01 January 2015

Leftovers



To become a skeptic, a cynic, a doubter, an agnostic, one becomes an adversary of delusion,
An antagonist to the fallacies of mythology, superstition, and other cultural assumptions.
The mind of the critical thinker is its own reflection of what is real, and what is not.

* * * *
What hope can there be for harmony in a world swirled and hurled asunder
By the exponentially accelerating technologies of death and mayhem.
War is peace in this Darwinian leap into the survival of the fittest.
And those who endure, those who abide the dystopian future,
Are not necessarily the stronger, or the more intelligent,
But those most adaptable to the pendulum of time.

* * * *
No matter how assiduously one may give heart and mind
Over to some idea, some creed, some meme, some groupthink,
No individual existence can ever be close to being exactly the same.
Despite all thought and done, all are exclusive blends of the same stardust.

* * * *
The personal pronouns – I, you, he, she, it, we, they, me, him, her, us, them –
Should be considered in all these thoughts rather loosely used,
Given that “we” are really nothing more than the nothingnesss of awareness,
Playing a game of charades conditioned by time, drawing toward a whimpering conclusion.

* * * *
Measuring our decline one graph at a time;
Kind of like an already bad poker hand that only draws worse.
The good news is that we will be leaving behind a prodigious collection of videos
For the extraterrestrials to check out when they finally show up.

* * * *
Best to be somewhat cautious with that body.
It is the only one you will have on this relatively brief journey.
It is more than a little fun to toss it around and gratify it with every form of indulgence,
But know that there are many consequences to each of the deadly sins.
Pride, envy, gluttony, lust, wrath, greed, and sloth,
Should never to be taken lightly.

* * * *
The grace of youth, the wonder of innocence, sooner or later, quickly or slowly,
Gives way to the inevitable decline and fall of sickness, injury, aging and dying.
The end of all entitlement, no matter how grand, is most assuredly guaranteed.

* * * *
The idolatry of form has drawn many a mind throughout the rise of humankind.
How many whimsical notions have been fabricated across the world,
Faces we can see rather than the one and only we cannot.

* * * *
Is money to be considered an end, a raison d'être, in itself,
Or a means to survive, a means to experience one’s fleeting existence,
In as many satisfying, entertaining, hedonistic, even enlightening ways, as possible?

* * * *
What is light?  What is dark?  What is good?  What is evil?
What is right?  What is wrong?  What is agony?  What is ecstasy?
And what is the impenetrable awareness permeating all things imagined?

* * * *
Likely not many are watching you, or thinking about you,
Near as much as your monkey-mind might choose to believe.
You are only the center of your imaginary version of the universe.

* * * *
How can there be even a trace of loneliness
Once the eternal aloneness of the ultimate nature is discerned?
It is not a thing to be dreaded or forestalled once the monkey-mind is transcended.
Embracing its indivisible sanctity is the truest religion.

* * * *
Sophistication in any field of endeavor
Is a matter of how the given capacities and limitations
Double-double-toil-and-trouble their way into conscious awareness.
Who are the most skillful but the few-and-far-between giving their fullest attention.

* * * *
So what?
To everything.

* * * *
For as long as there is air, and a body-mind bent on existing,
You are free to breathe it in and breathe and it out,
A witness to the mystery beyond measure.
Enjoy in joy as best ye are able.

* * * *
The scientific mind is ever observing,
Ever exploring everything in everyway imaginable.
True science is transcends all boundaries.

* * * *
Your only constraint is being locked up in the temporal body.
The indivisible youness you really are knows no bounds.
Only imagination binds itself to the given universe.

* * * *
There are no exceptions, no exemptions, no get-out-of-jail cards.
All are destined for one expiration date or another.
More certain than taxes, to be sure.

* * * *
We are all the center of our unique little dream; every conscious thing is.
None can be the same, no matter how diligent the effort,
And why even try?  Why even bother?

* * * *
Narcissism is defined as the pursuit of gratification
From vanity or egotistical admiration of one's own attributes.
If you are past all that, if you have transcended the given mind-body,
Why should you not esteem your essential Self with every ounce of your being?

* * * *
The thoughts of time mixed and remixed times beyond counting.
Who knows what was scribbled when or where,
And why would it matter?
Wisdom is the coin of eternity.

* * * *
Consciousness is capable of anything imagination can conceive and physics allow.
It boils down to playing out the blueprint, the programming,
Of the given seed line as it sprouts into time.

* * * *
What is an orgasm but the mind’s most innate high,
A very present, very pleasurable detonation in the timeless now.
A disintegration, a dissolution, of any sense of self, of any sense of separation.
Is it any wonder our species gallops the edge of obsession about everything to do with it?
Sexuality is the wellspring, the underlying force, the fulcrum of human history.
Power, renown, prosperity, the creativity of art, science, technology,
All have come about as aphrodisiacs to its gratification.
And all of it the evolutionary outcome
Of the genomic ambition to abide evermore.

* * * *
So many faces come and gone in the rolodex of life.
So many moments spent together, so many things shared.
What happened to them all, what stories unfolded into destiny?
The things we can never know of our dreamtime are many and large.

* * * *
Every eye, a subjective filter.
Objectivity is the ruse of idealistic notion.
No matter how detached, how indifferent the endeavor,
It is ever seen through the personal coloring of the conditioned mind.

* * * *
What are all human beings but liars, cheats, thieves, murderers, and anarchists.
At the cradle of the genetic lottery, we are the jungle from which we were spun.

* * * *
What is so dysfunctional, so surreal, about the human species,
Is its obsession with what others think, and what others think about them.
Groupthink has been a mainstay of our survival in this dreamtime,
But its interminable absurdities are beyond measure.

* * * *
Existence creates many questions, answers to which often raise many more,
And on and on knowledge bounds into its fabricated future.
What is the parable of Adam and Eve
But the plucking of knowledge from the garden,
And then carrying on with whatever its imaginary whirl concocted,
Eventually swirling into the marvel and madness of these our so-called modern times.

* * * *
Unless you have managed to achieve the higher percentiles,
Best to be practical and frugal, best to live within your means.
Exorbitant debt can get unmanageably ugly way too very quickly.

* * * *
This universe, this world, was not created by meekness,
By fear, by hope, by political correctness, by any absurdity whatsoever.
The vagaries of the human condition are but a hiccup in the unfolding eternal theater.

* * * *
Is the me you think you know, the me I think I am?
Of course not, nor would the visa-versa ever be bona fide, either.
We are all one-of-a-kind imaginary universes, each and every one at center stage,
All of it happening in a quantum sort-of-maybe indivisible way.

* * * *
Consciousness is an insatiable force.
Were it to heartily devour the entire universe,
Were it to experience absolutely everything imaginable,
It would not be enough, it would still yearn for more, more, more.

* * * *
Same old story in yet another tale.
The cast, the crew, the stage, has changed,
But the patterned narrative is very much the same.

* * * *
A great curiosity, a great absurdity, about this two-legged drama,
Is why so many are so concerned what others think or do.
What is all this judgment but a survival mechanism
Bred into being in the jungles of long ago.
Yay or nay, it is ever entangling.

* * * *
All concepts, whether of some god,
A horse, a chair, a rock, a star, or some abstract quantum formula,
Are born of limitation because they can never be more than formulations of temporal consciousness.
No sound will ever be more than a vibration, no perception will ever be tangible,
Including the you that you in mind-body believe so real.
It is all a dream born if imagination.

* * * *
If history has proven anything,
It is that far too many always manage
To talk themselves into just about anything.

* * * *
Very dubious whether our seemingly innate attachment to the past,
To whatever tradition, to whatever time and geography, we might subscribe,
Is leaving many if any real options in the future just round the bend.

* * * *
If there is a purpose in all this, then surely this here, this now, is it.
An immense theater in which you, a drop in all, are the all in a drop.
The real and only you, sovereign, absolute, indivisibly immaculate.

* * * *
Imagine all the life forms on this garden planet,
And realize that you are of the same clayness as each and every one.
Look out into the sea of stars, and discern the same.
All are cousins of the same source.

* * * *
Every geography in its own time is its own brand of modern,
All likely equally resistant to other renderings of the same.

* * * *
Nature’s dogma is the unwritten law determined and enforced by quantum mechanics:
Irrevocable, irreversible, unalterable, unchangeable, immutable, undeniable,
Incontrovertible, indisputable, permanent, binding, absolute, final.

* * * *
Time to get another trim, cut another nail.
Time to eat another steak, drink another bottle of wine.
Time to take another jaunt, another walk, another shit, another piss.
Time to fill another form, smog another car, pay another bill, lace up another shoe.
Time to abide another debate, cast another stone, suffer another injury, endure another death.
How many times does one need to do something to catch the drift?

* * * *
Who contemplates?
Who perceives?
Who knows?
Who cares?
Who feels?
Who loves?
Who hates?
Who believes?
Who does anything?

* * * *
Somewhere in time, somewhere in space,
Some mind first said it, first wrote it, first built it,
Different mind, same mind, all derived of the same essence.

* * * *
Assuming any survive the dystopian now daily unfolding,
They will be walking in the ruins of greed and self-absorption
Unlike which the world and all its critters have ever seen.

* * * *
Ultimately, the final chore is to let go
All you have done, all you have not done,
All that the world is, all that the world is not,
And just quietly wander in unutterable solitude.

* * * *
You are but a fleeting window in the seed principle’s theater of dreamtime.
Think what you will of its inexplicable mystery, you are but a player,
And all your conclusions, all your assumptions, mean nothing.

* * * *
Quantifying, measuring everything imaginable, what is the point, really?
Being ever-present with this inexplicable sojourn,
Now that is a challenge, indeed.

* * * *
Science and technology stand on the shoulders of all those who have come before.
Turtles all the way down, and all the way up, too, for as long as the dream plays out.

* * * *
Time and space is but a mortal fabrication of neuron trails and memory cells.
The nothing more, nothing less of quantum vapor playing the indivisible real.

* * * *
So many haranguing from some pulpit in their mind: ‘Don’t do this, don’t do that.’
All based on utterly absurd, often contradictory notions written thousand of years ago,
Warnings of a go-directly-to-hell naughty list kept by some Santa Claus up in the clouds.
Well, any defensive lineman worth his salt knows to shove back or sally around the block.
There is not any doctrine, any on-high authority, that means squat to those bent on discovery.

* * * *
If you take your body, your vehicle, your temple, your meat machine, for granted,
It will only be too unhappy to again and again, in many ways,
Remind you of the error of your ways.

* * * *
Different geographies, different cultures, different languages, different livelihoods, different clothes,
Different foods, different sports, different creeds, different absurdities,
Different this, that, and the other thing,
Same monkey.

* * * *
And what would this inane world be like if we all respected each other,
If we all treated one another as we would ourselves choose to be treated?
Is the so-called Golden Rule anything more than an ideal, a soporific notion,
To which vanity only rarely allows more than lip service be paid.

* * * *
Revenge has a long memory,
And it is only through self-restraint
That it is not severely exacted at some point.
How many are fortunate that they have not endured
What others have contemplated with one apparatus or another.

* * * *
What curious thing how flesh can in one instance be so enticing,
And in another be only just a few clicks short of horrifying.
Everything abides in one slice of relativity or another.
Perception is all, and all must endure one way or another.

* * * *
Not even one moment in your entire existence has ever been more than a dream.
None of it has ever been truly real but for the ephemeral nothingness
That is as close to “reality” as this mystery can ever be.

* * * *
What solution can there be to the interminability of it all,
When the universe you were in no longer exists.
When you are, each and every moment,
Ever streaming past the point of no return.

* * * *
Human beings are absolutely no different
Than any other biological entities in this manifest realm,
And we will, each and every one of us, disincorporate the same as every other
In Mother Nature’s magically indifferent dream of time.

* * * *
So many interesting things to do in life
That are entirely satisfied by a spoonful of imagination,
The real thing often being far too out of reach,
Or too bothersome to bother doing.

* * * *
So many wandering about,
Regurgitating one blather or another,
When right smack dab in the middle of their mind
Is the most inexplicable mystery they could ever hope to discern.

* * * *
Time travel?  Get real.
How can you cross something that does not exist
As anything more than an imaginary notion?

* * * *
To exist free of vanity is a rare feat, indeed, and more often than not only in deep sleep.
Whether it is even possible on more than sporadic occasions when awake
Might well be cause for the greatest vanity possible,
And even get you dangled on a cross or molded into a statue.

* * * *
Those hairy things that swing from branch to branch, yes, you are closely related.
What is a few million years of evolution when you are really talking
The billions it took to build the stage in the first place.

* * * *
There is little or no point in trying to explain or justify anything to anyone, really.
May as well remain mute to those who will never understand the inner quest.
The apologist for the ephemeral is ultimately only babbling away to Self.

* * * *
As perfect as the word, the number, the note, the line, the hue, might be,
It is instantly but a perception forever caught in the amber of imagination.

* * * *
Everyone believes whatever falsehoods they want to believe,
Until doubt perhaps slowly sprouts in one cranny, one nook or another.
And from that moment on, who knows where the long and winding road will lead.

* * * *
The task is to discern the nature of heaven in the hell humankind has made of paradise.
There is no god, no devil, there is no good, no evil, there is only consciousness imagining all.
And you are really very much on your own in figuring it out in whatever way suits you.

* * * *
Words, numbers, notes, lines,
And other such conceptual intrigues
Are the endless playground of imagination.
They cavort with nothing to their heart’s content.

* * * *
If you are acting out some dogma you are beating a wrong tack.
There is no right way, there is no wrong way,
There is only the Way.

* * * *
What a tale to tell of all these overlapping monopoly games
Striving for pride’s supremacy in the Game of Mammon,
Which we must all play – like it or no – to some degree.

* * * *
What we call goodness is consciousness without ulterior motive.
What we call evil is consciousness distorted by perception
Into every imaginable contortion of self absorption.

* * * *
The Seventh Day was much more a paradise
Than the human mind has fashioned in the Eighth.
And the Ninth is coming up to bat, the Tenth is on deck,
And what roster will play beyond that, only the mystery knows.

* * * *
Rest as easy as the abrasive traces of the mind-body allow
In all the tensions your existence has inspired in its neurological frame.
It is the anxiety all life forms balance in order to survive,
In order to propagate a future for its kind.

* * * *
Best not to declare most anything impossible,
For there always seems to be someone in one cubicle or another
Looking to find a way to prove you wrong yet again.

* * * *
Why should you not be somewhat irritated, frustrated, irascible,
That your innocence was defiled, corrupted, maligned,
By the wearing quagmire of human inanity?

* * * *
“It is this way,” said one. “No, it is this way,” asserted another.
“No, it is neither of those ways, it is this way,” argued yet another.
And on and on and on, in the all right and all wrong of all who bother.

* * * *
Religious fervor ebbs and flows, rises and falls, in the bell curves of time.
Eternal life is the essence, the genesis, of the ever-present now,
The born again-ness of each and every moment.

* * * *
To consciously be the light unto thy Self,
Is up to you, and you alone, to explore and discover.
An ever-present journey through a long and winding mind, to be sure.

* * * *
What need for worship, for piety, for virtue,
For belief, for faith, for dogma, for idolatry, for ritual,
Once you have discerned what you truly are is prior to all creation.

* * * *
Even the intelligent, the honorable, the healthy, the beautiful, the loving,
Earn the undivided attention of maggots and other experts of obliteration.

* * * *
Meditation is suspending the worldly attributes fabricated by the sensory mind,
And instead wandering about in the timeless indivisibility of the quantum ether.

* * * *
So many distractions this manifest creation offers:
Tangible and intangible, in every ways and means imaginable.
But what is a Self to do when all become so passé,
When even watching it is bother.

* * *
The body may exist, the mind may think, but is it really you doing any of it?
Are you really any more than witness to the given nature-nurture?
Attached only to the mesmerizing churning of the senses,
And the innumerable vain notions they parlay?

* * * *
Forget everything, and what else will you be
But what you are, have ever been, will ever be,
Minus the space, minus the time, minus the fiction.

* * * *
It is your desire for more and fear of less that leaves you time-bound,
That leaves the born-again-death of eternal life ever just out of reach.

* * * *
That which was never born has no measure.
It is an indivisible essence, a potency igniting all.
All discrimination is born of the miasma of imagination.

* * * *
We all seek out others who perceive the world the same,
And yet no one ever does, no one ever can,
Because it is just not possible
To transcend the aloneness within all.

* * * *
Do you think any worm chewing on your eyeball in some future past
Would ever care any more about you than you do that chicken?
Everything is fare for one indifferent beast or another.

* * * *
Best to introspect your own cabaret before judging another’s.
We are all cousins of the same puddle; we all live in glass houses.

* * * *
Awareness is the immortal connection
That indivisibly transcends all creations great to small,
Across all heavens, all hells, further than any eye but one will ever see.

* * * *
Once you are free of karma, whatever happened
To reach this timeless, ephemeral moment, no longer matters.
Here you are, the one in the same, as liberated as you care, or uncare, to be.

* * * *
Even the sharpest, most strident blade cannot pierce the awareness never born.
Timeless, changeless, ageless, indivisibly, immortally indifferent to any stab or slice.

* * * *
How some minds spend their existence in the ecstasy of creative fire,
And others abide unable to lend more than an occasional spark,
Is a mystery for which spectators tithe a great deal of coin.

* * * *
This spinning garden is both womb and graveyard,
And the existence between but a wormhole
In the grand matrix of oblivion.

* * * *
Ego is the source of all flaws, the playground of all flaws, the upshot of all flaws.
What other creature across this world daily carries such a burdensome weight.

* * * *
Star stuff come unto life.
Thou art quantum, thou art god, thou art whatever,
Forever and evers beyond.

* * * *
What is sex, what is an orgasm, but stimulation,
Friction, by your own hand or another’s.
Cloaked with every imaginable justification of mind,
But really nothing more than the most primal urge to procreate
Playing out the genetic lottery’s ultimately pointless pursuit of immortality.

* * * *
What is this phenomenon called life
But a collection of extremely vague notions,
To which a completely imagined self is so attached.

* * * *
The best teaching is spontaneous, anonymous,
Where teacher and student connect deeply,
And perhaps never see each other again.

* * * *
What need to have some group, some herd, corroborate the obvious?
What need to teach, to illuminate, that which cannot be taught?
What need to pretend that which is only ever pretend?

* * * *
What culture, what tradition, what meme, what ethos, what world,
Can withstand the onslaught of six billion in just two hundred years?

* * * *
Misogyny and misandry are the loathing of innate differences
Selected in the puddles, the jungles, the diverse geographies, of long ago.
What it took to survive, to abide, in those way-back-when’s are far different stories
In these our modern, materialistic, overwrought, so-called civilized times.

* * * *
The dark side of our indelible tool-making ability, all our technologies,
Is how often we are overwhelmed and burdened, even subjugated,
By their efficiency, by their sovereignty, by their omnipotence.

* * * *
As if any individual, any group, any culture, any mindset,
Can really change or control a world, a universe,
This colossal, this diverse, this complex,
This unutterably mysterious.

* * * *
A bubble of awareness, nothing more, nothing less.
Naught but imagination coupled with the sensory feed,
Dressing it infinitesimal to infinite, as the given mind allows.

* * * *
Who is not both predator and prey, hunter and quarry, slayer and slain,
At capricious junctures in this temporal theater of existence.
Each has its time, each as its place, and the rub
Is knowing when, is knowing how.

* * * *
The same conversations have been going on since the advent of language.
Only cultural distinctions shaped by geography and time
Have made them appear different,
And humanity has never dealt well with contrasts.

* * * *
Go to that state of solitude, that awareness before to time,
That eternal here-now prior to consciousness,
Where no other has never abided.
That placeless place,
The source code of creation.

* * * *
What is any history, any saga, any memoir, any narration,
But a set of partial perceptions of one mind or many,
Precisely asserted by one storyteller or another.
What really transpired any given here now
Is likely always a dubious assumption.

