any shape, in any form,
Is nothing more than consciousness imagining a collusion of delusion.
* * * *
Awareness is prior to consciousness.
Awareness is eternal, timeless, boundless.
Consciousness is temporal, time-bound, limited.
A dream and dreamer ensnared in a quantum mirage.
* * * *
If what is real, if what is true, is not equally free to all without conditions,
Then it is just another middleman invention, just another middleman scam.
* * * *
Believing your little blip of existence
Will make any significant impact is laughable.
Historical archives are chock-full of the all-but-forgotten.
Oblivion awaits your surrender.
* * * *
What is sorrow but insistent, unrelenting self-absorption,
Unable to see anything beyond poor-me-poor-myself-poor I.
* * * *
How interested are you really in digging graves and attending wakes and funerals?
Do family and friends and acquaintances really carry that much emotional significance?
Or is it all nothing more than a who-buries-who obligation, you bear with a sigh of resignation?
* * * *
To believe yourself wise,
To believe yourself an astute sage,
Can be yet another road through purgatory,
Yet another cautionary tale.
* * * *
Differences are ultimately not at all what the mind perceives them to be.
Emphasis on them disregards the indivisibility that equally permeates all.
* * * *
So many words, so many concepts, so many philosophies, so many dogmas.
All artificial, all just to describe, to explain, to illustrate, to capture, what always boils down,
To the same timeless, unborn, undying, ungraspable mystery of awareness.
The eternal source that requires absolutely none of it.
* * * *
Dependence on tradition is a stupor that dulls the blade of discernment.
To stay free, to stay alert, to awaken to the greatest vision, best wander alone.
* * * *
Why should it take any effort to be what you are?
It most certainly did not when you were very young.
If there is struggle, imagination is ever the usual suspect.
If consciousness is but a dream, why give it credence?
* * * *
No matter how immense or minute, how bright or dim, any given mind –
Musical-rhythmically, visual-spatially, verbal-linguistically, logical-mathematically,
Bodily-kinesthetically, interpersonally, intrapersonally, naturalistically , existentially , morally –
That given mind is ever bound in the limits of space-time by its imaginary protagonist.
* * * *
All creation is devised of the same common denominator,
The same essence, the same ground, the same matrix, the same quantum.
Conservation of energy, indeed.
* * * *
So many tribal mindsets arguing and battling and shunning and destroying,
Over assumptions about a mystery they can never dominate.
A mystery to which all have equal access,
But none can ever own.
* * * *
Yet another physical edifice, yet another conceptual edifice.
How we do like to build so many things to such great heights.
* * * *
What is organized religion but never-ending waves of covetous middlemen,
Fabricating new ways to bedazzle and betray and bilk the unwitting sheeples.
* * * *
Why fill your immaculate, indelible, eternal mind,
With any religious labels, with any religious dogmas,
To which our kind is so needlessly, pointlessly addicted?
Awareness is all there is, and there ain’t no more.
* * * *
To give the mystery of awareness any name is dubious.
It is far too great a mystery to be confined in any way.
* * * *
What so many call love so often seems such a shallow, selfish thing.
It generates an endless assortment of pleasurable endorphins,
But is easily traded when opportunity raises its head,
And often morphs into hate in that process.
* * * *
Awareness will ever remain exactly the same, no matter how it is branded.
It is impossible to burden its stillness, its serenity, its silence,
With any twist or turn of conscious design.
* * * *
Is there anything more tiring, more irritating, than working for a suit,
Who does not have the wit to comprehend and appreciate all you offer?
* * * *
It is all merely indivisible quantum matter,
Playing out a show in each and every mind,
None of it ultimately mattering all the while.
* * * *
Evolution has sculpted life into many patterns, many forms, many ways and means,
But it is ever the same soupy essence bubbling away beneath each and every surface.
All separation, all difference, all uniqueness, is nothing more than imaginary notion.
* * * *
Treat the corporeal container wisely, with respect and care,
Or it will have its revenge, my friend, it will have its revenge.