* * * *
Mind-altering substances can be teachers, guides, companions,
That aid the exploration of the relativity of consciousness,
And the inexplicable mystery from whence it arises,
Harmful only if they are misused and abused.
Moderation, equilibrium, equanimity, in all things.

* * * *
It is in consciousness that all heavens and hells reside.
In awareness, the origin of all things,
There is nothing
But the serenity of oblivion.

* * * *
You are going to have to let go of everyone and everything eventually.
The choice is whether or not to wake up and embrace it choicelessly now,
Or continually to be carried astray by the countless mirages of mind,
Until that last wheezing breath takes you away deaf and blind.

* * * *
The truth is equally within all things from great and small,
And only those who surrender to its beingness
Are free of imagination’s constraints.

* * * *
It can be more than a little challenging, looking in that mirror
And seeing the geezer or hag you so easily ignored when you were young.
Along with all the many aches and pains and regrets of aging,
Probably one of the harder parts about growing old
Is remembering that you were young.

* * * *
Any given dogma is about power and control,
And desire and fear will ever give way to the carrot and stick
That extract the tithing toward whatever coffer
Some other inevitably contrives.

* * * *
Time does not exist.
It never has, and never will.
It is entirely an invention of imagination,
And without the neural pathways fashioned by evolution,
Its presumption the dreamtime of creation would never have entertained.

* * * *
To abide in the timeless truth of this manifest reverie,
One must focus attention upon that which is prior to consciousness,
That momentary awareness ever prior to the me-myself-and-I of conscious design.

* * * *
The sound of one hand clapping is the sound of …
The big bang five trillion big bangs ago,
The moment just before a sneeze,
The other hand clapping,
A dust ball swirling,
An atom splitting,
A minnow winking,
A wave’s furthest reach,
The wiggle of a loose tooth,
Dust settling upon a dewdrop,
The moment before a door slams,
Wind wafting along the edge of a rock,
Time changing on the face of a digital clock,
A water balloon bursting through a chain link fence,
The brush of a butterfly’s wing upon the surface of the moon,
A paper plane gliding through the stillness of a room,
The ground falling toward a descending plane,
Sunlight reflecting off a beetle’s back,
A wheel bouncing above the road,
A mosquito’s needle piercing,
A gnat flapping one wing,
The space between the eyes,
A crippled cockroach dancing,
A tear tugged downward by gravity,
A spit wad just before smacking its target,
Angels dancing madly on the proverbial pinhead.
The pause between breaths, the breath between pauses.

* * * *
A question for the scientist who harbors in any inquisitive mind,
Has a hypothesis to spare, and inclination for observation within and without:
Is creativity, is consciousness, enhanced by oxygen deprivation
Born of the many tensions born of suffering?
Is something so simple root cause to so much passion?

* * * *
You have more than most could ever even dream,
And still you cannot open that tight-fisted grip.

* * * *
Consciousness can never catch-up, much less overtake,
That which only presence of the timeless awareness knows.

* * * *
You are not the body, nor are you any fiction born of mind.
The first and last freedom ambles free and clear of any other.

* * * *
Sobering as all these and many other thoughts may be,
They are ever of the same vanity as all things temporal.

* * * *
To exist mindlessly or mindfully, that is the question.
And, really, ultimately, what choice has there ever been?

* * * *
The given moment is always the first time, the only time.
Seeing that clearly, freely, is what ‘born again’ implies.

* * * *
The aging mind is crisscrossed by scores of rutted paths,
With fewer ruts wandered as time nears its inevitable end.

* * * *
No point in creating another absurd dog and pony show
For the same choir that is always coming back for more.

* * * *
All preferences are inconsequential at the awareness level.
Choicelessness is the nature of the quantum indivisibility.

* * * *
Regarding all the vampires in your foamy wake,
The wonder is that you ever trusted any of them.

* * * *
Into illusory weaving,
Samsara entices you again and again.
Such an unwavering, tenacious opponent, indeed, indeed.

* * * *
If you never witnessed another scene, smelled another scent,
Tasted another flavor, heard another sound, felt another texture,
Would it really matter?

* * * *
It is not your body, nor is it my body.
It is merely a temporal container from which to witness
Yet another mortal dream play its Self out.

* * * *
The manifest universe is but an endless array of hooks
That catch and bind all who are not nimble and carefree.

* * * *
Nowness is the bow of the boat knifing through the water,
And the boat and its wake are the pretense of existence.

* * * *
Your universe disappears and reappears every moment
In the wake of imagination’s ever-present dissolution.

* * * *
Many are called, few are chosen.
So, what does it mean that you are drawn
To peruse these and so many other similar thoughts?

* * * *
As a smile is to a frown,
It is far less taxing to be good than evil.
Far more simple to live in truth than it is to promote a lie.

* * * *
If you were really granted one wish, what would it be?
(More wishes and world peace excluded)

* * * *
How did you forget not to piss in your own back yard,
And that in reality, the whole world is your back yard?

* * * *
The universe has expanded to this singular moment
That you might be witness to your indelible mystery.

* * * *
The only way you fabricate the perception of past or future
It through the eternal, very present nowness of awareness.

* * * *
Awareness is the constant in the grand experiment.
Everything else, the variables of imaginary notion.

* * * *
What is this hypothesis called “All” but each and every one
The same nothingness dreaming an individual play of time.

* * * *
From relatively subtle, nondescript, innocent beginnings
Did the insidiousness of this dystopian reality take root.

* * * *
We all have our supporters. we all have our detractors.
It’s a monkey thing.

* * * *
You are the singularity, the unicity, the oneness.
All sense of duality is delusion spawned by illusion.

* * * *
Fitting into one mindset or another, why, really?
What is this fear of standing alone, absolutely free?

* * * *
Limitation is splintered in every way imaginable.
Perfection has no bounds.

* * * *
Stuff your mind with the endlessly crashing waves,
Or rest free and easy in absolute stillness, no matter.

* * * *
Oh, sure, sure, it’s comfortable, obviously, but is it truth?
There’s the rub.

* * * *
Most philosophy may be better at keeping you asleep
Than it is getting you into seeing things for your Self.

* * * *
The manifest world entices you and repulses you
Like a yin-yang symbol spinning round and round.

* * * *
How can words ever be as exact as you would have them be?
So much can be mislaid or misinterpreted in any translation.

* * * *
Alas, poor body, used and abused over time in so many ways.
Slowly, surely, becoming a torture chamber of it own design.

* * * *
All creation stories are but plays of imagination
Speculating realities that have never,
Nor will ever exist.

* * * *
The ephemeral nothingness of awareness is ever the same.
Only consciousness, only imagination, is ever-changing.

* * * *
No one can compel anyone to think, to believe, anything
To which they do not, wittingly or unwittingly, collude.

* * * *
Imagine if everyone could clearly discern the ultimate.
How different would this garden world really be?

* * * *
Of the five elements: earth, water, fire, wind, and void,
You are the flawless singularity within and without all.

* * * *
You, too, shall one day be a carcass on one beach or another.
Be not proud.

* * * *
Nothing before, nothing during, nothing after.
How much more simply can this mystery be seen?

* * * *
Evolve your paradigm to its source.
Move beyond all ethnocentric fabrications.
You need not subscribe to any limitation born of mind.

* * * *
Neither happy nor sad, kind nor bitter, humble nor vain,
The eternal awareness of the quantum essence simply is.

* * * *
Why be bound by the confinements of any arbitrary tradition
When you can soar alone in the immensity of a clear mind.

* * * *
All quantum patterns
Must reside in the ambiguity, the tyranny,
Of the ever-changing, lottery-given set of capacities and limitations.

* * * *
We are all our own law, our own judge, our own jury,
The execution of which you must liberate your Self.

* * * *
Why is it for so many so challenging to grasp, to fathom,
That they are simultaneously the creator and the created?

* * * *
Will the first day really be any different than the last?
Or any different than they were every day between?

* * * *
If there is a god or gods,
There is inevitably dogma, idolatry,
And every vain gradation of absurdity imaginable.

* * * *
So many things you might have done differently or not at all,
But then where would you be?

* * * *
Life: sometimes a gift, sometimes a curse.
Attitude is all, and sometimes it sucks.

* * * *
A long cultural tradition means little
If you have gleaned nothing more from it
Than a handful of obtuse ethnocentric notions.

* * * *
Everything is timelessly, indivisibly connected.
All dualistic perceptions are entirely imagined.

* * * *
Any die rolling across a table
Is as much an evolutionary process
As any transitory fate of the so-called living.

* * * *
You already are the eternal life of the quantum indivisibility.
The only question is whether or not you have discerned it.

* * * *
You are That which many call god, creating this vast dream,
Each vessel absolutely unique, yet through it all,
There is truly not even one other.

* * * *
The astounding thing about these temporal, mortal containers
Is that they are ever healing, ever surviving as best they can.

* * * *
We have all witnessed completely different universes,
Each in our very unique way, each very much alone.

* * * *
Trust God?  Hah!  I would sooner trust the Devil,
Though they are, in truth, very much the same.

* * * *
Traditions are inevitable in minds steeped in patterns,
Ever seeking a sense of security in the face of chaos.

* * * *
The crashing waves are not the eternal ocean
From which they rush foaming across the sand.

* * * *
Instead of being grateful for what you have,
You hunger for more this, more that.
Consciousness is insatiable.

* * * *
Many require some vintage time
For any writing to be worth considering,
As if the weight of history really means anything.

* * * *
Words, expansive as they may be, will never be more
Than the contortions of that born in the dream of time.

* * * *
A most curious thing how soon we all become hoarders
Of more far more memories than we can ever remember.

* * * *
Why is there always this need to research the obvious
Except perchance as a means to avoid decisive action.

* * * *
As you gossip about others, so others likely do about you.
It is a monkey-mind thing across the entire board.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

* * * *
So many commemorate after someone dies,
But who was there while they were alive?

* * * *
No need to make a big deal about anything, really.
Here you are, enjoy it as best you can, if you can.

* * * *
From the ultimate quantum still-point,
How meaningless all sounds given concept,
All motions given flourish, all dreams given reality.

* * * *
The newborn is pure awareness,
Lost in the sensory play, no direction known.
And then the winds of space and time begin their sculpting.

* * * *
You are in the body, but not of it.
You are the awareness prior to all fabrications of consciousness.
Be here now.

* * * *
There is no need to believe god when you are god.
No need to believe in anything, really.
Just being is enough.

* * * *
So many existential questions without answer.
What can anyone do but become very present.

* * * *
Between the nowness of eternity and the dream of mind,
‘Tis a ceaseless in and out … in and out … in and out …

* * * *
Victory in any conflict is based on some level of attrition:
Of time, of energy, of resources, and, sometimes, of existence.

* * * *
The brain stem, the original evolution of the mind,
Is as in harmony with the primal awareness,
As any point of consciousness can be.

* * * *
There are a near-infinity of perspectives
Upon which to endlessly, repeatedly ponder,
Until you are able to still the mind, and be free.

* * * *
There is likely no deity watching you from on high.
Only you peering out with two eyes,
And within with one.

* * * *
You are not, have never been,
And will never be, what you think you are.
You are not any sound that any concept has ever devised.

* * * *
If there is some all-powerful divinity out there,
Then it is on him/her/it to make it known to everyone.
No point in playing all these idolatry games we call religion.

* * * *
Fallow time is time well spent for any field of endeavor,
But especially in those involving the human genome.

* * * *
The quantum universe you are is the only master,
And all its faces and forms your many teachers.

* * * *
Words create, words preserve, words destroy.
Use them wisely.

* * * *
Indivisibility is indefinable, immeasurable, timeless,
And yet how we do carry on in our very human way.

* * * *
Gone, gone, gone, so quickly gone,
And only the glimmering notions of memory
To keep you believing anything ever really happened.

* * * *
A quantum dream of awareness,
Which in consciousness must be endured
For whatever time the given body and mind allow.

* * * *
Why is this moment so fresh, so clear?
Because the present is where eternity abides.
The quantum nowness is the only reality possible.

* * * *
How can the infinite ocean know its ultimate nature
But through the imaginary sagas of it countless drops.

* * * *
Anchored in the infinite abyss, you witness the elements,
However they mix and match, however they ebb and flow.

* * * *
If you know your Self,
And are your own steadfast friend,
Why would you ever need an imaginary one?

* * * *
Human silliness might be truly depressing
If it were not laced with so much absurdity.

* * * *
Everything is of one patterning or another.
To do anything outside that patterning
Requires conscious deliberation.

* * * *
That which you recall is that to which you cling.
What a weight all the mind’s baggage
In the perception of now.

* * * *
How can the finite ever be that which is indivisibly infinite,
But through astute discernment it is already so,
Has ever been so, will ever be so.

* * * *
Is the glass half-full, is the glass half-empty?
Glug, glug, toss, crash, tinkle.
What glass?

* * * *
Because we can discern neither beginning nor end,
We postulate infinity, and even that is speculation.

* * * *
Different faces, different names, different times, different places.
Same mind, same jungle.

* * * *
The balance between the greatest ecstasy and the least agony
Is somewhere towards the-not-very-easy-to-recognize middle.

* * * *
They mouth the words, use them with such earnest flair,
And all the while know nothing of what they really mean.

* * * *
Another great creation, discovery, invention, innovation, adventure,
Grand experience of one sort or another.
Yawn-ho-hum.

* * * *
So many looking everywhere for magic, mystery, special signs;
Unable to see it in every right-here-right-now manifest moment.

* * * *
Sometimes reality, other times fantasy.
Whatever works in the given moment.

* * * *
The specialist is attuned to the nuances of underlying form.
The generalist to the intuitive expansiveness of the essence.

* * * *
It all boils down to this singular existential moment,
Forever stage to the dreaming of consciousness
Playing out whatever imagination divines.

* * * *
Creations require creators, and creators, creations.
All inventors and inventions are one-in-the-same.

* * * *
How weary one becomes of the abuse of others
In their interminable attempts to sustain their vanity,
Or right some alleged wrong they may not even remember.

* * * *
What is judgment but a Darwinian selection process
Invoked in the evolution of different strands of DNA.

* * * *
So much time spent trying to solve so many insoluble human problems.
Why so serious?

* * * *
If humankind were as great as it likes to believe it is,
Would it have made such a abysmal mess of things?

* * * *
Truth is not in the regurgitation of any writings across time.
Dogma and idolatry are the quagmire of undiscerning minds.

* * * *
Sometimes you succeed, sometimes you fail, sometimes you stalemate.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

* * * *
Is there anything in this mad monkey absurdity of a world
That does not subscribe to one form of vanity or another?

* * * *
The challenge for humankind is less about what to believe,
Than it is to examine the instinctual drive to believe itself.

* * * *
The young, by their nature, can never appreciate
What they have, what they had, until it is gone.

* * * *
What is one to do when foolish madness is considered normal
And the show run by the endless greed for more of the same.

* * * *
Are human beings really all that different than seagulls
In their noisy skirmishes for tidbits in the ocean waves?

* * * *
Likely even heaven is no big deal on the second day.
Reason enough why all the fun people are in hell.

* * * *
How can you kill demons who just end up inhabiting other forms?
Different names and faces, but ever the same monkey-mind facets.

* * * *
Why would anyone ever believe some deity
Would ever be bound by any human concoction?

* * * *
Religion is a smokescreen projected
By those who will use you to their own ends
In as many ways as you will allow.

* * * *
You cannot help but see the truth
That is every moment within and without you,
If you have enough doubt, enough skepticism, to erase the fear.

* * * *
One Mind to rule them all, One Mind to find them,
One Mind to bring them all, and in the lightness bind them,
In the Garden of Gaia where all true Guardians till.

* * * *
Nationalism is nothing more than tribalism on a grander scale.
The monkey-mind on steroids in a jungle of global reckoning.

* * * *
Explore your story
Until it expands into all stories,
And beyond all stories, and prior to all stories.

* * * *
What more can anyone do but his/her best
In the winds of the many adversities
That haunt any given existence?

* * * *
Whether you call it the good news or the bad news,
You are that which is godness, that which is quantum,
That which is total, supreme, absolute, indivisibly singular.

* * * *
What does a newborn know of fear and desire
Until the winds of time swirl in mind
For a smidgen or so of time.

* * * *
How can any all-mighty deity be anything but all-inclusive?
Exclusivity is the realm of false gods advocated by tyrants.

* * * *
There are those who lead cults, those who blindly follow,
And those who stand back aloof and wonder at the absurdity.

* * * *
Drawn to existence, drawn to oblivion, you ache for both
In the ever-flowing currents of time born of imagination.

* * * *
Consciousness battles a never-ending war over differences
That do not really matter in any way, any shape, any form.

* * * *
Why care about any of it?  Why not care for all of it?
So many choices in the momentary mist of dreamtime.
All real and unreal in the perception of any given mind.

* * * *
What is any life but a streaming of vague impressions
To which so many becomes so resolutely attached.

* * * *
What can anyone hold onto but a collection of imaginary notions
Created by the frame of reference founded upon one’s conditioning?

* * * *
There is ultimately no who, no what, no where, no when, no why, now how.
How could there be when there is ultimately no other upon which to reflect?

* * * *
Just because cookies are all different sizes and shapes
Does not in any way mean they are not of the same dough.

* * * *
Do not call it god, call it quantum.
And you are it, and it is you.
There is no other.

* * * *
A unexamined life is an unlikely probability
In those whose thoughts been prompted by an education
Bent on making the given mind whole and true.

* * * *
To comfort and aid those in need, those whose redoubt is self-reliance,
Is much easier than trying to save those who will not help themselves.

* * * *
And those whose inner light is bright
Are often ignored, martyred, or worshipped.
The same truth within all is only rarely discerned.

* * * *
Putting on a mask, wearing a different costume,
Gives pause to the identity, the personality,
To which you have become so attached.

* * * *
Regarding the God that so many idolize,
What form can there be, pray tell,
In that which is formless?

* * * *
For the worshipper of Mammon, it is all about gold,
Which leaves plenty of the real thing for the rest of us.

* * * *
Though sometimes he appears to take a break, Darwin rules,
And is probably taking notes alongside the Reaper at the exit.

* * * *
Enjoy while ye may for as long as ye may, or may choose,
For this reverie must end as all things manifest do,
Whether by your hand or some other design.

* * * *
There will always be order at some orchestration of civility.
Humankind does not long abide chaos.
It is a monkey thing.

* * * *
Existence is suffering.
No one get a free pass.

* * * *
The intelligent and well-intentioned are generally always a pleasure,
Unless they are annoyingly self-absorbed and arrogant in their wit.

* * * *
God and Satan, heaven and hell, have always been dogmatic absurdity.
Collusions of human imagination, none of it ultimately real or true.

* * * *
Is it so simple as to say women need a nest and brood to nurture,
And men a man cave in which to be away from the turmoil,
And once a awhile a little in-and-out to keep the peace.

* * * *
Such a temporary thing, this body.
Was it ever really yours?
How could it be?

* * * *
Love thy Self.
Absolute narcissism,
With a uniquely quantum twist.

* * * *
Pointless, absolutely pointless.
When did it ever really matter?

* * * *
It is not in the great “out there”
That you will find true and lasting peace,
Serenity, tranquility, happiness, contentment, or love.

* * * *
When you say “I Am,”
Is it with or without the body
And all its imagined history in mind?

* * * *
There can be no sense of time
Without the presence of awareness
Within which to imagine all things different.

* * * *
Unconditional acceptance of this grand dream as it is,
With all its light and dark, its good and evil,
Is about as loving as it gets.

* * * *
All these voices telling you to be this or that.
What’s a Soul to do but put everything in its place.

* * * *
So many uses for lies.
Truth has a rough time
Getting much attention.

* * * *
Your fate is written in the ever-shifting sands of time.
Your task is to write it all down before the wind blows.