* * * *
Call it Brahman, call it Tao, call it Buddha, call it God, call it Yahweh, call it Allah,
Call it Great Spirit, call it Soul, call it Quantum, call it You, call it whatever you please,
It is far too great, far too inscrutable a mystery to be limited in any way, any shape, any form.
* * * *
The human mind, human consciousness, is an insatiable beast,
Ravenously consuming everything it can, seeking experience at every level,
Including attempting to grasp, to know, the immeasurable unknown,
Whose indelible mystery is eternally, indivisibly unbreachable.
* * * *
There is a very wearing danger in attaching too much relevance,
To the academics and their endless round-and-round,
In the Ivory Tower Trivial Pursuit Game.
* * * *
At the end of any given day, at the end of any given existence,
You will be the same awareness, the same right-hereness-right-nowness,
That You were on the first day of your immaculate entry into this mystery theater.
The inscrutable moment – omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent –
Is incapable of being anything other than now.
* * * *
Are the one-percenters and their minions ever truly loyal,
To anything but gold and the things it buys, the trinkets it owns?
Only too late do the Midases discern the immeasurable they have missed.
Only too late do they comprehend the true gold, they have never in mind, mined.
* * * *
What is this human hunger, this obsession, for there to be a point to it all?
What is so challenging for so many, about not having an explanation for something,
That every stratagem from superstition to science, is used to engineer one account or another.
* * * *
A surer way to autonomy,
Is to neither borrower nor lender be.
To neither owe, nor be owed,
Allows a freer wander.
* * * *
The danger in all the religious studies babble, is that you will never wake up,
To the real point, of all that has times-beyond-counting, been said or written.
* * * *
Alas that a sizable number of two-leggeds in this dreamworld,
Are not capable of the critical thinking required of a scientific mind.
Far, far easier, to be naïve, to be credulous, to be superstitious.
* * * *
What if there is a final answer, and it still does not quench your ever-humming discontent?
What if it is yes? What if it is no? What if it is maybe? What if it is nothing? What if it is 42?
* * * *
Do not confuse the witness you are with what is witnessed.
Do not attach, do not cling in any way, in any shape, in any form,
The mystery you are, with the dream playing out about you.
* * * *
The relatively negligible persona You play in that mortal container, is a one-time show.
An extemporaneous fabrication of imagination, that has no fundamental reality, whatsoever.
What you truly are, is indivisibly more, and there is nothing individual, nothing personal about it.
* * * *
It is religions that are dead, not God.
That which is perpetual source, is very much present.
Very much eternally, indivisibly, permanently, right here, right now.
Very much the unborn-undying, unfathomable awareness, the witness, You truly are.
* * * *
A brief, narcissistic existence, replete with fabricated, delusionary meaning,
Surrounded in all directions by an eternally infinite ocean of purposelessness.
* * * *
However small or large the group, whether twosome or family or tribe or culture,
Or organization or country, or the entire species worldwide, across all time,
What is the will of the people, but a continually surging me-me-me.
* * * *
Yet another nuance with which to foster power and fame and fortune,
In whatever combination, whatever sequence, the given fate has in store.
* * * *
There is … just … this moment.
There has always been … just … this moment.
There will always be … just … this moment.
No matter how deeply you yearn for more,
There are no manifest points to connect.
Space and time are but an illusion,
Kaleiedoscoping through it.
* * * *
The given brain is a quantum tool in which you abide for a fated time,
And with awareness and gumption and grit, and a pinch of good fortune,
You will perchance learn to maneuver it well, and without too much fallout.
* * * *
All histories are but piecemeal fabrications of illusory perceptions,
Born of sensory mind-bodies wandering a quantum playhouse.
Space is unreal, time is unreal, light is unreal, sound is unreal.
All is but imaginary notion, make-believe narratives from any get-go.
Only the immaculate awareness through which consciousness streams is real.
* * * *
What is this me … what is this myself … what is this I … but a time-bound dream of self-absorption.
… egocentric … ethnocentric … chronocentric … geocentric … heliocentric … cosmoscentric …
It is all about an imaginary me-me-me … projecting in every way, in every shape, in every form.
* * * *
All the gusting flurries of the mind-body, are of absolutely no consequence to the eternal awareness.
The myriad concoctions of imagination, are but time-bound fabrications,
Of an ever-changing make-believe reality.
If you yearn for tranquility, if you yearn for true Self,
Abide the cosmos kaleidoscoping about you in the ground of awareness.
* * * *
The motley winds of consciousness with all its attributes, all its dualities:
Black and white hot and cold, full and empty, good and evil, life and death,
Has absolutely nothing to do with the still awareness through which it blows.
* * * *
In the grand finale, as you exhale that last wheezing breath, and perhaps long before,
All your thoughts, all your deeds, will amount to the same nada,
As before you gasped that first one.
* * * *
Essentially the same no-rewind-no-excuses meaning.
Essentially the same oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.
* * * *
The Seven Deadly Sins: Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Wrath, Greed, Sloth;
Each triggers its own unique gratification, its own distinct hormonal stimulation.
Look around and witness the countless extremes so many across the board,
Are in their nature-nurture frame of reference inspired to experience.
Tales told by idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
* * * *
All across the world, the same conversations.
No matter the geography, no matter the time, no matter the culture,
No matter the tradition, no matter the politic, no matter the economics, no matter the technology,
No matter the religion, no matter the philosophy, no matter the language, no matter the dress,
No matter the gender, no matter the family, no matter the education, no matter the work,
No matter the war, no matter the sport, no matter the pastimes, no matter anything;
Each and every human being, males and females of all ages and persuasions,
Are in every way imaginable, essentially having the same conversations.
* * * *
Bookstores, libraries, museums, thrift shops, garage sales, dusty collections, landfills, fiery pyres.
Selling, giving, burying, burning, books of every imaginable title written across the world, across time.
Billions and billions, likely even trillions of thoughts, set down again and again, forever again.
As if it really matters.
* * * *
Consciousness and all its imaginary assumptions, is a tyrannical figment,
Founded upon the evolutionary happenstance of the biological imperative.
* * * *
Mother Nature is immortal creator and destroyer.
Every moment simultaneously making and unmaking.
An ever-changing quantum apparition playing at existence.
Ever streaming, kaleidoscoping, appearing, dissolving.
Unconditionally, indivisibly, nothing all the while.
* * * *
Do you hurt or kill someone,
Because they do not see it or do it your way?
How absurdly ludicrous is that?
* * * *
You are the ever-present awareness, commandeered by the given biological container,
Sailing the illusion of space-time, playing out whatever consciousness its capacity allows.
* * * *
Who is your tribe?
Who are your parents, your siblings?
What is you gender, your race, your religion, your culture?
What are all your attachments to this dreamtime world, or some rumored next one?
And what, by the way, makes you so sure any of it is truly real,
Or that you were ever even born?
* * * *
The challenge is to not confuse the witness you are with what is witnessed.
To not attach in any way, in any shape, in any form, the awareness you truly are,
With the sensory-inspired illusion-delusion of time and space kaleidoscoping about you.
You are pure awareness cloaked in a quantum reverie; nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
Awareness is simultaneously, indivisibly, indelibly prior,
To any and all illusions sponsored by space and time.
* * * *
This moment, this awareness, is what You have always been.
This moment, this awareness, is what You will always be.
There is no more to it, there is no less to it.
All else is naught but vain notion.
* * * *
Ponder, if you will, every life form from small to great, sentient to insentient,
All born of the same indivisible mystery, all born with the same immutable awareness.
Each and every one, very much alone, crafting its own unique translation of the quantum play,
Each and every one simultaneously dreaming an existence, a world, a universe, in its own distinct way.
* * * *
The tyranny of mind,
All its ironies, all its paradoxes, all its becomings,
Is unending until it ends.
* * * *
Timeless awareness is what you are, is all you are.
The quantum theater and all its countlessly boggling attributes,
Is but an imaginary, touchy-feely, three-dimensional light and sound show.
A dream of time and space, ever gone as quickly as it came.