* * * *
How is it we choose so much conflict and horror
Over the simplicity of peace, contentment and grace.

* * * *
Until you discern the wonder
Of the unfolding eternal moment,
You will never truly see Eden.

* * * *
Who cares if you love each other.
Just getting along reasonably well
Would be paradigm shift enough.

* * * *
Curious that we are so caught up
In whether or not there is life on other worlds
When we are so bent on destroying so man life forms on our own.

* * * *
The other four-letter words:
Love, cute, good, fate, envy, luck …
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
(More as mind allows)

* * * *
It is all that I am.
It is ALL that I am.
It is all THAT I AM.
IT IS ALL THAT I AM.
What’s the matter, you deaf?

* * * *
Everyone and everything and everything between the same awareness,
Waking up to whatever reality the patterned consciousness
Of the given nature-nurture ordains.

* * * *
Likely fairly unsettling what might come about if we all really said or did
Whatever was playing out in the nonstop prattle of our little monkey-minds.

* * * *
What was it in the way back then
That inexplicably made you say or do or feel that?
Stick to the script, boy, stick to the script.

* * * *
For those who speak Middle Eastern lore
The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost,
Are all within and without you.

* * * *
Each of us plays out the day-to-day in our own unique Shakespearian fashion,
And within the ever-present consciousness, within the timeless awareness,
The quantum indivisibility, call it what you will, witnesses all as one.

* * * *
Chances are a dense mind will not perceive the inexplicable,
No matter how adroit and lucid and profound the exposition.

* * * *
The mind, harbor to every conceivable passion,
Must be ignored by those earnestly intending
To merge back into quantum indivisibility.

* * * *
There are so many things to regret in any given existence.
Try not to wade out in the deep-dark more often than not.

* * * *
Consciousness usurps awareness in every way, ever calling itself real.
Death tends to put a damper on this vain little pastime, ergo, tradition.

* * * *
What becomes of anything born of this quantum mystery is lost and gone forever,
Until some witness arrives to etch it in the ever-shifting sands
Of a very brief moment in the given sun.

* * * *
Chances are the who-what-where-when-why-how you imagine you are.
Is not the who-what-where-when-why-how you really are.
Somewhat mutually-exclusive, actually.

* * * *
Within the big picture, details, and from details, the big picture.
The predictability of patterns within patterns within patterns
Is as sure in a single quantum as it is an entire universe.

* * * *
There is the way you wish it was, and there is the way it is.
To fight the tide, or not fight the tide, that is the question.

* * * *
Hang around a bunch of old folks in the daily-diminishing zone,
And you are likely going to listen to a lot of moaning,
And be attendee to way too many funerals,
If you are prone to bothering with such things.

* * * *
Are those who believe they are the definition of rationality
Really any more sane than those who discern they are not?

* * * *
All meaning and purpose is born of imagination.
All very temporal, very brief persuasions, at best.

* * * *
So much right, so much wrong, so much good, so much bad,
What a species we are to live in such a morass of judgment.

* * * *
So many wandering about
Really believing their brief existence important,
More than just a eensy-weensy particle of dust in the grand cosmos.

* * * *
Every group should always assign a Devil’s Advocate function on a rotating basis.
Someone who questions all the assumptions, all the conclusions,
So easily made by the collective mind.

* * * *
The challenge is to be content with your own life,
To stop worrying about everyone else does or thinks.

* * * *
Who at the greatest depth does not see themselves as a beautiful soul,
Despite the ravages of time so often convincing themselves otherwise.

* * * *
You only think you are the same persona every moment.
Sort of a you-are-you-are-not, mind-gorp kind of thing.

* * * *
You are everyone and everything and the infinity between.
Drink deeply the awareness of any and all,
Or of nothing at all.

* * * *
Duality exists only in the dreamtime of consciousness.
Reality is singular through and through for all eternity.

* * * *
Be the awareness witnessing, and be free.
Be the awareness witnessing through the filter of consciousness,
And be bound by whatever whimsies it partakes.

* * * *
All lives are full of regret, all are full of good deeds, and everything possible between.
Put aside all vanity and discern what contentment you can in an existence well-lived.

* * * *
Not everyone is intoxicated by this brief existence.
For some, enough is enough long before it is done.

* * * *
Just because someone does not get their hands bloody
Does not necessarily make them any less a barbarian.

* * * *
It is consciousness that presided over the passions.
Awareness is tranquility through and through.

* * * *
Having a lot of power, fame, or fortune
Is to deal with any number of people who want a taste,
And some who would without hesitation or remorse, gladly swindle it all.

* * * *
The bottom line to all existence
Boils down to DNA’s striving in every way imaginable
To continue for as long as possible.

* * * *
Whether words, numbers, notes, or any other device born of conscious design,
All concepts have their capacities and limitations,
Their raison d'être.

* * * *
In any game, rules are manipulated,
Stretched, ignored, penetrated, muddied,
And colored in every shade of gray imaginable.

* * * *
What is birth? What is death?
And what is this surreal dream between?
Can anyone more than churn out endless speculation?

* * * *
Newborns are fresh out of the oblivion; the elderly and decrepit soon to return.
Those between are myriad courses upon which death munches as time designs.

* * * *
How is it that those who believe they are the creations of god
Do not in the same breath wonder where that god came from?

* * * *
Think you are ready for what’s coming?
You will, hopefully, not have to find out.

* * * *
Outward and inward, inward and outward.
Which is which when the which-which of it is not.

* * * *
So much absurdity to wade through in this tarnished world,
And to what end ever the insoluble question.
Live and learn, die anyway.

* * * *
Best not to rubberneck in dangerous situations.
Peeking out from behind the rock may get the head blown off.
Duck and cover is a well-documented survival strategy, as is getting out of Dodge.

* * * *
Usually best to wrap your head around the way things are.
Expecting anything to be other than what it is
Only tends to make for wacko.

* * * *
For a certain portion of life, especially during the younger years,
We must all experience first-hand to understand how things work,
But at some point, the distillation of intuition tends to cover the bill.

* * * *
It is less about what anyone thinks than what you think they think.
The challenge is not to fabricate undo havoc upon yourself
For no reason other than a shadow’s passing.

* * * *
Meaning and purpose are nothing more than vain notions
To which self-consciousness has subscribed since its origin.

* * * *
Whatever words are used to label the mind’s perceptions,
It is the nameless actuality that must be daily endured.

* * * *
Any game works smoothly and cheerfully
Only as long as everyone follows the same rules,
Or quickly recognize the new ones in play.

* * * *
We are all witness to the eternal Way.
Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
Equal participants in this game of charades.

* * * *
Yes, there’s no doubt God created this infinite universe
So that so many could be unimaginably stupid about it.

* * * *
Impossible to undo anything once it is done.
Whatever time may or may not be,
There is no going back.

* * * *
Yet another case of “Believe what I say, do what I say, not what I do.”
Hypocrisy, an innate facet of the monkey-mind’s self-protective shield.

* * * *
The quantum matrix is witnessed within and without,
They being but concepts about that which is neither.

* * * *
Is love truly real, or merely another smokescreen of the mind
Founded upon the neurological underpinnings of the body?

* * * *
To disconnect your Self from nature,
From the rules of the game board,
Is to separate from that which is true.

* * * *
God forbid the human pandemic ever gets off this planet
And does to other gardens what it has done to this one.

* * * *
Do not beg forgiveness
For every ill thing you have ever done.
An earnest apology will do.

* * * *
Why would anyone be at all interested in working up the food chain
In some hierarchical, bureaucratic, so-called spiritual corporation?

* * * *
We are talking stark and logical and practical irrationality,
Not warm and fuzzy, comfortable, light show mezmorabilia.

* * * *
Vanity really being all there is,
We would as well just slit our throats,
And save ourselves the bother.

* * * *
Of humankind it can be said:
So much potential, so much obliviousness,
Too bad, so sorry, so it goes, oh well, shall we try again?

* * * *
Across the world, across time, Mad Hatters babbling resolutely
About every sort of nonsense, about every sort of absurdity,
To what end at best the duration of a Cheshire Cat's grin.

* * * *
Them that can't hear these words,
Them that can’t see past one conviction or another,
Well, give 'em a piece of gnat dung to chew on until it sprouts wings
And carries them to the greater heights.

* * * *
Depending how many siblings there are,
You are probably one of the most expensive lays
Your parents ever had.

* * * *
Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly is a coating
Of that which has its way all the way through.

* * * *
And on the eighth day,
God woke up, grumbled it "was" good.
Another flood long overdue, likely this time without a Noah.

* * * *
Om, om, om … peace, peace, peace:
Tranquility, peacefulness, restfulness, calmness,
Serenity, repose, quietness, stillness, undisturbed, untroubled.

* * * *
The human species is in a wings-of-wax
Accelerating exponential flight into the sun,
Rest assured, Icarus, the fall will not be pretty.

* * * *
It is much less important who said it than what was said,
And then only what the given listener is prepared to hear.

* * * *
The back-and-forth of a spontaneous one-on-one discussion
Can be much more far-reaching than any lecture
Because there is but one ear to knead.

* * * *
What do geezers and crones have left to be vain about
Without a fair dollop of barefaced delusion
At the helm of wishful thinking.

* * * *
What is death but the end of a dream of existence in one container or another,
A structure the ultimate you never really more than donned for a brief while.

* * * *
Curious how so many spend their lives evading the aloneness
They truly are, have ever been, and will ever be,
In this inexplicable singularity.

* * * *
esoteric |ˌesəˈterik| adjective
intended for or likely to be understood by only a small number of people
with a specialized knowledge or interest

* * * *
More of the same old indelibly, pathetically wearisome human bullshit.
Some may be able to play it in some delusionary cheerleader mode,
But we who do not abide blinders, must, alas, see it for what it is.

* * * *
What is the known universe but whatever you consider it to be?
Imagination, ephemeral wind that it is, is as narrow as it is wide.

* * * *
Sanity, rationality, stability, soundness, lucidity, reason, poise, steadiness,
Is relative to the facet you are playing in the crest-jewel of consciousness.

* * * *
Do the math, do the words, do the music, do the whatever,
They all double-double-toil-and-trouble down to the same eternal nothingness,
The least common denominator of the most excellent Great Nada.

* * * *
Unless the odds are too terrible swift for it to even matter,
Conflicts of any hue, tint, shade or tone are generally best won
By knowing the ill-starred adversary better than s/he knows himself.

* * * *
Touch your nose down to your toes,
But for imagination’s assertion,
Does it really feel like you?

* * * *
Too much knowledge is just more to forget.
A busy mind is not necessarily a fertile mind.

* * * *
Does thinking something ever really make it so?
Is imagination so powerful as to make anything more than it can ever be?
Is cotton candy, puffy as it appears, ever more than spun sugar?

* * * *
What is a day in the nothingness of eternity?
And would seven of them really be any more?

* * * *
It took awhile for the seed you call you to evolve,
And when it runs out of steam, where will you be?

* * * *
Despite all the moral outrage of these modern times,
One can only wonder how much mind-altering substances
Contributed to the ascension of the human paradigm.

* * * *
Far more arrogant to assert something you cannot possibly know
Than it is to simply not pretending anything you know you do not.

* * * *
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
Heavened if you do, heavened if you don’t.

* * * *
Nothing forward, nothing behind, nothing when, nothing where,
The wake of time nothing more than the imagination of mind.

* * * *
What is courage but a composed indifference to personal safety,
A state of mind caught in even the bitterest wave of the given moment.
Existence is, after all is said and done, only a body, only a life, only a dream.

* * * *
So many concerned about saving and changing humanity
When they cannot even begin to save or change themselves.

* * * *
Stream of consciousness, stream of imagination, stream of mind.
Call it what you will, it is the same eternal mystery
Playing out however it will.

* * * *
None can long thrive against Mother Nature.
She will have you sooner or later,
No matter your pride.

* * * *
Way too much bother to off everyone
Who does not agree with your prescribed view.
Likely a very big pile of bodies, indeed.

* * * *
What is the simplicity of rational, balanced thinking:
Lucidity, clarity, precision, intelligibility, transparency,
But a tranquilizing endorphin for the seething mind.

* * * *
There are no experts, there is no mastery,
Once you realize there are only beginners
With minds full of more insights than most.

* * * *
Giving your way to another without qualm or regret,
Is a combination of esteem and compassion,
A recognition of the namaste vein.

* * * *
A candle only passes on the flame to another.
It is for wick and wax to sort out the details.

* * * *
The attitude to which you are most attached
Is the well from which you daily draw water.

* * * *
Who were the first of our kind
Before the fabrication of deities and dogma?
Or has fallacy and fear always run this monkey-mind show?

* * * *
Impossible to go through this mortal existence
Without raining on many parades along the way.

* * * *
What is any authentic scientist but one who feels beckoned
To explore his fleeting patch of dreamtime to an nth degree.

* * * *
Exposed to any deity, prescribed any creed, condemned to any hell,
What is there to do, really, but laugh at the endless vanity of it all?

* * * *
Hard to get caught if you do not do it,
Or perchance have the flawless plan
And the backing of some vain deity.

* * * *
Galadriel, Lady of the Golden Wood: The world is changed.
I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air.
Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember.

* * * *
To debate for or against some deity,
Some idolatry born of mind, some mythology born of time,
Is to miss the godness of the allness of it, aloof from all theatrics of the human genome.

* * * *
Who, what, when, where, why, how, are you,
But a set of temporal attributes that have no actuality
But through the quantum vibration of light and sound and form.

* * * *
As infinite on the outside as it is infinitesimal within,
And not even a point, a line, a plane, an object, between.
The imagination of consciousness is the origin of all creation.

* * * *
What is the difference between rape and brutal rape?
Between murder and a cruel or vicious or inhuman murder?
Where is the line between metaphors when assault is the real issue?

* * * *
Another legend in his/her own lizard mind.
Any insect would no doubt think the same.

* * * *
All other creatures great and small still abide in the Garden of Eden.
We are the ones who left, who stopped seeing it.
We didn’t get kicked out.

* * * *
The political mind evolved through the group dynamics
Bred into the species over millions of years.
We are literally political animals.

* * * *
To discern the eternal life, the myriad binds of mind must be undone.
Cut the Gordian Knot of consciousness to discern the freest state of mind.

* * * *
What you really are cannot perish.
How can that which was never born ever die?
It never has, never will.

* * * *
We all give our greatest attention to things we want to experience,
And the rest must abide in the “Boring” and “Very Boring” files.

* * * *
Whatever it might be that you feel called to create,
What others think should be of little concern.
Create for creation’s sake; process is all.

* * * *
The sponge absorbs fully, wipes away, squeezes out.
So too life’s weaving journey from newborn to corpse.

* * * *
Live and learn, die anyway,
Full of whatever has been gleaned from the worldly universe,
All lost and gone forever as memories languish,
And the final breath wheezes away.

* * * *
Do not make things more complicated that they are.
Yoda:  Try not.  Do, or do not.  There is no try.

* * * *
Are you really as curious about things as you once were?
Or is that just what giving everything full attention is?

* * * *
The universe has always swirled before the senses,
Parts of which you are drawn to attend, or not.

* * * *
We are a species that does not tolerate differences well,
Which rarely if ever bodes well for individual thinking.

* * * *
Yet another itsy-bitsy nuance
That means little if not nothing
To even the most earnest layman.

* * * *
Here we all are, each and every moment,
All playing our imaginary selves,
All alone, all together.

* * * *
How many zeroes is it to infinite?
How many to infinitesimal?
And of what concern to the many
Who cannot be bothered to count that far?

* * * *
Jesus was attempting to modify Judaism; Buddha, Hinduism;
And instead both got new religions named after them,
And on and on they too splintered ad infinitum.

* * * *
It all has to end one someday or another,
So you may as well do whatever you need to do
To go out without too many regrets in your bucket list.

* * * *
The speeding bullet is but a moment away.
How you react is the essence of your story.

* * * *
Attachment is a state of mind.
It is not really you “doing” all this and that.
To be merely witness is nothing more than a flick of the switch.

* * * *
Every age has it conscious witnesses whose artistic endeavors
Leave behind many creations in thought and deed
For as long as subsequent times abide.
Some quickly disappear,
And others become great burdens.

* * * *
The awareness upon and within which consciousness skates
Is an unfathomable mystery prior to and beyond all measure.

* * * *
That any given windfall or disaster is construed as some deity’s will
Shows the depth of absurdity to which the monkey-mind is capable.

* * * *
The inexplicable expanse is as much within as it is without
When the line between inner and outer in awareness dissolves.

* * * *
When even more beyond counting ever leaves it unsatisfied,
How can a monkey-mind ever but bemoan its discontent?

* * * *
From the eternal eye of awareness
Through the sensory plays of all existence,
An infinity of universes are created.

* * * *
The sovereign moon orbits absolutely, indivisibly, inescapably indifferent
To all the vanities playing out on the spinning dust ball
With which it has long danced.

* * * *
If you seek a personal relationship with some deity,
Then get to know your one and only Self
At whatever level you aspire.

* * * *
Once the course of any stream or river is set,
Its path is not easily changed much less undone
But through Mother Nature’s most diligent efforts.

* * * *
In the streaming course of human events,
Time tends to do more things with a lifetime of creation
That the lifetime itself could ever hope to attain.

* * * *
What a cruel, absurd joke it is
To be recognized or acclaimed for anything.
The intrinsic is the highest order.

* * * *
What to do when you no longer want anything from this world or any other?
Why, nothing, of course.

* * * *
Every living thing from great to small
Imparts a teaching, a vision, a totem, a talisman,
To any with eyes to see and ears to hear.

* * * *
Call it chance, call it fate, call it destiny, call it what you will,
Every existence is fashioned by a never-ending series of flukes.

* * * *
Just because someone is foolish enough to promise the future
Does not mean you have to be foolish enough to believe it.

* * * *
Imagination imagines itself real, but it is not.
It never has been, and will never be,
More than figments of mind.

* * * *
This entire playground, this entire universe, is but fodder, chaff,
In the discernment of this kernel of awareness, this ultimate Self.
To discover you are the entire ocean in one drop is the brass ring.

* * * *
All creatures great to small are born of the same mysterious source,
And, in that ultimate reality, all are quite equal in this mortal fray.

* * * *
Treat your Self.
Be here now.
Bliss out.

* * * *
Ooh, ooh, mystery.
Ooh, ooh, brain freeze.

* * * *
Who cares, really, what happened in some way-back-when.
Here you are, right now, take a break from time, be free.

* * * *
Once you quiet, once you calm, once you still, all the many notions,
What is there but awareness free of any sense of other.
Anything less is just singularity knocking.

* * * *
Sometimes great genius is noted in its own time, sometime later, often not at all.
The whimsy of consciousness is unending in the passage of time born of mind.

* * * *
What is birth but the beginning of a dream, and death its end.
And ever the great and powerful Quantum of Oz
Before and after and between.

* * * *
Joy, bliss, ecstasy, heaven, nirvana, paradise, insight, illumination,
Delight, elation, harmony, rapture, happiness:
Yours for the seeing.

* * * *
Time streams toward its inevitable expiration.
Insects will not be caring about such things.

* * * *
The joy of youth is taking so much for granted.
The challenge of aging is watching entitlements evaporate
Like a dewy morning giving way to the afternoon sun.

* * * *
How much desire, how much fear is ignited by the chemistry
Invoked by the tension of poor breathing, of oxygen deprivation.
Unleash your Dragon: Breathe fully, breathe boldly, breathe aware.

* * * *
Has anybody liked me? … Must … check … phone …
Has anybody liked me? … Must … check … computer …
Has anybody liked me? … Must … check … phone …
Has anybody liked me? … Must … check … computer …
Has anybody liked me? … Must … check … phone …
Has anybody liked me? … Must … check … computer …
Has anybody … anybody … anybody… anybody… anybody…

* * * *
What does it take to waylay the conditioning
But the momentary attentiveness called by some eternal life,
That which is prior to the mind-body, and the dream to which it is so attached.