* * * *
Same old yada yada middleman,
Marketing the same old snake oil,
Repackaged with a shiny new label.
* * * *
The future is fucked in just about every way imaginable.
What will happen to all the young folk when their entitlement collapses?
Hopefully, the aliens will have a time machine, when they show up in a few million years.
* * * *
Destiny is founded upon the sands of mind,
Written and unwritten every ephemeral moment,
By the imaginary continuum of assumption.
* * * *
More food you shall never eat, more liquor you shall never drink.
More books you shall never read, more music you shall never hear,
More movies you shall never watch, more places you shall never see,
More clothes you shall never wear, more furniture you shall never use.
So many things you can never do, so many things you will never do.
In the endless, ceaseless, perpetual, more of more, more, more.
* * * *
The vanity of the human drama is a ceaseless, absurdity-laden circus.
Buddha did it his way, Hitler did it his, your mother did it hers.
What difference in the indivisible quantum reality, really?
* * * *
So many things you can never do, so many things you will never do.
There is no point letting your panties get all bunched up about anything, really.
Much better give it the stiff-upper-lip “oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.”
* * * *
The ephemeral ground of imagination
Is built upon the ever-present quantum swirl.
The everything, the everywhere, nothing all the while.
* * * *
To declare, to assert, “I am free.”
Who is the I? What is am? What is freedom?
Imagination, what an illusory jester.
* * * *
So much gluttony, and for what, but frivolous gratification,
And momentary, futile distraction, from loneliness and self-pity.
Governing the ever-hungry mind, requires a discipline so many lack.
* * * *
The electromagnetic spectrum is but a swirl of illusion,
A dream to which you may or may not choose to subscribe.
* * * *
All human beings are shaped by the nature-nurture, into which they are involuntarily cast.
All are conditioned, trained, programmed, indoctrinated, disciplined, humbled, tamed, cultivated,
Domesticated, subjugated, suppressed, conquered, curbed, pacified, repressed, brainwashed.
To unshackle one’s true Self, to un-wash the mind, requires a great deal of discernment.
Each, very much alone, must choose, must grapple, to be free of all the absurdity.
* * * *
Despite all their names, all governments are oligarchies of one form or another,
Motivating the masses with whatever carrot or stick keeps the agenda moving.
* * * *
Enduring this existence, surviving this existence,
Need not make you guilty in any way, in any shape, in any form.
Heavens, hells, reincarnation, karma, whatever beliefs have been set before you,
Are nothing more than concoctions, speculations, assumptions,
Of the those who would own your mind.
* * * *
Awareness is all there is, awareness is all there is not.
Ever-present, indivisible, immortal, unborn, undying, boundless.
The time and space continuum, is but a fleeting illusion of the quantum mind.
* * * *
Likely little or nothing of your dreamtime matters to anyone but you.
All your experiences, all your insights, all your sentiments, all your passions,
Mean squat to any other, in comparison to the attachment, you bear towards them.
* * * *
Nationalism, patriotism, jingoism, chauvinism, prejudice, xenophobia,
Are really nothing more than humankind’s seemingly genetic predisposition,
Towards the egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric-heliocentric groupthink dynamic.
As narrow-minded, closed-minded, insular, provincial, parochial, as imagination deigns.
* * * *
Across the human paradigm, derogatory comments about others,
Friends and strangers and enemies alike, is a most common trait.
* * * *
For most every problem, there is most likely one solution, if not several.
Perceived clearly, the most logical resolution or resolutions,
Will more than likely become apparent.
* * * *
What is the most priceless thing you can imagine?
And will, what is priceless today, be so tomorrow?
* * * *
There are always problems that need resolution.
The trick is to meet them directly, clearly, pragmatically,
With a mind that is open to the best solution in the given moment.
The less bother, the less drama, the better for all concerned.
* * * *
It is more than likely every other life form in this quantum garden,
Lives in the ever-present, unborn-undying awareness,
More than the most awakened sage.
* * * *
Winning and losing are but states of mind, adjustments in attitude.
Play any competition hard and well; always give it your best.
Winning gracefully, losing gracefully, is an art of its own.
* * * *
Are the many, who live fully in their thoughts, really alive?
Or are they but the walking dead, only imagining existence?
* * * *
The sensory mind hungers every moment for the cosmos it creates.
Only an austere-ascetic-frugal self-discipline, can hold the beast at bay.
* * * *
Regarding the genomic commonalities, the inherent behaviors of the human psyche:
Pride and envy and gluttony and lust and wrath and greed and sloth,
It is delusion for any individual, any group, any culture,
To believe itself in any way grander or superior to any other.
* * * *
Why would it really matter whether anyone ever thinks about you, whether anyone cares about you?
The reality, harsh as it may seem, is that you are timelessly, indivisibly alone.
Oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.
* * * *
No matter the culture, the geography, the time,
Every human being is subject to the same Seven Deadly Sins.
Pride, envy, gluttony, lust, wrath, greed, and sloth, are all potential in any mind.
To have the insight, the discipline, to keep them reigned in, to hold them in check, to keep them at bay,
To play them out as rationally, as temperately, as soberly, as judiciously, as ascetically,
As moderately as possible, is an every-moment challenge for all.
* * * *
From the first man, the first woman,
Nothing more than physics and chemistry and biology,
Orchestrating ever-present in the epochs of the given imaginary context.
* * * *
No history is ever exactly, what we imagine, what we translate, it to be,
And certainly not close to anything, even the most well-intentioned screenwriter,
Can bundle into a two-hour movie, a ten-hour documentary,
Or even a long-running mini-series.
* * * *
Life is a convoluted dream: Why should you not be convoluted dreamer?
Why should you be bound by any precept or principle, any theory or formula,
Any rule or law, any decree or edict, any order or directive, any concept or notion?
Why should you be obligated to any human-made mind-gorp, whatsoever?
* * * *
No one can change their fate, their destiny, their kismet, their luck, their doom.
All attempts are naught but what it is, kaleidoscoping into what it will be.
What it was, has ever been, will ever be, since the dawn of Creation.
* * * *
Every day the one-percenters and their underlings,
Diligently, greedily, voraciously, gluttonously labor,
To add yet another zero to their little piles of sand.
* * * *
Alas to all the migrants and refugees and homeless and countless other disenfranchise souls.
Tough being on the short end of the stick in this so-called civilized, road-to-perdition madhouse.
The one-percenters and their underlings have never given a rat's derrière for the tormented underclass.
They have always manipulated and enslaved the less potent folk to their own ends, and always will.
Revolutions and civil wars and assassinations, only put new masks on the same underlying greed.
* * * *
Discern directly what any given thinker says or writes.
Do not give great weight to middlemen and groupies.
* * * *
What makes anyone so beyond-an-iota-of-doubt-sure,
That anything ever really happened the way they arbitrarily perceived it?
And if perchance there is an objective, impartial truth, who or what can ever be witness to it?
Is it even the slightest bit possible for there to be an unbiased, impartial observer,
Without one relative, subjective, judgmental rendition or another?
* * * *
What is this great fear, this great dread,
That harbors ever-humming in this mammalian frame,
But the genomic pulse, the instinctive craving, the conscious obsession,
The ceaseless quest, the endless pursuit of unfeasible-unreachable-unattainable security,
That is never long-satisfied, never long at ease, no matter how we feed it?
Consciousness ever-tormented to churn on and on and on.
* * * *
Science is intuition, supported by experiments, by measurements, that can be duplicated.
Intuition alone, well, that is the matter of mystics, sitting in ashrams, staring at walls,
And unassuming observers, singing around campfires, drinking whisky and wine.
And occasionally, scientists, on wanders, musing with nary a gadget in hand.
* * * *
What curious things, sensory-inspired perceptions are.
Given so much credence, despite being entirely born up the wings of imagination.
Stories all, to whatever end, only imagination cares.
* * * *
Why would you ever presume that your awareness, your operating system, your source code,
Is any different, any greater, any lesser, than that of any other living life form small to great?
You are not superior or inferior to anything in this inexplicable, indivisible, quantum mystery.