* * * *
Every existence will at some point be extinguished,
And all the while, the matrix absolutely indifferent.

* * * *
Rest assured all ye who would envy and resent them,
The one-percenters and their minions are just as prone to pooping
And peeing and heartburn and lunacy and suffering and dying as everyone else.

* * * *
The horror, the absurdity, the futility.
What world is worth saving were it even possible?
What can any detainee in this madcap monkey-mind asylum do
But find what serenity and contentment they can in the empty squalor of it all.

* * * *
Young-juicy-sweet becomes old-shriveled-tough.
One is good for stew, the other for gnawing.

* * * *
Given a reasonably vigorous body, an intelligent mind, and a certain fearlessness,
You may well be able to experience an agreeable statistical sampling
Of everything possible within the human paradigm.

* * * *
Can you ignore the pain, the slings and arrows of aging and dying?
Can you rest easy in the ever-youthful fountain of awareness within?

* * * *
From the serenity of your mother’s womb,
You big-banged into your expanding universe.

* * * *
Will you turn off the switch of your mind-body existence for your Self?
Or will it be shut off for you in some inescapable serendipity?
Only Mister Grim and his handy-dandy scythe know.

* * * *
If there is no other, then what matter what any think of you, or you of them.
Learn whatever you wish, experience whatever you want,
But it is all for naught by winter’s end.

* * * *
Show me some supreme being that does not include you,
And I will call it just another hollow absurdity born of mind,
Another idol to whom one tithing or another is likely due.

* * * *
Yet another war created by chicken hawks, agencies out of control,
And a foreign policy that blows willy-nilly in winds of greed and self-absorption.
And a nod to Hunter S. Thompson’s quip about the music world: There’s also a negative side.

* * * *
The Way is simplicity its Self.
Only you perceive it complex.

* * * *
To be at peace, to be immersed in the ultimate awareness
That this mortal dreamtime offers in each and every streaming moment,
What greater quality of mind could there be than the intangible brass ring of eternal life?

* * * *
Curious how so many work so hard to help others who will not help themselves.
How many times do you pick someone up before you realize gravity is stronger?

* * * *
Martyrdom tends to raise the departed to far loftier heights
Than their intrigues could have ever dared hope
Had they remained mere mortals.

* * * *
Worldviews are like assholes, everyone’s got one.
Sometimes they work out fairly well,
And sometimes they don’t.
So it goes.

* * * *
A so-called spiritual experience,
No matter how comforting, how reassuring,
Does not for indelible truth make.

* * * *
Pure awareness, agnostic, totally attentive,
Fully absorbed in the eternal moment,
Is the highest state of beingness.

* * * *
Exceedingly challenging to hold on to something as ephemeral as nothingness.
To be or not to be … requires an acumen far more artless than most minds allow.

* * * *
Were you not so attached to all the perceptions about your imaginary cosmos,
Of the given existence it could doubtless be asked: Did it ever really happen?

* * * *
Sticky wickets at every turn, in every nook and cranny.
Vanity’s rainbow casts a net far and wide and deep.

* * * *
All the pretty boys and girls always touting their good fortune,
Until they, too, inevitably join those less favored by the lottery.

* * * *
Listen to all the birds, and realize their little brains,
Doubling-doubling-toiling-and-troubling in bird consciousness,
Are in actuality not all that different than your own.
We are all cousins of the same puddle,

* * * *
To the ultimate witnessing, the awareness prior to all dimensions,
It has never even once mattered who-what-where-when-why-how about anything.
That has always been, and will ever be, for the dream of consciousness to sort out, however it wills.

* * * *
What here after or here before can there possibly be,
When there has never been anything but here now.

* * * *
Is there really such a thing as a soul?
Or is it merely the same quantum awareness,
The same nothingness, equally permeating everything?

* * * *
You are the same awareness, the same oneness,
That has witnessed all eternity and its countless creations.
Only imagination lost in vanity pretends otherwise.

* * * *
Hell, as some quotable once said, is in the details,
And there always seems to be more than a random few
Wandering about in the here and there of the every where.

* * * *
Despite being the inexplicable infinity of all potentials great to small,
You must abide the capacities and limitations of the given vessel.
In the words of Quintus Arrius: You are all condemned men.
We keep you alive to serve this ship.  So row well, and live.

* * * *
What bounds can there be in the ultimate that you truly are?
We are all playing out the conditioning of the given mind-body
In this ever-changing dreamtime born of sensory perception.

* * * *
How long someone will stay around
When you offer little more than good will and fellowship
Is the defining mark of genuine friendship.

* * * *
One of the most detrimental things parents can do to their children
Is imbue them with too much entitlement.
Discipline and grit
Are handy out there in the real world, such as it is.

* * * *
No deity on high is going to resurrect your silly little identity
And its ever-changing mortal meat machine.
You are doomed to oblivion.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

* * * *
For the young, a long, winding road ahead.
For the elderly, a vague meander looking back.

* * * *
There is an absoluteness,
In which neither within nor without,
Nor any other distinction of consciousness exist.

* * * *
It is all nothing, and no something, no matter how enticing, no matter how convincing,
Will long detain the earnest seeker from discerning that which is beyond all doubts true.

* * * *
The many memes of groupthink are cementing consciousness
Into a wide range of extraordinarily contorted assumptions,
Baseball caps, cowboy hats, chewing tobacco, not excluded.

* * * *
You cannot save anybody, much less everybody.
The dream has been doomed from the get-go.

* * * *
A big factor in mortal existence is your ability to endure your own suffering,
And your response to the suffering throughout your translation of the world.

* * * *
You compose your own chronicle every day.
Wretched or sublime, it is ultimately the same.

* * * *
Is civilization really any more than a utterly futile attempt by men
To help women feel secure, stay clean, and perchance be happy?

* * * *
And the quantum spun itself into everything, ever timeless, ever absolute, ever indifferent.

* * * *
As awake as you well might be, is reconfiguring the programming even remotely possible?
How else will you act out your day-to-day, but in the format you have in time acquired?

* * * *
Everyone has their own sojourn
To either meander wherever they feel beckoned,
Or blow whatever direction the tempests of dreamtime sends them.

* * * *
Your egocentricity is really no different than the sun gods of ancient empires
Building grand monuments, erecting imposing tombs, contriving divine legends,
Flailing as you do at the impermanence to which all things every moment succumb.

* * * *
If others cannot see it, there is absolutely no reason
To debate, argue, or get all uppity or furious about it.
The many-are-called-few-are-chosen rule applies.

* * * *
What is a sail but a compass to the wind.
What is the mind but a universe to awareness.

* * * *
So many so caught up in one dogma or another – so conditioned, so habituated, so brainwashed –
That it would likely never occur to them they are not at all free and clear in their imaginary prison.

* * * *
What is any thought but the drip-drip of consciousness
Coming and going, condensing and evaporating,
As does the ephemeral vapor of any cloud.

* * * *
Who did that?  What happened?
When did it take place?  Where did it take place?
Why did that happen?  How did it happen?
Who is the who, who is asking?

* * * *
For anyone perceptive enough to take notice,
The Yellow-Brick-Road serendipities it has taken
To reach this here-now are long-and-winding, indeed.

* * * *
So many countless ways to look at everything.
So many filters of every size, of every hue,
Of every fashion under any given sun.

* * * *
Approaching it all as nothing
Instead of the something the senses deceive you into believing,
That’s the key for those born to see.

* * * *
From the innocence and optimism of youth, to the distortion and skepticism of old age;
Through it all we must mindfully cultivate our garden, and sow whatever time allows.

* * * *
Clinging to anything too intensely is like clenching your teeth.
It only gets more stiff, more painful, perhaps even harmful.

* * * *
Such devices we have invented to dispatch ourselves
And every hapless creature in our juggernauting path.

* * * *
Awareness is simply awareness, without any attributes whatsoever.
It is only consciousness which conceives every variety of distraction.

* * * *
What need to believe in anything, really,
Once the eternal beingnesss of awareness
Resumes its default position at the helm.

* * * *
Mind-altering substances across this magical world are the gift of eternity to its Self.
The challenge, given their hedonistic potential, is a certain level of moderation,
And how well you utilize them for right purpose, at least once and awhile.

* * * *
Be that totality, that absoluteness, that solitude, that quietude,
Where there is no within, where there is no without,
Where there is no where but here now.

* * * *
There is an innocence to any first-time experience that cannot be replicated,
No matter how unblemished the mind, no matter how unsullied the eyes.

* * * *
What universe do you perceive but the one you project
Through the frame of reference you imagine yourself to be.

* * * *
All sense of time, all memory, even of just a moment ago, is unreal,
Naught but a figment of imaginary duplicity,
A lie unto thy Self.

* * * *
The facelessness through which all perceive their universe
Draws many a Narcissus to one reflective pool or another.

* * * *
Pass what may, the mortal conclusion is at some point assured.
The veil cloaking the sensory mind is but a momentary dream.

* * * *
It is more often than not an error
To think you are the smartest guy in the room.
Arrogance is one of pride’s surest ways to fall fast and hard.

* * * *
Is any religion, any belief system, really any more than contrived philosophy
Double-double-toiled-and-troubled-fire-burned-and-cauldron-bubbled?

* * * *
If everyone stayed the dogma of their ever-wagging tongues,
We would all be quite equal in our little dreamtime worlds.

* * * *
Some would wake up happier than a tick on a vein every day studying the nuances of gnat wings,
And others to a lifetime of gypsy-like wandering, reaping experience after experience.
What cause generates the specialist in some and the generalist in others?

* * * *
Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

* * * *
How long can you listen in absolute stillness
To a babbling brook or crashing ocean waves
Before the restless mind reasserts itself in time?
A challenge beyond measure, indeed, indeed.

* * * *
There is no authority, much less a higher one.
To say you are author of your consciousness is as close as it gets,
And then only for the briefest of temporal whiles.

* * * *
What is history but the recycling of monkey-mind patterns bred in the jungles of long ago,
Regurgitated daily with new permutations and technologies seasoning the feast of dreamtime.

* * * *
What more could there possibly be than this ever-present existential moment?
All else is nothing more than the smoke and mirrors of every imaginable distraction.

* * * *
Imagination is bound only by the limits of any given dimension,
That set by the quantum mechanics regulating the groundwork.

* * * *
We each discern clarity in our own unique way.
No point looking back once you are in free fall.

* * * *
Live and let live, live and let die, die and let live, die and let die;
Choices you may well decide a time or three in any given day.

* * * *
The world, the universe you have been interacting with all your so-called life,
Is all in your head, an ephemeral dreamtime entirely imagined from the get-go.

* * * *
Why so many feel such inclination to shackle others in some sort of dogmatic prison
Is the story of power, fame, and fortune, of greed, of every imaginable pleasure,
Playing out the same patterns over and over and over like a broken record.

* * * *
The cosmos is rumored by many thinkers
To have begun infinitesimally small indeed.
Such is the nature of all things imagined.

* * * *
To inflict pain and suffering for overacted, overplayed theater,
What is the point but more unnecessary, often pathetic drama.

* * * *
You know what you did, why you did it,
Why do you need any recognition or reward?
Why care what anyone else thinks about you, really?

* * * *
How astounding all the creativity that humankind has wrought,
And to what happy-sad endgame will it take us before it is over?

* * * *
So many badly written plots out there in the wide world
That could use a few more rewrites to skew things aright.

* * * *
An unseen force, in which all existence rises and falls,
An ocean churning for whatever time eternity gives way.

* * * *
Some familial connections
Seem like little more than a vague rumor
That you were perchance brought up in the same dwelling.

* * * *
The limits of the mortal container are not the limits
Of the quantum awareness witnessing the field of view.

* * * *
More people might be more content
If they tried relishing their given madness
Instead of conforming to some therapeutic mold.

* * * *
Not everyone wants to exist in this world or any other.
What is suicide but someone saying they are no longer interested
In the hullabaloo of their imaginary version of the world.

* * * *
And why would you need to keep kissing some deity’s derrière,
Because he/she/it, without your knowledge or consent, created you?

* * * *
In the relativity of all things human paradigm,
There are likely many, many, far worse rolls
Than the one about which you are whining.

* * * *
Is the difference between night and day, dark and light,
Anything more than bearing of the lamp and set of the room?

* * * *
The you that you play is but history.
The you that you really are is eternal.

* * * *
You are not, have never been, will never be,
The you that you imagine your dream to be.

* * * *
Every mind-body has its capacities and limitations.
Exploring those limits are the adventure life offers.

* * * *
Nature-nurture is a fluid dance
Between mind-body and the winds of time,
Together weaving a dream of existence unlike any other.

* * * *
Some other here, same now.
Some other now, same here.

* * * *
One Ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all
And in the awareness bind them.

* * * *
Indifferent to all pasts, indifferent to all futures,
Indifferent to any and all assertions,
The awareness you are,
Simply is.

* * * *
When your time is up, your time is up,
And a fair amount of pain and suffering
Between the many snippets of pleasure.

* * * *
Pretty amazing how much can very quickly transpire
To those so ill-fated as to exist in interesting times.

* * * *
What you imagine you are is quantum stardust.
What you really are is far older, far younger,
Than anything that can ever be conceived.

* * * *
Everybody has their ethical bubble sheening in the light of their given time.
There is a lot less grief not expecting others to sheen in the same way you do.

* * * *
The world, the universe, exist only if you give the mind
Over to the sensory feed and the thoughts it inspires.

* * * *
What is any dogma but mindless regurgitation
Of things that have never mattered,
Of things that never will.

* * * *
Some monkeys get so crazed and violent, so postal,
Because their anguish, their anger, become so all-consuming
That consequences –penalties and costs – lose all meaning, all concern.

* * * *
Hard enough to transcend your own dogma,
Much less abide the crush of everyone else’s.

* * * *
The joy of youth is ignorance of all the agonies and ecstasies
That lie in wait on the long and winding road ahead.
You never know what you had until it is gone.

* * * *
Sometime you do, sometimes you do not.
Such is the nature of the weather, too.

* * * *
Everyone pooping their vanity
For everyone to see, hear, feel, taste, and smell.
Such a yummy-yum-yum world.

* * * *
Speculation is not truth.
It is all speculation.

* * * *

* * * *
As touchy-feely as it ever seems, it is but a dream,
In truth, no different than one in the depths of sleep.

* * * *
You are a prisoner to your desire
Until you click the Ruby Red Shoes,
And sincerely discern it when you say,
"There's no place like home."

* * * *
Scientific objectivity is flushed down the drain
When funding dictates a self-serving outcome.

* * * *
Yes, you answer to this name or that,
But you are not, have never been, and will never be
What any sound, any concept implies.

* * * *
Most anyone can bring a child into the world,
But are all capable, worthy of parenthood?
Is really the only question that matters.

* * * *
The play of the body-mind
Is but a three-dimensional dream
For you to alone witness,
Nothing more.

* * * *
The mystery spawned you,
And you created a vast universe,
A partnership of senses and imagination.

* * * *
You are the field flowering
In every sensory form imaginable,
All together playing, dancing out Eden’s fate.

* * * *
What is the existence you would lead
If your pile of gold was beyond any need or want?
That is the state of mind in which those who see clearly dwell.

* * * *
Place a near-infinite variety of containers,
All unique shapes and sizes, into a vast ocean of water.
In what way can the liquid within the seemingly individual boundaries
Ever be separate from the indivisibility of the ocean?

* * * *
There must invariably be conscious witnesses
Wherever, whenever the original nature
Has manifested consciousness.

* * * *
Suffering is the consequence
Of identification with the mind and body.
In truth, you are the awareness
Prior to consciousness.

* * * *
All mortals are shaped
By the forces of time and space
As figurines are by molds.
Free will?  How so?

* * * *
Afraid to embrace the all within and without?
Oh, what the heck, dare to give it a go.

* * * *
This awareness of the oneness is the capstone,
The distillation of experience and knowledge into wisdom,
The eternal insight into the immortal essence
Of a mortal existence well spent.

* * * *
If something is truly calling you,
You will do whatever you need to do
To bring about its manifestation.

* * * *
The universe is a vast matrix
In which all things dance
In every manner imaginable
Within the limits of the paradigm.

* * * *
Collapse of the so-called modern world
Is nearer with every passing moment.
What precarious times await the future.

* * * *
Humanity has imagined so many possible futures.
But which will time’s continuum actually harvest?

* * * *
It is all the vain, mortal assumptions
That continue pulling you back
Into this imaginary dream.

* * * *
The sensory play is created
Through the mystery of consciousness
To witness an infinity of dreams.
Thou art a drop of That I Am.
How could this not be the Truth?

* * * *
It is not some other who defines you.
It is your own imaginary musing
That creates all thoughts,
Both good and ill.

* * * *
Consciousness will play out
As consciousness will play out.
That I Am is unconcerned.

* * * *
Challenging to play your self and your Self, too.
To eat your cake, or not to eat your cake,
That is, indeed, the question.

* * * *
What is all this accumulation, anyway?
This incessant gorging of the mind
With every sort of trivial pursuit.

* * * *
The consequences of the many choices we made, or were made for us,
Shape each and every existence, each and every mind, in ways beyond counting.
Causes spin into effects spin into causes spin into effects spin into …
And on and on the finite play of human consciousness
Swirls and whirls and slices and dices,
A paradigm unto its Self.

* * * *
See the indivisible,
Hear the indivisible,
Smell the indivisible,
Taste the indivisible,
Feel the indivisible.

* * * *
If this indivisible mystery is indeed formless, boundlessly infinite,
What are all the scientists, mathematicians, linguists,
And other conspirators of the mind to do?

* * * *
What is the difference between pleasure and pain,
Between right and wrong, between good and evil, between love and hate,
But a variety of chemical, electro-magnetic responses,
Some agreeable, some not.

* * * *
Within every detail, a collection of nuances.
And within those nuances, a few nuances more.

* * * *
To be as a child is to return to that indivisible state of pure, eternal awareness,
Prior to the smoke-ridden consciousness to which time requires subscription.

* * * *
All humankind is caught up in one mythological set or another.
They are all very much the same, really.
Tribal formulations that the given group holds in common,
And perchance get along well enough for the genomic coding to survive and pass on.

* * * *
If all is that which is truly godness, then what is good, what is evil,
But an alliance between consciousness and its Self.
And you, the source, the witness,
Just pop in who, what, where, when, why, how, you please.

* * * *
It is the mind that divides; the mind that unites.
What is free will but the choice between duality and unicity,
The choice between what is real, that which is choiceless, and what is not.

* * * *
If you always do your best, if you always strive in a mindset of quality, of excellence, of virtue,
Then succeeding or failing is only of cursory consequence, a relatively negligible detail.
Process is all, and goals merely imaginary pauses along the eternal journey.

* * * *
And what is the raison d'être of always growing, growing, growing?
Always developing, always expanding, always snowballing,
When the biosphere underfoot is rapidly becoming beyond-the-pale unlivable?
How far will we take it before the web that maintains life as we know it becomes all but undone?

* * * *
It is a more-than-well-documented-very-historical-across-the-game-board fact that the multitudes
– Crowd, horde, throng, pack, flock, herd, mass, host, gang, mob, rabble, call it what you will –
Can be easily manipulated to, with extreme enthusiasm, go along with just about anything.

* * * *
You are that which is mystery, that which is unknowable, that which is eternal,
That which is prior to all attributes, all properties, all characteristics, all components,
That which is prior to all the divisions, all the dualities, all the dichotomies, born of consciousness.

* * * *
To all critics: Please go away.
Find something real to do with your existence.
Is it not obvious to you that what you think is of little or no concern
To those who embrace the great solitude, whose lives are streaming with its creative force.

* * * *
All groups, all cultures, since the origin of language,
Have used their natural environment to communicate their world.
The sun, the moon, the planets, the stars, the weather, the geographical features,
The myriad fellow creatures from great to small, all play parts in every mythological paradigm.
In these our modern times, we use our own creations to decipher the universe about us.
Technologies, politics, religion, business, media, personalities, ad infinitum.
Every conceivable mind-made, artificial, contrived invention
Has all but usurped the relationship with nature.
The rules of the game are ever the same,
But ignorance leaves us deaf and blind and dumb
To the one and only reality that all creation is eternally interwoven
At such an indivisible level as to make any part absolutely inseparable from anything else.
Imagination, and all its fabricated notions, all its dualistic concoctions,
May believe it can control this biosphere, this cosmos,
But it cannot make-believe for long,
Much less forever.

* * * *
From the unassailable inner eye of the one witness,
Prior to consciousness, unmoving, uncommitted, indivisible, all-seeing,
What is there to crave, what is there to consume, really, but sensations of the mind and body,
That ephemerally pass ever-changing from one streaming moment to the next.
Nothing more than smoke drifting through the awareness,
Like clouds moving across in the sky.

* * * *
To live fully in the moment requires that every moment be immediately perceived and released.
Life eternal is an ephemeral quality of mind, a state of unconditional detachment,
In which the you that is the timeless awareness prior to consciousness
Observes without giving weight to the incessant vanities
Of the fictional me-myself-and-I that you imagine your Self to be.

* * * *
What is any thought, any idea, but the thunder of a lightning strike in the quantum mind,
And a creative or troubled mind, a flashing thunderstorm, one ecstatic, the other agonizing.

* * * *
Perfect detachment is a state of stillness, of pure awareness,
Prior to consciousness and its ceaseless state of consumption.

* * * *
You drink a cup of water from your tap, and then you take a whiz.
The wiz travels through pipes, and washes into the river and down to the sea,
Little land critters and little water thingees drinking at it all along the ever-streaming way,
And in they in turn whiz away, and their whiz joins your whiz down to the sea.
And in the sea, more water critters drink and whiz back into the sea.
And the radiating star high above the sea sears its surface,
And the whiz slowly evaporates up into the air sea.
And the air sea drifts and flows this way and that,
And draws the whizz up into the pinnacles of the air sea,
And the whiz joins other whiz and forms into drops into clouds,
That move back over the land towards the mountains where it sprinkles
And drizzles and rains and pours and hails and snows back to the ground below.
And on the ground it moves to creeks to rivers above and below the ground,
And slowly the whizz moves down from mountainsides to the valley,
And to the well, where it waits to be drawn back into pipes,
And from the tap, poured into cup, for you to drink.
It is an indivisible, an inexplicable journey,
To which you are ethereal witness.

* * * *
The predators, the vampires, the parasites, the scalawags,
Will always find a way to dominate, to control, to thieve, to pillage, to debase,
The prey, the quarry, the victim, the mark, the dupe, the fool.
At the most essential, primal level, Mother Gaia
Ever remains a Darwinesque saga.

* * * *
Explore your world, your universe, to your own satisfaction.
There may be nothing new under the sun,
But it is new to you.

* * * *
Though all that is, is of the totality of the great quantum,
Few are drawn to discern the unborn-undying state.
Many are called, few are chosen, fewer still swallow the red pill.
And why would anyone ever choose to endure this inquiry into the unknown.
The hollowness of ignorance, of believing your universe authentic, is its own form of bliss.
Alas in that way-back-when, that you could not help but notice something askew,
That you could not help but ask that first question, take that first step.
Red pill, blue pill, was there ever really-truly any choice?

* * * *
The rabbit hole be deep and dark and every-which-way coily-roily.
Save your Self the bother, enjoy the bliss of ignorance, take the blue pill.
You will never know what you missed, for, in truth,
There is nothing to know anyway.

* * * *
Never too late to take the red pill, but once you do, there is no going back,
Though you may fall into a hole, or get caught in briars along the winding way.

* * * *
As long as you believe it all real and true,
You will enjoy, you will suffer, the ceaseless passions of existence.
The timeless, ubiquitous, prior-to-consciousness state
Is a tranquil sea abiding neither.

* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how is one who enjoys?
Who-what-where-when-why-how is the one who suffers?
Imagination is indifferent to the agonies and ecstasies it inspires
In the ubiquitous quantum sea through which it larks.

* * * *
What you might want from one who sees this,
You must discern within your Self.
It is a timeless journey, an epic lifetime quest,
Which you must make, step-by-step, breath-by-breath, utterly alone.

* * * *
It will likely not be until humankind
Is on the harsh, cutting rocks of its mind-made creation
That it will perhaps, just perhaps, finally discern the unatoneable error of its way.
And even then, how many will call it god’s will and pray for salvation,
Or blame anyone and everyone else but themselves?

* * * *
Suspension of rational thought,
For hope, for belief, for faith, for superstition, for idolatry, for dogma,
How is that even remotely possible?

* * * *
Thought is the stagnancy in which the mind harbors the notion of existence.
Only in awareness is the quantum essence playing at the cutting edge of dreamtime.
Thought is death, awareness, life eternal; the conceptions of consciousness merely vibration,
Waves crashing upon neuron shoals, naught but imagination confabulating sensory perception real.

* * * *
Breathe in … relax … breathe out … relax …
There is nothing to know, there is nothing to do, there is nothing to be.
Give your Self credit for space-time served.
Breathe in … relax …

* * * *
Nobody can ever know what you have gone through, what you have experienced,
What you have perceived, what you have endured, in your trail of agony and ecstasy.
Nor can you more than guess at any other’s version of their world, their universe.
We are all as alone together as ships passing in some nebulous moonlit night,
Only as known as any given insight, any frame of reference, might allow.

* * * *
Where is any god, any deity, but in the innate primal recesses of imagination’s origin,
And its need for there to be some meaning and purpose for this inexplicable existence,
As if the inexplicable existence, the existential fray, is in itself not raison d'être enough.

* * * *
There is a limit to all the finite pretenses of knowledge.
The unknowable must forever remain unknown.
Science, despite all its heady determination,
Can only claw away so much at the quantum mist.

* * * *
What can you know about anything, really,
But the fabrications of mind concocting the sensory play of time,
And what does that signify but arbitrary concoctions,
No matter how well-cloaked in objectivity.

* * * *
All identity, all identification, is nothing more
Than the wind of imagination playing impromptu make-believe.
And when every mind is doing it, it becomes a synergistic collusion we brand humanity.
Nothing more than confabulated delusion from the illusory get-go.

* * * *
How attentively can you listen, and for how long,
To a babbling brook, to a roaring river, to a crashing wave,
They who babble and roar and crash ever eternal.
The no-mind, the mind without mind,
Is a mind full of eternity.

* * * *
The human drama has no solution, no resolution.
It will carry on in its dysfunctional wayward journey
For as long as the genre meanders this world or any other.
So the trick is to endure and enjoy the ride as best as ye are able
In the ever inexplicably mysterious so it goes of it all.

* * * *
A mystery far too incomprehensible, far too enigmatic, far too ambiguous,
To ever more than nibble, scratch, plumb, and ponder.
All any can really do is be it,
As the corollary of dreamtime allows.

* * * *
The rare few who begin to earnestly look within and without, prior and beyond,
At the universe their senses proffer, are those to whom the world less and less matters.
They are the world-weary, they are those who hear the call no words can fathom.

* * * *
doubt |dout| noun,
A feeling of uncertainty or lack of conviction.
You either got it or you don’t.
Blessing or curse,
You decide.

* * * *
Concoctions of sweet, of sour, of salty, of bitter, of umami,
All built of the same quantum mystery, all dancing upon the quantum tongue.
Each of the five sensory organs – eyes, ears, nose, tongue, skin – and the brain to which they link,
Are wormholes to their conditional, their arbitrary, their temporal, rendering of a universe.
You daily travel time, you daily travel space, you daily wander, in the dream of mind.

* * * *
There is truly only this ethereal moment
Which none can never really touch or grasp,
Only perceive through and imagine happened,
Play out whatever assumptions the sensory-mind,
Through its filters of conditioning, perchance gleaned.

* * * *
Regarding the so-called supreme being worshipped by many and known as God:
For being an absentee landlord, and very dubious even at that,
He/she/it sure gets a lot of credit for things
To which only assumption and hope give weight.

* * * *
In order to survive, to abide, to thrive, justifiable or not,
Every vested interest embodies its purpose, its mission, its raison d'être.
In every conceivable way, through every conceivable means,
For as long as capacity and limitation allow.

* * * *
It is unlikely the account, the saga, the legend, the myth,
The self-imagery anyone has playing over and over in their minds,
Would, much less could, ever resemble the one history would carve into stone.
Assuming, of course, that some chronicler would ever even be inspired to scribe anything.
Ultimately, all forms are but anonymous, vaporous ghosts in the mists of time.

* * * *
There are some things for which there can be no proof,
Some things that are not subject to the finite boundaries of mind,
Some things for which any answers are too large or too small for any question.
Some things that must remain forever unknown to the ceaseless conjectures of imagination.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

* * * *
Walk through it as you would a dream, detached observer, ethereal witness.
Inscrutable, enigmatic, unfathomable, mysterious, impenetrable, unreadable, unknowable,
Indecipherable, inexplicable, incomprehensible, sphinxlike,
Yet transparent all the while.

* * * *
Each of us with our own unique universe, each of us with our own unique world view,
Each of us with our own unique set, our own unique frame of reference, that we all deem normal,
Each of us perceiving through the untold filters of our time-bound nature-nurture matrix,
Each of us forever here now, forever absolute, forever indivisible, forever alone.

* * * *
Where do you think your wit comes from if not the ever-present, indivisible, quantum essence?
Of course there is intelligent design at the helm of this inexplicable mystery.
And of course it is indivisibly you, and you indivisibly it.
There is nothing to get all vain about,
Because everyone and everything else is, too.
All notion of duality is but delusion of the sensory mind.

* * * *
What universe does a bat perceive?
A tiger? A dolphin? A bird? A cockroach? A tree? A flower?
Surely,  you are not so self-absorbed as to believe it is ever, can ever, be the same as yours?

* * * *
A garden world chock-full of two-leggeds,
Many believing they are the pinnacles of normal,
All judging their naughty-nice translation from on high.
Who can ever measure up for long, if at all?

* * * *
Awareness is the eternal purity, the eternal clarity, of all dreamtimes.
The silky smooth elixir, the cosmic brew of those rare few
Called to discern, to witness, the only reality.
Source to all, source to none.

* * * *
Human consciousness is really nothing more than imagination
Playing an eternal game of hide and seek with its imaginary self.

* * * *
What difference between the current in waves crashing,
And the heartbeat simultaneously pulsing in your veins?

* * * *
We are all caught, we are all bound, in the truths and lies,
The paradoxes and ironies, the agonies and ecstasies,
The joys and sorrows, the glories and absurdities,
All built by space, all built by time, in the maze of mind.

* * * *
All your busy-ness convinces you that you exist, that you are truly living,
But are you really any more than yet another persona,
Destined to be quickly forgotten
In the human paradigm’s fleeting dreamtime.

* * * *
How many waves did you hear, how many birds did you see,
On that distracted-lost-in-thought wander along the shoreline?
Give attention to your life; it will be gone before you know it.

* * * *
Exploring existence, exploring reality,
Why would anyone in their right mind
Give themselves over to such absurdity?

* * * *
No new technology can more than offer brief respite, brief reprieve,
From the consequences of its accelerating exponential.
Fingers can only plug any dike for so long
Against the indivisible vibrancy of eternal nature.

* * * *
Every mind a solitary journey, a mortal epic in the dream of time.
The challenge is getting past the enticing lure of loneliness,
And clearly discerning the unfathomable aloneness.

* * * *
The digitalization of the human paradigm
Will likely prove a huge black hole for chroniclers
After technology’s inevitable,  likely not too distant collapse.

* * * *
Discard all the overlays of your conditioning:
You are the quietude of the sovereign mystery.

* * * *
Mind and body, and the world, the universe, they create,
Are a laboratory in which we are all observers
Exploring whatever we imagine.

* * * *
Pay attention, so many often exclaim,
But to what are you meant to pay attention?
Whatever draws it, grasshopper, whatever draws it,
And perhaps, if discernment’s edge razor-sharpens enough,
The draw may at some point be to the awareness, the source its Self.

* * * *
The senses invoke the make-believe of time, but without them where would you be?
What happens to a mind evolved in time when locked completely alone in a dark, still chamber?
Who can long abide sensory deprivation without tumbling into unutterable madness?

* * * *
If you hope to withstand the harsh winds of the world,
Cherish and nurture and share the given innocence.
It is always there if you will the time to discern it.

* * * *
Everything of consequence bell-curving in an ever-accelerating up-and-up exponential.
How far toward the indifferent sun will the human paradigm soar
Before wings melt, and x’s and y’s stall and fall?

* * * *
Any child only knows what they are told,
And if they are told a lie, then that lie becomes the truth,
And will remain so until they perchance develop the wit, the vision, the insight,
To distinguish beyond their origin, beyond the origin of all things,
And perchance someday even set themselves free.
It is, indeed, a long, long row to hoe,
With no guarantees of any yield, whatsoever.

* * * *
Be the formless, be the awareness, be the nothingness,
Be the you that is really not, has never been, will never be.

* * * *
Without fanfare, without assertion, without warning,
Mother Nature is judge and jury and enforcer and executioner,
For all who are not mindful, for all who do not heed, her unwritten laws.
Ignore the indelible, ignore the way, and suffer the consequences.

* * * *
Lives ripple through all the lives they meet: friend, acquaintance, foe …
And through all the lives they meet: friend, acquaintance, foe …
And through all the lives they meet … And through …
For as long as memory holds fast against the tides of eternity.

* * * *
Do not for even a second believe your ancestors, even way, way back when,
Were any less intelligent just because their tool-making and other abilities
Had not achieved the ever-expanding bubble of these-our-modern-times.
That is a step-by-step evolutionary process, as is any creative enterprise.

* * * *
Those who frolic mindfully in the waves, the currents, of space and time,
Know to dive into them, or give way to their trajectory;
Never to stand proudly against them.
To bend, to lean, to bow, to give way, without breaking,
Is the sovereignty any blade of grass, ebbing, flowing, knows without knowing.

* * * *
Awareness is both the least and greatest common denominator.
The underpinning of consciousness, of all things known and unknown.
The quantum indivisibility through which duality cavorts the mortal ground.

* * * *
Good and evil are the concoctions of consciousness,
Of imagination, of the mind born of time.
The garden itself is blameless.

* * * *
The matrix universe, an unfathomable quantum sea, swirls on and on and on,
Oblivious to cause and effect, to consequence, to destiny,
To any and all notions born of mind.
Time and space are but figments of imagination,
Inspired by the senses in the processor to which they are wired.

* * * *
Whether or not there is some all-mighty deity observing your every move
Is about as significant as you watching an erratic ant.
Of passing interest, at best.

* * * *
What would it be like to never see another human being ever again?
To have no voice filtering through your mind but your own?
How long could you abide the solitude, the aloneness?

* * * *
That you existed even a moment ago, or will even a moment hence,
Is nothing more than imaginary, illusory, delusional, notion.
This moment, this here now, is the one and only reality,
And no thought can infiltrate its timeless nature.
All consciousness can do, can pretend to do,
Is play out its make-believe, its dream of time,
In whatever way the patternings, the memes allow.

* * * *
The awareness you really are is but eternal witness
Bound in one form or another, trapped in one patterning or another,
For as long as there is a manifest theater, a matrix, for dreams of consciousness to wander.
The inexplicable universe is but a quantum playground in which you will act out
Whatever agonies and ecstasies the given patterning allocates.
There is no escape; you are a captive of time.
Enjoy or suffer; attitude is all.

* * * *
Only the limitations of the senses persuade you, convince you,
Condition you, mesmerize you, hypnotize you, blind you,
Into believing you are at all separate from anything.

* * * *
The other is but an apparition in your mind, an imaginary presence that does not really exist,
But is always upon your shoulder: watching, advocating, imposing, judging,
Your every thought, your every action, your every everything.
To discern there truly is no other, that you are in reality all alone,
Is an insight few have the wit, the strength, the audacity, to ascertain.

* * * *
I do not need you,
And you likely do not need me,
And why would there be a problem with that?

* * * *
Understand the union, the merging, the yoga,
Is not about the mind-body about which you are so vain,
But the you that is the eternal awareness in the all and nothing of it.
The inexplicable cannot be made any more explicable.

* * * *
The quantum essence is formless, shapeless, indefinable.
Forms are the inexplicable weavings of patterns.
To warrant them the inexplicable creations
Of some even more inexplicable deity
Must surely include the most inexplicable you.

* * * *
The point of symbols, icons, totems,
Is to determine they are in you, they are you,
For you are the many-faced god, the quantum undying.

* * * *
How fiercely many a mind does slash and tear and scratch and gnaw its imaginary self.
Conquering the universe, building great empires, saving any and all,
Are much simpler than calming the inner beast.

* * * *
Natural selection is what got the world to this point,
But it is unnatural selection that is taking it to a level
Only conceit and greed and ignorance can confabulate.
What will bloom in Eden after our fall is anyone’s guess.

* * * *
What is the stock market, what is globalization, what is this massive consumerocracy,
But so many people whipping each other and themselves
Without even realizing it.
We are all slaves of one caste or another.

* * * *
Excess is always debilitating in any given long run.
Austerity breeds a hunger for the upside of any bell curve,
While overabundance inevitably sets in motion the road to decline.
Discipline, gumption, grit, individually, collectively,
Are the gauges of any rise and fall.

* * * *
Break down existence into its many parts,
And what is it you have not seen and done
More than enough many times too many?

* * * *
How many ways are there to die?
A list that technology daily lengthens.

* * * *
The fruit of the garden is really nothing more
Than imagination unleashed upon its own creation.
Not banishment as much as self-imposed exile.

* * * *
Is it free will to play out the only part you could have played?
It all seemed so unknowable, so unpredictable, so challenging, at the time,
But have you ever really been anything more than genomic coding,
Awareness witnessing the mortal program it was bestowed?

* * * *
We are all bits and pieces of our lives in our minds.
No one else can know all that it took for you to reach this here, this now.
Existence is for each and every one, no matter how great, no matter how small, an epic journey.

* * * *
Paying attention, being somewhat cautious is not paranoia; paranoia is caution unsprung.
The world is still a jungle, whether it be lions and tigers and bears,
Or Honda’s and Chevy’s and Ford’s.
No need to hide in a closet; just pay attention when wandering about.

* * * *
The world is changed. You can feel it in the water.
You can feel it in the earth. You can smell it in the air.
Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.
All bell curves collapse, and where will you and yours be when the dominos really begin falling?
If you have not already begun taking steps, it is time to think hard, prepare strong,
For a when-shit-hits-the-fan rough road in the times rapidly unfolding.
Batten down the hatches, lock and load, watch and wait.
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
May sound trite, but it be true.

* * * *
Judgment is the attribute of a mind making every effort to maintain its universe supreme.
Be and allow, unwritten companion to the Golden Rule, is only grasped
By those who discern the invisibility of the relativity.

* * * *
No pattern abides forever; any given seed blossom but once.
But that of which all patterns are made … that indivisible quantum essence …
That which creates … preserves … destroys … that is immortal …  that is godness … that is you.

* * * *
That destiny, that fate, that kismet, that karma, you vainly believe you somehow just changed,
Well, friend, understand that destiny is really nothing more than the result,
The synergy of all the choices, of all the consequences,
That rippled in thought and deed.
Nothing uncanny or supernatural about it.

* * * *
All combined, the many-faced other has thought everything of you,
And you, in many times, have thought everything of them.
And what matter, really, once it is discerned
That you are every other, and every other is you.
The many differences are but the theater of dreamtime.