* * * *
What is your calling, your vocation, your passion,
But whatever, given every thinkable, every possible option,
You would first and foremost, at least part of every day, choose to do.
* * * *
Without life, is there death?
Without good, is there evil?
Without light, is there dark?
Without white, is there black?
Without ecstasy, is there agony?
Without right, is there wrong?
Without love, is there hate?
Without yes, is there no?
Without either, is there or?
What is duality but a menagerie,
Of an all but infinite array of possibilities,
In which all dreams of consciousness dance their dance.
* * * *
Ambition, naked or well-cloaked, can be more savage than the most ferocious beast.
At least the beast stops until its corporeal hunger gives rise to the next chase.
Human hunger, the insatiable craving of consciousness, never sleeps.
* * * *
Your body, if it is your body, why is it always changing?
Where was it before you were born? Where will it be after you die?
And while in it, have you ever really been anything more than solitary witness,
To a boggling, sensory-inspired, ever-present, quickly-passing dream?
We call it space, we call it time, we call it real, we call it true,
But is it all any more than a dubious assumption?
* * * *
Everyone, everywhere, to whatever degree they can muster,
Investigates physics and chemistry and biology in their own unique way.
Some may well be more perceptive, more accurate, in their observations than others,
But all, right or wrong or indifferent, have their conclusions,
And play out their existence accordingly.
* * * *
We are all mad, each in our own unique way.
Any given normal is but capricious collusion.
* * * *
The electromagnetic spectrum is a mighty huge, relatively unknowable mystery,
Despite all scientific and mathematical and religious and philosophical and mystical,
And every other subjective and piecemeal investigation and assumption, to the contrary.
* * * *
How long can you shop and gorge your way,
Out of depression and dissatisfaction and boredom?
Consumption is a distraction, not a solution.
* * * *
This spinning orb has been usurped by psychopaths, sociopaths, narcissists, and sundry miscreants.
The more innocuous, less invasive folk, abide the heart-breaking absurdities as best as they can,
Growing gardens, taking long walks, and staring at walls in coffee shops, bars, and ashrams.
* * * *
History is woven into every language.
The dead reign from the graves of mind.
From the dusty realms at imagination’s end.
* * * *
What is this need, this monkey-mind drive, so many have,
To be on stage, to have others moving and swaying to their narcissism?
This deep longing for others to applaud them, to follow them, to mimic their delusion.
Why should, why would, how could, anyone travel the same direction, in the same manner as you?
* * * *
Duality’s menagerie is required for this dream,
To play its play, dance its dance, sing its song.
* * * *
Friends in low places.
Friends in high places.
Friends in the between.
What difference, really?
* * * *
Destiny is all, all is destiny.
Naught but a blink, a blip, a flash, a pfft, in all eternity.
Whatever that is, or is not.
* * * *
Knowing and unknowing, what difference to the timeless clarity of pure awareness?
Whether cloudy or clear, the skies are ever untouched by the trammels of consciousness.
Yes, your apparatus is perhaps more complex, your consciousness, your mind, more adroit,
But the essential awareness can be no different across any and all universes,
Or even the inexplicable dimensions beyond all beyonds.
* * * *
No doubt that you are brilliant in the light of your own singularity.
Alas that others cast so many shadows of relativity upon your vanity.
* * * *
Retirement is a don't-worry-be-happy state of mind.
How many who manage to depart the working world,
Do it well, even if they have all the money in the world?
* * * *
Ultimate truth, ultimate reality, whatever it is, whatever it is not,
Can never be ascertained through any means by the dream of consciousness.
All the perceptions, all the assumptions, that have ever played out in this quantum theater,
Are naught but an ever-momentary, ever-intangible, ever-relative, burst of imagination in awareness.
* * * *
All those now living, now abiding this desecrated world, will relatively soon be dead and forever gone.
What we all thought and did, about and to each other, what we all assumed real and true,
Will not matter even one scintilla to anyone but a relatively few academics,
And other accumulators of all things absurd and monotonous.
Assuming, of course, anyone manages to survive,
The dream we are bequeathing.