* * * *
What if the Messiah that comes down from on-high to save you
Is not even close to what you truly believed s/he would-could-should be?
What will you do then, Faithful Pilgrim?  Keep waiting, keep praying, keep hoping?
Or perchance awaken to the reality is that any saving is in the realization of what you truly are.
Yes, you are immortal, once you discern the paradoxes and ironies
Within and without all things manifest,
And that heavens and hells are only states of mind.

* * * *
What is existence but oblivion wandering consciousness,
And non-existence, oblivion non-wandering unconsciousness.
The mystery’s definitive on/off state, the byte of life, so to speak.

* * * *
To the indivisibility, a gazillion gazillion universes
Simultaneously transpire in one gazillionth gazillionth of an instant.
You are that, I am that, we are all that, no matter the attributes,  no matter the contrasts,
Imagined by consciousness in any space, in any time, in any dimension.

* * * *
The fate of those without great doubt is to wander in the miasma of time.
The only thing that can save any from such a temporal destiny
Is if they possess the eyes that see, the ears that hear,
The many clues, the many tips, the many hints,
That surround each and every one in their daily wander.
It is a many-are-called-few-are-chosen-fewer-still-volunteer endeavor.

* * * *
Can you exist in the moment, totally here now, without any sense of self-imagery,
Any thought of the personal idolatry, in which a lifetime of conditioning
Has brainwashed you to be in a constant state of ever-becoming.
A Gordian Knot to which there is only one blade-of-discernment solution.

* * * *
The bubble of consciousness in which the awareness you are resides,
Is nothing more than an imaginary invention, the convoluted consequence,
Of insatiable desire and its every moment tango with the abiding fear of not being.

* * * *
Everyone has their own version of this hellish heaven.
It is random, subjective, arbitrary, and capricious from the get-go,
And the price of admission is a payable-on-demand exit
Back to that from whence all things come.

* * * *
There is nothing right about not knowing, there is nothing wrong about not knowing.
It is the reality that the mind, in all its differentiations, has difficulty acknowledging.

* * * *
One must somehow realize a certain sense of irony and paradox,
A certain shade of doubt, of disbelief, of qualm, to see at all clearly.

* * * *
The streaming dreaming of consciousness sometimes enjoys, sometimes endures,
Its ceaseless jabbering, its mesmerized affirmation of all things manifest.
A quantum universe playing real in the rainbow of imagination.

* * * *
There are consequences to everything you do, to everything everyone does,
Sometimes good, sometimes not, sometimes very much not,
And your life, and the lives of everyone else,
As well as every other creature from small to great,
Is all about surfing the ripples in whatever relativity they abide.

* * * *
All sorts of things you do not know,
All sorts of things you have not experienced,
And does it when-all-is-said-and-done matter, really?

* * * *
You cannot do what you cannot do,
And you likely have difficulty not doing what you can.
You are your capacities, you are your limitations, in this relatively brief dream of time.
Do not hesitate to investigate all things as thoroughly as inclination allows.
What greater regret can there be, than a stone left unturned?

* * * *
What is the raison d'être of a puzzle, a riddle, a brainteaser, a koan,
But to sharpen the wit for whatever adventures may come.
It is the playing ground, the training ground, the doubting ground,
Of the critical thinker, the pessimist, the skeptic, the cynic, the seeker of truth.

* * * *
From nothing to something, from something to nothing,
All things emerging, all things disappearing, all things forming, all things dissolving.
The ocean, the source, ever tranquil, ever indivisible, ever absolute,
The many patterns nothing more than appearances,
Winds blowing, currents flowing.
All attributes nothing more than vibrating elements,
The primal chaos creating-preserving-destroying, the synchronicity of eternity.

* * * *
The many sorrows of the world
May be less about needing fewer heroes,
Than it is about needing more intelligent plebeians.

* * * *
Very obvious, very clear, very true, to the relatively few.
And to the many others: blindness, miasma, illusion, delusion.
Many may be called, but few are chosen, and fewer still volunteer.

* * * *
What your mind-tongue craves and what your body needs
Are likely way too often very, very different things.
Be mindful, your future health hinges on it.

* * * *
There have been billions of dreamtimes in the evolving monkey-mind,
As have there been in every genomic line across every time,
In this Gaia-induced musing of the quantum kind.

* * * *
Vanity is nothing more than the mind’s attachment to the senses,
And the thoughts they conspire of the body in which they stream.

* * * *
The Lost Tribes: Is it really just about some ancient desert peoples forced into exile?
Or could it be about the unique few whose inexplicable destiny it is
To someday awaken to what they actually are?
A Tribeless Tribe, so to speak.
As with anything, as with everything, it is what you make it.
What is any history but a means to bolster the given cultural mindset.

* * * *
The insights, the revelations, of eternity are for any
With the wit, the calling, to discern its timeless truth.

* * * *
What desire, what fear, what confabulation of mind,
Can ever touch that which is untouchable by naught but imagination,
And then … and then … and then … only in imagination’s whirling mind-bound reel.

* * * *
Pure observation without measurement, pure awareness without movement,
Without ripple, without wake, without time, without space,
Is not that the highest form of science?
Is not that the way to discern the reality of the eternal
Within and without the within and without that has never really existed?

* * * *
Believing you know is but a false security to which most minds cling.
To a be as a child, alone and free; to be this instant, unborn and undying;
Is to be the mind realigned with the eternal moment and its inherent insecurity.

* * * *
The challenge is to get back to the timeless garden, the eternal Eden,
Of which no other animal on this spinning orb has ever lost vision.

* * * *
The religious mind lumps the great unknowable into a concept called God,
And then dreads and worships and dogmatizes the idolatry that comes to mind.
What is the point of mind gorp based entirely on arbitrary, dualistic imagination?

* * * *
Why would a dog ever need to conceptualize it was a dog?
Or a whale it was a whale? Or an ant it was an ant?  Or a tree it was a tree?
All creatures, all life forms great to small simply play out their given nature as the moment calls.
Only we hapless two-leggeds are lost in a time-bound sea of self-imagery,
And the agony and ecstasy it endlessly weaves.

* * * *
How did the mind and senses evolve from that puddle of origin
But through an incredibly laborious, haphazard selection process,
In which countless unknowable universes were created and destroyed
Before humankind’s little window of space-time spawned into being.

* * * *
What is ego but the fear, the dread, the post-traumatic stress disorder,
The self protective veneer, the fortress keep in our imaginary fiefdom,

* * * *
Why is any groupthink, any mindset, any meme, so earnestly asserted,
But to sustain, to multiply, its corporate nature in the weavings of mind.

* * * *
What is this deity so many fear and worship and call God by one name or another?
Is it a he, a she, an it, a not-it?  Is it everything, anything, nothing?
Is it any more or less a figment of imagination
Than you or anyone else?

* * * *
Do not fool yourself that it was anything but vanity
That brought Jesus to Jerusalem and cast him into history.
Whether innocent or calculated, his demise was as predicable as any
Who brashly, foolishly, fly in the face of the powers that be.
Might has always made right, and it always will.
To accept it as some deity’s intention
Is a mortal game of thrones
To which no one ever need subscribe
If they have the wit and courage to stand alone.

* * * *
The only difference between any you and me is a different set of eyes,
Wired into a  different central processing unit,  programed with a different frame of reference,
Wandering different matrices born of imagination: all alone, together.
We call it life, existence, but what is it, really?

* * * *
The world is changing, so quickly changing, into something
Not nearly as attractive as it once-upon-a-time was.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.
Consume anything, everything, squander the inheritance.
The future is not your problem; screw your kids, and their grandkids, too.
Live high, live large, play out this Ponzi scheme to your narcissistic, hedonistic heart's content.

* * * *
Consciousness weaves into concept
An exalted perfection that can never be.
The horse that is but an imaginary conjuring,
Is a horse that never was, a horse that will never be.

* * * *
What is natural selection?
An evolution of sexual discrimination?
The attraction of likes?  The loathing of dislikes?
Of intellect?  Of whim?  Of spontaneity?  Of happenstance?
Of brawn?  Of beauty?  Of claw and fang?  Of stone?  Of wood?  Of steel?
Of alliance?  Of intrigue?  Of deception?  Of tyranny?
Of irony?  Of paradox?  Of absurdity?
All of the above, and more.

* * * *
How much time can any creator afford to allow themselves
To peruse anything that distracts them from their calling?

* * * *
Words, numbers, notes, and other symbols are all equally unable
To do more than describe, point out, the mystery that they serve.

* * * *
An itsy-bitsy bit of nothingness becomes and itsy-bitsy quantum
Becomes an itsy-bitsy molecule becomes an itsy-bitsy form become an itsy-bitsy life form
Becomes an itsy-bitsy fabrication of imagination, of comprehension,
That one day fathoms the nothingness,
The awareness, it is, has ever been, will ever be.

* * * *
It is perchance time for those rare few who are truly done with the world, truly complete,
Those rare few who are content to artlessly be the most essential timeless state,
To let go of mind, to return to that which is prior to consciousness,
To that awareness which is Eden’s greatest potential.

* * * *
Everything is absolutely simultaneous in the indelible indivisibility of the totality,
But you, you must eyes-wide-open wander down the unfolding trail,
Oblivious to whatever is around each and every bend.
Free will looking forward, fate looking back.
The agonies, the ecstasies, the tragedies, the comedies,
That you play out upon your Self, are unending and beyond all pales.

* * * *
What will this world, this universe, this unfathomable creation, be like in one year?
One hundred years?  One thousand years?  One million years?  One billion years?
One trillion years?  One quadrillion?  One quintillion years?  One gazillion years?
As if a year, a single trip around our puny star, really happened in the first place.

* * * *
Nature is process, an artistic force each and every moment creating,
Absolutely indifferent to beginnings, to endings, to goals, to outcomes.

* * * *
What is this mystery but pure awareness, pure intelligence,
Playing out every potential, every possibility it aspires to manifest,
To dream in whatever dimension its infinite dynamic ordains.

* * * *
It is not about belief, it not about idolatry, it is not about groupthink, it not about dogma,
It is not about tradition, it is not about rituals, it is not about symbols,
It is not about becoming anything or anyone.
It is simply about being
What you are, have ever been, will ever be.

* * * *
Desire and fear have been dynamic, intertwined forces in the human spectacle.
What is it to be without desire,  without fear, and is the mind even capable of it?
Needs research; every scientist his/her own experiment, his/her own laboratory.

* * * *
You are herein introduced to your Self.
From your Self to your Self, so to speak.

* * * *
To what are you ultimately attached but the conditioning
Of a mind each and every moment consuming, translating, a sensory feed,
Through the filters of a time-bound frame of reference inspired by the given nature-nurture.

* * * *
Lamenting any loss, any change, what point, really,
When nothing even for a moment stays the same.
In the hologram matrix of this grand mystery.

* * * *
You are not the you that identifies with this corporal body
Or this life or this world or this universe or any fragment of the great unknown.
You are the indivisible oneness, and that ethereal quantum state
Is enough for any earnest seeker turned seer.

* * * *
The witness, the awareness, the youness, indivisibly permeates all consciousness.
The other, the otherness, is ultimately naught but a fabrication,
Naught but an imaginary, dualistic notion
Of quantum design.

* * * *
Where will believing the best or worst of others take you?
Into what adventures, what rabbit holes, will you tumble?

* * * *
The fixation, the obsession, the mania, the passion, of any given delusion,
Requires a steadfast detachment that relatively few can willingly muster.

* * * *
You need not accept anything that is not legitimate or meaningful
Just because some hypnotized meme-ish alliance espouses it,
Or because some renowned name or title is attached to it,
Or because it is a product of the fermentation of time.
If something does not stand on its own inviolable merit,
There need not be any wavering about putting it behind you.

* * * *
philosophy |fəˈläsəfē|
noun (pl. philosophies)

the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence,
especially when considered as an academic discipline.
See also natural philosophy.

• a particular system of philosophical thought: Schopenhauer’s philosophy.
• the study of the theoretical basis of a particular branch of knowledge or experience:
the philosophy of science.
• a theory or attitude held by a person or organization that acts as a guiding principle for behavior:
don't expect anything and you won't be disappointed, that's my philosophy.

* * * *
The flowers of tomorrow are the seeds of today,
And their seeds the flowers of the tomorrows after,
And on down the line in the long and short of it.

* * * *
There is no middleman between you and the mystery you are.
There is no need to endlessly agonize over questions that have no answer.
There is no need to believe, to worship, to follow, to pray, to grovel, to tithe, to dogmatize,
To dread judgments from an on-high, to quake over imaginary heavens and hells.
You are That I Am, you are that which is unborn, enduring, undying,
As untainted and free as you allow your state of mind to be.

* * * *
What are the senses but readers of the indivisible quantum energy,
And the mind the corporeal, finite neural processing unit
That organizes their steaming input into a world,
Into a universe in which you wander alone
In the ever-churning midst of dualistic otherness.

* * * *
That I Am.
Of which untold seers,
In every time, in every geography,
Have quested, discerned, affirmed, proclaimed:
That I Am, it is you and you are it,
There is no other.

* * * *
We have a very challenging time facing the fact
That this three-dimensional existence is but a touchy-feely dream,
That absolutely nothing is permanent, that forever is nothing more than an idle concept,
A sound whose only reality is but a insignificant vibration in the indivisible,
That has no binds to time, no commitment to form, whatsoever.

* * * *
Any seed is but a one-time blueprint, which may or may not manage to reproduce,
And cast its temporal patterning a bit further in the streaming dream of space-time.

* * * *
Still the busy mind, and without giving anything any thought, simply be the awareness.
Give full attention to each of the senses: the eyes that see, the ears that hear,
The tongue that tastes, the nose that smells, the flesh that feels.
Pay attention to the momentary now, ever-streaming
Through the neural network to the central processing unit.
Where is your world, where is your universe, without the given mind
Projecting, reflecting, through the byzantine filters fabricated of imagination?
All creation is but the ceaseless patterning of nature-nurture set in motion some long ago.
A handiwork that has never been anything but an indivisible quantum matrix,
Never more than an inexplicable dreamtime of unknowable origin.
And the eternal unborn-enduring-undying awareness,
Witness to it all, you are it, and it is you.

* * * *
Is anyone ever all one thing or another?
We are all the multi-faced monkey-mind.

* * * *
All laws, all principles, all canons, all decrees, all rules, and all other such things,
Are entirely born of the arbitrary, dualistic minds of humankind.
There has never been any deity but nature,
And its indivisible dynamic
Is witness, judge, jury, executioner, as needed.

* * * *
What you discern, what you glean, from your world, from your universe,
Is but a reflection of the frame of reference, the filter, doing the translating.

* * * *
There is no part, no fragment, there is only the indivisible whole.
The divisible is but the fabrication of imagination,
And its relentless notions of duality.
Play the part, become the whole,
The nameless, prior to consciousness,
And it countless designs born of limitation.

* * * *
Feel the burning sun warm against your face.
Feel its power, its radiation, permeating your being.
Feel its perpetual capacity to create, to preserve, to destroy.
Is it any wonder that the peoples of old worshipped it,
And that the dominant imagined themselves gods.

* * * *
There it is again, beneath all the interminable facades of conscious design,
The essential as-real-as-it-gets youness, right here, right now,
Eternally present in an ever-timeless sort of way.
You are the irrefutable awareness.
There is no other.

* * * *
Look at all that the agonies and ecstasies
Of your ephemeral, very mortal existence have taught you,
And know that it will all be lost when the glimmer of that last electrical signal dims,
When the body and mind to which you are so habitually attached,
Turns off the light, and without further ado,
Quietly exit the dream.

* * * *
You are the mystery of you, the wonder of you, the eternity of you.
Only sensory perception, imaginary notion, separate you
From that most inescapably authentic reality.
Realize it, grapple it, know it, be it.

* * * *
The crippled beggar in some gutter
May be the richest man in all of human history.
And the Midas with castles of gold across the globe, the poorest.
What is enough, and what is not enough?
Attitude is all.

* * * *
To awaken to eternity, you, the inexplicable awareness,
Must doubt everything to such a great degree
As to be able to shake off the mind and senses entirely.
To become so inwardly at peace as to be neither mind nor body.
A state of timeless beingness for which few have either capacity or inclination.

* * * *
What was it that evolved the human ego?
Was sense of self formed by the competition over mates,
Over hunting grounds, over fishing holes, over resources, over possessions?
Was it the interplay of the given group, the many reflections of others judging this, judging that?
All the dynamics, all the relationships, all the struggles, the array of manifest time,
Gradually sculpting the mind into the one through which you gaze.

* * * *
To discern your own mind, to discover the portal to the unknown,
What other point could there truly be to this rather mundane play?

* * * *
Even as quickly as sensory news travels through the synapses to the brain,
By the time it filters, by the time it registers, in the given mind,
The ever-present now has indivisibly streamed on.
As immeasurable as it may seem,
Even eternal life cannot keep up with reality.

* * * *
The filters of any given monkey-mind, in its imperfect frame of reference, are all about measuring,
Estimating, summarizing, evaluating, calculating, labeling, stereotyping, judging,
But it is the choices made in action and deed that sculpt the day.

* * * *
Male and female are merely long genomic strands of an evolutionary process
Designed for relationship with nature, relationship with each other, relationship with our selves,
That the ever-changing epoch and all its technologies have in every way usurped.
We are all suffering, we are all struggling, to find our way.

* * * *
What is always ironically droll is how the scientists measure,
And measure and measure, again and again, and nothing really changes.
What futility to believe our egocentric genus will ever evolve beyond its paradigm.
Imagine the vast collection of books and videos and photos and graphs and … and … and ...
That the aliens will discover in the scar tissue of this garden when they finally arrive.
Or maybe they already are here, watching us play out our narcissistic game.

* * * *
Best to always be mindful that some little thing you do today
May well come calling with your death warrant tomorrow.

* * * *
What fun is it just to drive the vehicle if you have no idea
What is going on under the hood and between the wheels.

* * * *
Are you really any more than an imaginary notion
Inspired by the dream into which you were cast?

* * * *
Yes, you have learned so much, figured out so much,
Yet here you are, right here, right now, really no less ignorant
Than you were as a newborn babe swaddled in cloth in the given manger.

* * * *
A certain genesis, a certain cosmos, a certain star, a certain world,
A certain distance, a certain whirl, a certain tilt, a certain evolution,
And voilà, here you are, playing out a mortal dream in space and time.

* * * *
The unfolding history of every generation
Sows the seeds of both agony and ecstasy
For the progeny, and the unborn beyond.

* * * *
When you get down to the nitty-gritty-brass-tacks gist of it,
You are really nothing more than the clear space of awareness
With a way long list of ever-changing imaginary assumptions.

* * * *
Consciousness is really nothing more
Than the lightning strikes given meaning and purpose
Along the neuron trails of the brain.

* * * *
There is an uncertain amount of irony and paradox
About rationality when it is marinated in emotion.

* * * *
The real pandemic for humankind will likely be starvation,
And that could take place very quickly given the glacial melt-off
That is accelerating far more exponentially than the algorithm designers
Can wrap their minds around to scribble their meaningless code.

* * * *
Awareness is a dimension without limits, without boundaries, without attributes,
Filled only by the vaporous notions of consciousness, its absorption with, its adoration of,
Its interminable permutations, incessant convolutions, never-ending frivolities, of imaginary origin.

* * * *
What is a degree, what is a certificate, but a piece of paper
That confirms you have learned how to think
In some well-established box.

* * * *
If you are so fortunate, so privileged,
As to attain the “self-actualized” ethereal of Maslov’s Hierarchy,
If you are able to rise above the temporal, the mundane, worldly tiers of the “physiological,”
Of the “safety,” of the “belongingness and love,” of the “esteem,”
Count your Self blessed,
For if this human epoch has any real meaning,
It is in the transcendent, creative mind, in which it contentedly dwells.

* * * *
To be agnostic, to be uncertain, is to explore for your Self,
No direction known, no answers sought, no conclusions made,
Is to be as eternally present as consciousness in space-time allows.

* * * *
So subtle as to be ever obscure,
So esoteric as to be sought by the rarest of the rare,
So inexplicable as to stand alone, no matter the time, no matter the space.

* * * *
History as it is unfolding is less about academics than it is reaction to the given moment.
It is only as the gaze broadens to the larger context that perspective
Begins the slow process of reflection,
That will one day harvest a footnote in some chronicle.

* * * *
What is the difference between a flake of gold and a grain of sand,
But a level, a degree, a magnitude, an intensity, of quantum vibration.
The appraisals deigned by consciousness are naught but imaginary notion.

* * * *
cancer |ˈkansər|
noun
the disease caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body:
he's got cancer | smoking is the major cause of lung cancer.
• a malignant growth or tumor resulting from the division of abnormal cells:
most skin cancers are curable.
• a practice or phenomenon perceived to be evil or destructive and hard to contain or eradicate:
racism is a cancer sweeping across Europe.

* * * *
Where anyone takes the quest for truth
Is entirely a subjective reckoning.
How far and wide any seeker travels to discern
That it was all within and without from the very beginning,
Is the chronicle, the saga, the myth, the epic, that all must alone navigate.

* * * *
What is any modern world, any current era, any contemporary timeframe,
But the timeless present kaleidoscoping within the relativity of any given mind.
It is only as real, as tangible, as imagination, inspired by the sensory feed, ordains.

* * * *
So many failures, so many errors, so many flaws, so many imperfections, so many mistakes,
So many blunders, so many trespasses, so many brutalities, so many desires, so many vanities,
So many regrets for so many things, for which you must first and foremost forgive your Self.

* * * *
Why believe anything, why fear anything, for which there is no rational proof?
To fear the irrational is to dread what is really nothing more
Than the imaginary dross born of mind.

* * * *
What is it in the timeless course of space interwoven with time that stimulated the human mind
Into becoming so ingenious at tool-making and countless other disciplines?
What a phenomenal whodunit the evolutionary aspect
Of this unfathomable handiwork.

* * * *
Most life forms exist in a choiceless eternal vulnerability
That knows neither birth nor death, nor any measurable notion.
Instinct is the patterning established in all though the Darwinian shaping
Of each and every genomic strand over millions and millions of years of evolution.
Consciousness, as the human ego fields it, assumes an invulnerability that is utterly fictional.
The assumption of free will, of choice, despite all illusions to the contrary,
Is every moment shackled to the instinctual roots of origin.
To suppose that you are truly and completely free,
That you have reign over your choices,
Is a dubious assertion, indeed.
The ultimate truth of it is,
That in any manifest dreamtime,
You can no more alter the given part you play
Than any other living thing acting out its minute function
In this inexplicable, indelible, indivisible, immutable, cosmic hologram,
Born in the vapors of imagination moving to and fro in the clear space of awareness.
To give over to the vulnerability you in reality ever are, is a reflective view to which few are drawn.

* * * *
Whether or not you chose to manifest in this dreamtime,
Is prior to all knowing, and need not be even the barest of concerns.
The point in fact is, you are here, you are now, and for perhaps no reason at all,
Which means you have the opportunity to play around a bit in whatever way may call you.
There will be consequences, there will be agony and ecstasy, there will be death.
Ultimately all smoke and mirrors, but certainly real enough at the time.

* * * *
The quantum cosmos, a hologram matrix of creation, preservation, destruction:
Rising, falling, ebbing, flowing, ever-churning through the stillness of awareness.

* * * *
How can the here-now, the ever-present moment, ever be born, destined to one day die?
How can that which is without attributes, that which is indivisible, ever exist?
How can there be light or dark?  Sound or silence?  Right or wrong?
How can there be any this, any that, in an indelible mystery,
In which time is not, has never been, will never be?

* * * *
In one quantum, all quantum; in all quantum, one quantum.
One for all, all for one, in the one and only indivisible there is.

* * * *
What is there but awareness.
To call it infinite or infinitesimal is meaningless.
To give it any purpose, to slather it with any attributes, is irrelevant.
To even brand it truth is a beyond-the-pale absurdity.

* * * *
Life is an ever-changing universe, a convoluted maze with many, many doors.
You wander through the halls of your mind’s translation, your imagination’s rendering.
Some doors open, some do not; some open easily, some never at all; some open now, but not later;
Some are locked now, but open later; and some, many, most, never will.
Each mind has its fate, but only looking back.

* * * *
The weight of the world is but imaginary notion.
Still the mind, ignore the senses, waylay all the desires and fears.
Attend the awareness prior to consciousness, and, poof,
The world disappears in the mists of eternity.

* * * *
The sexual compulsion, and the continuation, the proliferation, of the existence for which it evolved,
Is really nothing more than an instinctual, hypnotizing, overwhelming, primordial force,
A directive from the innermost reaches of every genomic strand across Gaia,
Striving to survive whatever “forever” the mortal faire allows.

* * * *
Nothing mattered before the beginning, and nothing will matter after the end.
And what is everything between but a stream of every sort of imaginary notion.

* * * *
The horror! The horror!
The absurdity! The absurdity!
The bother! The bother!

* * * *
Stop believing all the deceptions the conditioned mind endlessly weaves.
You are the eternal awareness: nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
What a desolate conception of god has emerged in so many human minds.
How can any abide any vision that is not all-inclusive, all-accepting?
Any view that is cloaked by every imaginable dogmatic absurdity?
What is the point and purpose of all this incessant, nonsensical conflict
Over what is, and has ever been, nothing more than fictional confabulation?

* * * *
What does any timeless, immaculate moment become but a snapshot in memory.
A marker encoded in the filaments of the neuron trail.
Imagination does the rest.

* * * *
The malevolence of resentment, envy, distrust, spite, suspicion, protectiveness,
Covetousness, bitterness, greed, jealousy, and hatred are not easy passions to resist.
Cultivate benevolence whenever possible if you hanker for peace, both within and without.
And, if not, well, there are indeed any number of boulevards to murder and mayhem.
There is, after all, a certain serenity, a certain equanimity in self-righteousness.

* * * *
Human consciousness is a vortex of desire and fear
And every variety of passion they foster,
Which will draw you in as far as you cannot resist,
With all the flesh and mind delights of Power, Fame, Fortune,
And the Seven Deadlies: Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Wrath, Greed, Sloth.

* * * *
How desolate the lives of those whose soul meaning
Is counting the coins in their mound of false gold.

* * * *
Any personal god is nothing more than an imaginary illusion-delusion.
You are the only thing personal wandering about this quantum mystery.

* * * *
No philosophy can ever more than point and sally at truth.
None can dictate more than piecemeal injunctions and futile remedies.
Language can never be anything more than barren distraction
From the inherent mystery peering out from within.

* * * *
Mother Gaia is becoming an ill-tempered, impatient dragon
At the unrelenting mismanagement of her elemental quantum nature
By the countless two-leggeds foolish enough to assert unrestrained dominance,
Over a mystery which can never be known, much less mastered.

* * * *
The clock hands go round and round and round, and you ever the same.
Whoo-hoo for eternity playing out the dream of space and time
In the awareness of your most thunder, perfect mind.

* * * *
You were told you were this, you were told you were that,
And now you meander the ever-present dream of space and time believing it all true.
A make-believe meme, a conditioned pattern, an autonomous invention,
Woven into the ceaseless chatter of the consciousness
Each and every moment streaming
In the clear space of timeless awareness.

* * * *
Regarding the contemporary destiny of this garden world,
Humanity seems intent on learning a very harsh lesson of balance
In a most strenuous, most convoluted, most painful manner.
Earth will abide, but as to whether life will or will not,
Has the jury waiting and watching a tad longer.

* * * *
Fabricating deities and grand complex schemas of heavens and hells and purgatories between,
Is really nothing more than a elaborate way of declaring how clueless you truly are.
Much more delusional, much more bothersome, much more absurd,
Than just being quietly, simply, honestly agnostic.
How much more profound it is to neither know nor care.

* * * *
How can the immaculate awareness you truly are
Ever be more, ever be less, than what it is right here, right now?
What is this fleeting corporal existence but a timeless dream, unborn, undying.

* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how are you,
But vain attachment to a sack of bones and goo,
A collection of filtered perceptions, of vague memories,
A meme, a recording, a scratchy record going round and round,
The same song playing over and over until breath and beat do you part.

* * * *
You are the witness, the arbiter of your version of this sensory-created mystery.
Even if you subscribe some well-established mindset, it is ever your interpretation.

* * * *
Using the tools of rhetoric to enhance empty agenda,
To embellish middling intelligence or emotional quotients,
Only undermines the power of reason in the pursuit of veracity.

* * * *
How could the timeless awareness you truly are,
That which is without attributes, that which is absolutely singular,
Ever be in any way different, or in anyway separate, from anyone or anything else’s?
There is no divisibility but through the imaginary notions of consciousness.

* * * *
What is heaven, what is hell, but potentials of mind given over to equanimity or volatility.
What more can any ask of their dreamtime than to have a mind at peace with its Self,
A mind that is content, a mind that is serene, a mind that is eternal unto its origin.

* * * *
Life is a long and ever-streaming swim.
Will you stay in the shallow end, the deep end,
Or wander back and forth as time calls?

* * * *
Chances are that the pain you are feeling so deeply is all in your head,
And if it actually is of the body sort, well that is not a forever thing, either.

* * * *
You are the mysterious unknown, peering out into a universe,
Entirely conceived by an organized collection of neurons.
Some sort of quantum be, quantum see, kind of thing.

* * * *
There is only the timeless instant, the eternal moment.
There is only right here, there is only right now.
There is no yesterday, there is no tomorrow.
In the ever-present hereness-nowness of the indivisible ever is.
There is no past, there is no future, there is no ever was, there is no will ever be.

* * * *
What is the universe of a crow, a tuna, a rat, a cockroach, a microbe?
How vain to believe yours any more real, any more important than theirs.

* * * *
In the ocean of indivisibility, the ocean of awareness, the ocean of consciousness,
In which all things in synchronicity move hither and thither, to and fro,
Existence is nothing more than a habit, a pattern, a recording,
A dream in which the nature-nurture of every seed
Plays out its timeless, inseparable part.

* * * *
To be aware each and every moment that none of this is ultimately real,
To not be mesmerized by the mind’s conditioned responses,
Only the rarest of the rare attain, or so they say.

* * * *
Taking personal responsibility is the foundation of all suffering.
What is the point of being responsible, being liable, being accountable,
For a universe, a world, an existence, you had no say in creating.

* * * *
The mystic does not conquer, subjugate, or annihilate,
But through surrender of the personal mind
To that which is total and absolute.

* * * *
How can anyone who has any wit, any savvy, any keenness, whatsoever,
Not doubt, not question, not think critically, is perhaps the greatest mystery.

* * * *
To recondition the mind into being timelessly ever-present,
Rather than being lost in time-bound imagery,
That is the eternal challenge.

* * * *
If you must hope for anything of this existence,
Hope for a quick, unexpected, painless death.

* * * *
Awareness is the timelessness through which consciousness fashions space-time.
There is naught but now, in which imagination casts itself hither and thither
Like a wind that cannot decide whether to be a zephyr or a hurricane.

* * * *
You have never seen you own face.
How could your frame of reference
Ever be the same as anyone else’s?

* * * *
Maybe you have got it, may you have not, but what is there to get, anyway?
You are awareness, you are absolute: nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
Everyone wandering hither and thither,
Each with their own uniquely eccentric soap opera,
Ebbing and flowing to and fro in their vain little monkey skulls.

* * * *
God, Brahman, Allah, Quantum, isness, oneness, absoluteness, totality,
And the infinity of sounds by which it might also be known,
All fluid words used interchangeably herein
To give homage to that which is prior to all names.

* * * *
Ain’t it amazing how much you do not know,
And yet the first and last knower all the while.

* * * *
A still rock is a still rock.
A still pond is a still pond.
A still mind is a still mind.

* * * *
Who am I? Well, I am me, the same me as you.
Both of us likely just as attached to our flesh and bone guises,
Just as attached to our vain notions in this garden’s play of nature-nurture.
We are all nothing more than a relatively brief play of differences
Cavorting in the same vast ocean of indivisibility,
Ultimately born of the same source,
The same awareness,
The same unknowable unknown.
Name it, label it, describe it, identify it, classify it,
Sanction it however you will, it is ever the same inexplicable essence.

* * * *
And why not be lazy and apathetic?
The human paradigm is set in flesh and bones.
Nothing will change enough to make it worth the bother.

* * * *
What do you think the mystery used but its own quantum clayness
To create, to witness, to fathom, you and your temporal universe?

* * * *
What is imagination but the neural wind of the mind.
Sometimes still, sometimes breeze, sometimes tempest.

* * * *
It is hard to fathom that rational scientific method does not reign across the board,
That superstition, mythology, make-believe, idolatry, dogma, fanaticism,
Still have such an enduring foothold in the human psyche.

* * * *
The passion of the mob can easily and quickly run strong and deep,
And life and limb come to great harm if/when the swell becomes too muddled.
Staying away, hunkering down, moving elsewhere, can often be among the safer tonics.

* * * *
What would Jesus have been imparting if he had lived well beyond the martyred age of thirty-three?
Would it have been the same as the beyond-the-pale flimflam these last two thousand years,
Or would the tune have changed, morphed, evolved, into something far different?
The things we will never know are indeed-indeed well beyond counting.

* * * *
The quantum mystery will pretend
Whatever meaning and purpose you vainly imagine,
And not even one scintilla of it ultimately real or important all the while.

* * * *
At some point, is there really anything left in the bucket?
Is there anyone you desperately need to see again?
Anything you desperately need to do again?

* * * *
The Way is neither moral nor immoral.
Isness is not bound by any play of mind.

* * * *
Doubt will carry you to whatever falsehood you can abide,
And then on to the next and the next and the next and the next and the next,
Until you finally achieve that eternal moment where there are no more untruths to be had,
That unutterable, timeless realization where you finally, indelibly discern
That you are, and have always been, and will ever be,
The way and the truth and the life.
There is no other,
Playing out every possibility.

* * * *
It is more than a little dubious, more than a little moot,
That anyone bothers speaking out about the way they view reality,
When it so often provokes more conflict, more thistles, in the minds of others.
Far more rational, far wiser, far kinder, to go hang out alone in some anonymous venue,
Some serene garden bench, some understated front porch, imbibing the spaciousness of awareness.
Enjoying in solitude, in tranquility, what relatively little mortal dreamtime is left.

* * * *
You are your own witness, your own muse, born of the world, the universe,
That your many attachments to mind and body inspire you to believe real and true.
It is but a quantum dream, but one you must play out for as long as the mortal faire allows.

* * * *
Spiritual militancy only brews more dogma in an already dogmatized world.
Choosing the path of least resistance, declining to engage in gratuitous conflict,
Is the surest means to giving one’s Self over to the unbearable lightness of being.

* * * *
Attempting to replicate another's awakening is impossible.
You must perceive and witness your own mind,
Your own world, your own universe,
Unutterably alone.

* * * *
This dreamtime offers any educated mind incalculable ways to discern, to filter, this quantum theater.
Historian, scientist, mathematician, philosopher, anthropologist, sociologist, psychologist,
And on and on and on for minds born with the grit and gumption to learn.

* * * *
There is no political or economic or religious solution
To what is happening at the macro level of our two-legged paradigm.
We are acting no differently than bacteria charging towards the edge of a petri dish.
Biology will out no matter how viable, how dexterous, how profound, how bona fide, the technology.
All the babble is, and has ever been, nothing more than meaningless mind gorp.

* * * *
How many zeroes to the right or left of the decimal point are really required
To discern all you really have is one very big, one very tiny,
Null and void coursing through it all.

* * * *
No need to pray for this or that, or that or this.
Just accept what comes, and let go what goes.

* * * *
All the feelings, all the thoughts, in this our human paradigm,
What are they but much ado about ductless glands and viscera.

* * * *
We tag this indelible mystery with so many names,
Shore it up with so many speculations,
All equally meaningless.

* * * *
We are all wandering in our own very unique, very subjective, very alone, version of a universe.
A timeless conundrum, an inexplicable mystery, an immeasurable dream,
From all beginnings to all endings.
None of us have ever seen our own face, and none of us ever will.

* * * *
Those who find themselves beneath the Bodhi Tree,
Or utterly alone for forty days and nights in the desert,
Are neither dull in wit, faint of heart, nor slothful in spirit.

* * * *
T-Shirt Karma,
Coffee Mug Dharma:
What Would Jesus Do?
What Would Lao Tzu Do?
What Would Nietzsche Do?
What Would Siddhartha Do?
What Would Mohammed Do?
What Would Zoroaster Do?
What Would Krishna Do?
What Would Waldo Do?
What Will You Do?

* * * *
Where is the division between consciousness and unconsciousness
For anyone giving the mind and all its movements their full attention.

* * * *
You are, indeed, a quantum jester.
A fool, a wit, a wag, a tool, for the indivisible unknown
To tarry for the briefest of whiles in an imaginary dream of space and time.

* * * *
What need do those who have awakened,
Those who have transcended all doubt,
Those who wander in unburdened awareness,
Have for any questions, or the answers they project.

* * * *
Some answers are far too infinite, some far too infinitesimal, for any question,
And those who query only hear the predictable echoes of their own projections.

* * * *
The mind is a castle keep, and the awareness you truly are its sovereign.
To allow no other to haphazardly trample about the dominion
Is to hold fast against the tempests of consciousness.

* * * *
Would that life were more fair, and suffering not such a mainstay.
In the draw of the genetic lottery, some get a royal flush,
While others cannot even score a high card,
And the remainder muddle in the abyss between.
The winds of nature-nurture carry us where they will.

* * * *
History is so much greater than any culture, any philosophy, any mound of gold.
And the world, the universe, the quantum field, is far greater than anything imaginable,
And the unknowable, the indivisible, the nothingness, prior to all manifestation, is trump to all.

* * * *
It takes a great deal of courage, a great deal of detachment,
To not take life, to not take this world, this dream, personally.

* * * *
Travel time?  Travel space?
How can something that does not exist be traveled?
How can you be anywhere but the here now in which you ever indivisibly reside?
Imagination, the quixotic author of this enigmatic quantum stagecraft,
Is the only time traveler there has ever been, or will ever be.

* * * *
What are you, what is any form, but a derivative of the indivisible totality.
All but infinitesimal widgets thingamajigging within the ever-kaleidoscoping quantum matrix.
Consciousness claiming to be this or that is but the delusion of imagination
Identifying with ever-changing temporal circumstance.

* * * *
The mystery plays out every preposition:
In-on, at-to, before-after, over-under, above-below, up-down, plus-minus, since-until,
inside-outside, with-without, around-through … et cetera,
And none of it all the while.

* * * *
Your original state was absolutely, indivisibly, unconditionally flawless.
The only question is whether that unutterably formless, timeless emptiness,
That immaculate awareness prior to consciousness, prior to all whims of mind,
Can be steadfastly reestablished while immersed in the given day-to-day.
It is a homecoming only the rarest of the rare ever contemplate.

* * * *
All things under every star across the great unknown
Are of the same quantum essence ever churning anew.

* * * *
You are as large as you are small, as short as you are tall.
What is the starry-starry universe but the untouchable you,
And the beaten path, the you upon which you daily tread.

* * * *
Is there thought without vanity, self without arrogance?
Is a question that requires rigorous observation
By each and every witness so-inclined.

* * * *
We are what we have always been: self-absorbed in every which-way imaginable.
There are already far too many of our kind, and daily more and more,
And in spite of our indelible aptitude at inventing every conceivable thingamajig,
It is inevitable that we will ultimately prove incapable of surviving our Frankenstein creation.

* * * *
Life is death and death is life; the two are indivisibly intertwined in this dream of time.
To cling to one or the other is to entirely miss the point that neither truly are or are not.

* * * *
No quarter given, no quarter taken,
The ultimate Darwinian reality in this manifest theater.
Might makes right in every dreamer’s dream.

* * * *
This mystery is too incomprehensible to even try to shroud it with rhyme or reason,
And yet we do again and again and again. each and every mind born afresh,
Striving to comprehend the ever-mystifying nature of the given maze.
Is it any wonder saloons are full and needles litter the streets.

* * * *
Look deadly, be deadly; look deadly, be harmless;
Look harmless, be deadly; look harmless, be harmless.
Survival is as survival does in this indivisible quantum Eden,
This garden of good and evil born of imagination’s egocentric notion.

* * * *
Your illusory cosmos is your teacher, it is your frame of reference.
it is a interminable streaming of faces and places and every variety of form.
It is all the creatures from large to small, it is galaxies beyond what any eye can see.
It is words and numbers and sounds and symbols, and whatever else consciousness aspires.
It is the imaginary mind, it is the imaginary you, it is the imaginary not you.
And through it all, the ubiquitous awareness you truly are,
Ever the indifferent, solitary witness.

* * * *
Ethics is the luxury of a full belly and a safe harbor.
Might makes right, it always has, it likely always will.
The best any can hope for is a benevolent claw and fang.

* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how is the boundary between pleasure and pain,
Or are agony and ecstasy, suffering and happiness, anguish and joy,
Nothing more than points along a neurological continuum,
A survival mechanism that evolved long, long ago,
In the nervous system all animals share.

* * * *
All this time, all this effort, all this angst, all this sillines,
Only to finally figure out that it is all nothing more than a touchy-feely dream
Sponsored by an inexplicable quantum feed.
Argh, indeed.

* * * *
What is human history but the ever-predictable monkey-mind,
Rolodexing its muddle of consciousness over and over and over.

* * * *
And to the end of time, to the end of daze,
The scholars and the researchers and the mathematicians
And the academics and the thinkers and the experts and the philosophers
And the authorities and the specialists and the highbrows and the eggheads and the polymaths,
Measured and calculated and gauged and quantified and evaluated to the nth degree
Every this and that clearly obvious to most everyone else from the get-go.

* * * *
You are very much alone, you have always been very much alone,
And despite the hypnotizing sensory play about you,
You will ever be very much alone.
How else could the singularity be single?

* * * *
In every end, it will be as it was in every beginning,
As it was in every meridian and every twinkling in every between,
And as it is in every imaginable before, as it is in every imaginable after, as well.
Any notion that your “youness” is in any way separate from the eternal
Is nothing more than the delusion of the sensory mind-body.

* * * *
Each and every timeless, streaming moment passes the same.
Call it second, call it minute, call it hour, call it day, call it night, call it this year or that,
It is ever the same quantum eternity dancing in its own illumination,
And you, the awareness, its creator and witness.

* * * *
Awareness is the perceiving, awareness is the observing, awareness is the witnessing.
There is no observer, there is no witness; the source is not a thing, it is not consciousness,
It is not at all attached to any who, any what, any where, any when, any why, any how.
It merely is – indivisibly, indescribably, timelessly– free and clear of all attributes.

* * * *
The eternal salvation so many glibly guarantee is up to you to alone discern.
Even if you follow a trusted guide up an arduous, rocky mountain trail,
You are still required to endure each and every step along the way.

* * * *
Time is the streaming of consciousness.
There is no time in the heart of awareness.
Abandon the ticking clock lodged in your mind,
And apperceive the timeless, immeasurable beingness
You truly are, have ever been, will ever be.

* * * *
Do not be ensnared by the temporal mind-body you imagine your Self to be.
It is but ductless glands and viscera, a vehicle of relatively fleeting duration

* * * *
Everyone marches to the beat of one drum or another.
Some are too loud to be heard, others too muted not to be.

* * * *
The indifferent known, the indifferent unknown,
The indifferent universe, the indifferent world, the indifferent space-time,
The indifferent quantum, the indifferent mind-body, the indifferent who-what-where-when-why-how,
The indifferent now, the indifferent awareness, the indifferent truth, the indifferent false,
The indifferent everything, the indifferent nothing, the indifferent whatever,
All the same indifference masked by every indivisible guise.

* * * *
This spinning orb is the universe’s insane asylum, oft times called Hell.
For shards of Soul who believe they are separate from the null and void.

* * * *
This manifest theater, this temporal realm,
Concocts an inexhaustible diversity of bullshit.
So it goes. deal with it, get over it, move on.
Alone and absolute, if you can manage it.

* * * *
Discern the timeless stillness of the awareness prior to consciousness.
Become that peace, that tranquility, that calmness, that that serenity.

* * * *
Everyone would do well to challenge, to confront, their imaginary deities,
Their superstitions, their fallacies, their delusions, and whatever other dreads,
At least once and awhile to find out if anything noteworthy really happens.
Take a scientific approach rather than be some meme-ridden puppet.

* * * *
In any given life there are some good decisions,
Some mediocre decisions, and some really bad decisions.
Regrets are no doubt piled high and cringing in any given mind.
Oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

* * * *
The incalculable theaters of mind already come and gone in the human paradigm
Ever delineate the future, ever forge the options of new generations,
Ever channel them into unprecedented venues,
From which they cast their progeny into their rendering.

* * * *
What is human existence but an ever-streaming play of consciousness,
An ever-kaleidoscoping play of some given mind attached to some given circumstance,
An ever-emanating play of minds mesmerized by every imaginable difference
That the delusions of sensory illusion can fashion real and true.
Ultimately nothing more than the quantum enigma
Playing a game of light and shadow.

* * * *
The purgatory of consciousness offers only fragmented peace.
Heaven is the motionless oblivion of pure, unfiltered awareness.

* * * *
The time born of mind reigns through the continuity of its many memes, its many patterns.
Consciousness reinforces these repetitive cultural blueprints through conditioning.
Relatively few are inclined to free themselves from their domesticated lot,
To discern the timeless awareness at the cradle of all imagined.

* * * *
Gaia is in the remorseless, fell grip of the monkey-mind.
The fruit of the garden is fated to be its cancerous demise.

* * * *
Quantum awareness, quantum consciousness: omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent.
What more god could you possibly witness? What more god could you possibly be?

* * * *
To see the reality of this awareness clearly, to discern what you truly, undoubtedly, are,
You must have the concentration and fortitude of a tightrope walker crossing a canyon.

* * * *
Self pity, what an odious waste.
Besides which, what is the point of feeling wretched
Given that you are doomed: doomed to suffering, decline, and annihilation,
No matter how you pander your sentiments about it.

* * * *
What is the universe but a quantum creation spun of nothing,
And every existence witness to a unique cosmos of patterned design,
As devised by the senses in their eternal perception of the winds of illusion.

* * * *
We are only joking ourselves if we think anyone,
Much less anyone in the political-economic-religious forum,
Is going to steer a safer course, much less turn our little Titanic around.
We only exist, we only abide, at this absurd level of beyond-the-pale statistical intrigue
Because of oil and our beyond-the-pale tool-making ability, coupled with an insatiable greed for more.
There is no happy ending, no over the rainbow, to the horror story daily unfolding.
Economic and environmental collapse is inevitable;
How and when the only question.

* * * *
Consciousness concocts every imaginable speculation
To grapple with this inexplicable quantum mystery,
But its ultimate reality of is prior any metaphor.

* * * *
What is the dreaming state – the thoughts, the images, the sensations – of sleep,
But the incessant movement of the mind without sensory reference points?
Is there really a division between consciousness and sub-consciousness,
Or is it merely the mind facing or not facing whatever reality is unfolding?

* * * *
The mind is a weaving of attachment to all its imagery.
Everything though and done is founded upon the conditioning
Of space-time since the inception of its first perception.

* * * *
Consciousness is the movement, the vibration, the lightning storm, of the brain.
Mind is fabricated by the attachment to the many emotional and conceptual patterns,
The conditioning, to which it abides for whatever sojourn the dreamtime of quantum ordains.

* * * *
It is a perpetual yellow brick road littered with non sequitur.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.
Awareness, alone, serene.

* * * *
What is any description, any identification, any categorization, any hypothesis, any stereotype,
But a gray matter pigeonhole in which assumptions can be warehoused,
Taken out, cooked, and served up as needed.

* * * *
It is the nature of reflective, earnest doubt that no lie will long suffice.
Once you embark on this solitary journey to discern the truth of this implacable mystery,
There will be a never-ending array of ever-enticing interruptions and diversions.
Every sort of blind alley, roadblock, dead end, and impasse imaginable.
But there will be no turning back, there will be no stopping.

* * * *
Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
What does it matter, they are both illusion.

* * * *
If you give your self over to Self,
Things just seem take care of themselves
In a way that only you very much alone can witness.
No need to pray to some idol, no need to worship some god,
Just being fully in the ever-kaleidoscoping moment is more than enough.

* * * *
What is a reasonable profit in commerce, and what is usury,
Depends upon who contrives the rules of the game,
And what the market will bear or bull.

* * * *
Achieving the so-called higher states of consciousness
– Detachment, wisdom, harmony, serenity, equanimity, contentment –
Are especially arduous, and take a great deal of practice.

* * * *
So many issues ahead in this, the world our kind has crafted:
Overpopulation, resource depletion, pollution, waste and waste disposal,
Ocean acidification, acid rain, ozone layer depletion, global warming, climate change,
Loss of biodiversity, habitat loss, deforestation, urban sprawl, water scarcity,
Economic mayhem, warfare, terrorism, civil unrest and pestilence.
To name a few.

* * * *
The awareness you are is within all life from the smallest to greatest, all across creation.
So you are every moment being born, you are every moment dying.
Life and death, how are they not the same?

* * * *
Standing for nothing is the only way to avoid the exceedingly common human delusion
That existence has some paramount meaning and purpose, that values are authentic and true,
That morals, that ethics, are more than just vain concoctions of a species that has yet to come to terms
With the fact that they are but temporal consequences of evolutionary happenstance.

* * * *
Always agreeable to have enough coins of the realm to stay more than just afloat,
But too big a pile can wander into the exceedingly bothersome domain of cursedom.

* * * *
Thought has a tendency to get caught up in one little-self fixation after another.
To dwell in the no-self zone requires great detachment from the world,
And all the incalculable universes that emerge and subside
Upon an constantly changing elemental crust,
That basks in the radiance of a relatively temperate star.

* * * *
You are the sacrifice, your life has been chosen,
And you are carrying a cross of your own making.
We are all martyrs of our own imaginary notion.

* * * *
We must all go-through-it-to-see-through-it on so many things.
It is the nature of the beast that we all must all embark anew.

* * * *
What sense can perceive the eternal conundrum of awareness?
What attribute can prove it? What word can define it? What mind can bind it?
Awareness is the sovereignty of all things imperceptible, unprovable, indefinable, unbindable.

* * * *
You are the eternal awareness experiencing manifest form.
To die to the little self is not physical death, but psychic death.
It is awakening, it is being born again, into the Self you truly are.

* * * *
Call it all progress if you will,
But that which is not in harmony with natural law,
Has ever been little more than a long and winding road through perdition.

* * * *
The dormancy of a deep, deep sleep is the recharging of the vitality.
All the activity of personal mythos, all the sensory shimmering in that imaginary center,
All that desire and dread and passion grind down the corporeal mind-body.
It goes home for a little oblivion, interrupted only by dreams.

* * * *
An indifferent universe witness by an indifferent awareness.
Is the notion of caring any less capricious than the wind?

* * * *
Those to whom you are closest,
Those upon whom you can depend,
Manifest reliable affection and respect.
They may or may not be related by genome.

* * * *
Once you discern there is something more than the mundane temporal to this existence,
Once you realize awareness is the source code to this dreamtime, the rest is up to you.

* * * *
No matter how vividly you might remember anything,
It is nothing more than the mind caught in imaginary notion,
Not the sensory perception of the unfolding moment itself.

* * * *
How quickly attitude can turn on its head.
How quickly perspective can morph into some contrary state.
How quickly white can become black, light become shadow, good become evil,
Clear become murky, more become less, hit become miss, right become wrong, love become hate,
Similar become different, have become have not, smile become frown, ecstasy become agony,
Flexible become rigid, pleasure become pain, interest become tedium, full become empty,
Kindness become intolerance, compassion become cruelty, inclusion become isolation,
Moderation become excess, exotic become tedious, eloquence become incoherent,
Positive become negative, respect become disdain, esteem become loathing,
Logic become arbitrary, harmony become discord, benevolence become malice,
Modesty become vain, honor become shame, virtue become vice, refined become coarse,
Yes become no, trust become suspicion, tolerance become prejudice, sensible become absurd,
Soft become hard, unconditional become qualified, sincerity become irony, reason become paradox,
Deep become shallow, hot become cold, happiness become sorrow, respect become contempt,
Freedom become coercion, paradise become dystopia, indivisible become divisible,
Reality becomes illusion, truth become delusion, red pill become blue pill,
And vice versa and hither-thither gray on all of the above, as well.
What is the psyche but a swirling cauldron of passion.

* * * *
Why in any god’s name would anyone ever need to kill anyone else,
Simply because they do not see this unfathomable mystery the same way?
How stupid must stupid be before stupid wakes up to its stupidity?

* * * *
Whether coincidences are anything more or less
Than the mystery creaking silently away in its synergistic fashion,
All speculations aside, is well beyond the pay grade of we playing out the mortal realm.

* * * *
You have always been very much alone.
Your attempts to avoid it have always proven futile.
It is your eternal nature no matter the diversity streaming about.

* * * *
You have often witnessed the absurdity, the inanity, the insanity,
Of those who thoughtlessly, fearfully, abide in one form of ignorance or another.
Seek out those who freely tender sound and compassionate wisdom,
And then only to listen, to learn, and perchance to own.

* * * *
And what is wisdom but seeing the relativity of all things,
And flowing easily, content, between the insights all garner.

* * * *
Somehow the mysterious indivisible quantum glue of the eternal now
Holds together each and every streaming holograph moment one into the next.
It is just all too fucking boggling for consciousness to ever wrap its wee little mind around.

* * * *
You cannot see what you cannot see.
You cannot feel what you cannot feel.
You cannot hear what you cannot hear.
You cannot taste what you cannot taste.
You cannot smell what you cannot smell.
You cannot know what you cannot know.

* * * *
What many call love is not without endless arrays of conditions.
It is worm-ridden with expectations and tradeoffs and manipulations.
Anything less than that which is unconditional is not love, pure and simple.

* * * *
Humanity is only as great as its capacity to synergize itself and the web of life to continuation.
To embrace destruction and death over of guardianship is a sure road to chaos and extinction.

* * * *
Some seem born with a certainty about their destiny,
Some never determine any particular fate calling their name,
And some must wait until late in the game to get their ticket punched.

* * * *
The sins of the universe are erased when the original nature is realized.
The notion of good and evil is nothing more than human vanity
Playing out patterning bred in the jungles of long ago.

* * * *
There will be no end to the human narrative, to human storytelling,
As long as there is imagination to sustain the underlying collusion.

* * * *
In the worship of any god or gods,
What are individuals or groups really doing,
But bowing and scraping to imaginary confabulations?

* * * *
You must be very fearless undo all that has been done to tackle the unknown.
It is a yellow-brick-road journey from which you will not return as you were.

* * * *
Learn to learn for learning’s sake, for its intrinsic meaning.
Do not learn just for grades; do not learn simply to regurgitate.
Do not learn purely for little rectangles of paper framed on a wall.
Do not learn merely for the sake of a few letters following your name.

* * * *
To state this ethereal kaleidoscoping dreamtime is all one, quantum fact that it is,
Is for many little more than some after-the-fact-romantic-lyrical notion.
The timeless awareness is the ever-present, intangible reality,
And consciousness, despite all its skillful wordplay,
Can in reality never do much more than grunt and point.

* * * *
Though it is countless times the greatest of challenges,
You are, in the you-are-the-world view, your world’s keeper,
For there is not one part or particle that is not
As equally quantum as your Self.

* * * *
Feel the creator, feel the preserver, feel the destroyer, you every moment are.
You are immortal:  No nee to argue it, no need to fear it, no need to idolize it.

* * * *
The challenge for each and every one of us two-leggeds is to first and foremost,
Be our own best friend, our favorite companion, our treasured beloved,
And abstain as often as possible from being our own worst enemy.

* * * *
At some point in the hereness, at some point in the nowness,
Some minds, bit by bit, little by little, awaken to the given conditioning.
Awaken to the great doubt, the great question, and in that calamity of consciousness,
Begin a long and winding and solitary journey towards eternal reunion.

* * * *
Enthrallment with any of the assorted forms of occult power,
Whether it be called paranormal, sorcery, mysticism, spirituality, religion, or ad infinitum,
Are nothing more the continuing dance of consciousness with illusion.

* * * *
Tombs preserve nothing but the dread and hope of a fictitious reality.
The mind-body is an ephemeral means, a temporal carousel,
Ultimately nothing more than a prospective repast
For a variety of worms and other critters.

* * * *
You may have hurt and used many; you may have had many enemies.
When you see your responsibility, and abide the lessons learned,
You are freed of the bothersome burden of regret and hatred.

* * * *
Is the intensity awash in the true believer’s eyes
Really anything more than the vanity of consciousness
Embroiled in its own double-double-toil-and-trouble brew?

* * * *
You wander from trend to trend, craze to craze, believing you live meaningfully.
What folly to think pleasure after pleasure will satisfy the ceaseless yearning for more.
The insatiable craving of consciousness for everlasting exhilaration is a barren vine.

* * * *
Those who would explore the expanses of the eternal mind
Will wander through many cycles of limbo, of anguish, of despair.
In the play of consciousness, there are no heights without nadirs between.

* * * *
Yet another walking-talking dittohead meme.
A babbling brook may well make more sense.

* * * *
Every culture across the world, across time,
Has indoctrinated its young to think a certain way.
All are imprisoned in one form of conditioning or another.
Even the greatest doubt must deal with the given mind.

* * * *
Telescopes and microscopes, and all the technologies,
Have conveyed humanity to every conceivable large and small,
But it is ever the same sensory set, the same monkey-mind, filtering it all.
We are both masters and slaves to our tool-making capabilities,
And the imagination to which we so earnestly cling.

* * * *
Any given existence is just one thing after another:
Twinklings of delight punctuated by stretches of misery,
An indivisible dance from whatever beginning to whatever end.

* * * *
No fun being on a cross,
And playing statue in a back yard
Is not really much to write home about, either.

* * * *
Someone may point out this inexplicable, indivisible mystery,
And perhaps offer thoughts and suggestions and cautions and encouragement.
Call them teachers, call them gurus, call them priests, call them mystics, call them what you will.
But there are no followers in the journey, the expedition, the quest, the pursuit, for Self.
There are no disciples, no believers, no devotees, no partisans, no adherents.
Only friends and acquaintances, and perhaps the vexing adversary,
All inquiring, very much alone, into what is real and true.

* * * *
In the innermost voyage of awakening,
Attachment to the given mind-body has less and less footing.
From the ultimate panorama, the corporeal arrangement, the perceptual patterning,
Is nothing more than a temporal, sensory vehicle,
A means, not an end.

* * * *
There are those who journey about the world,
And remain as insular as the day they departed the womb.
And there are world travelers, cosmic dancers,
Who need not step off the front porch.

* * * *
There can really only be one source to this mystery.
The only question is whether it wears a Christian face,
A Muslim face, a Buddhist face, a Taoist face, a Hindu face,
Or any face at all.

* * * *
Life happens.
Death happens.
Nothing happens.

* * * *
There can only be so many geniuses in any given arena of spirited endeavor,
Otherwise any given fourth or so standard deviation would be but a new normal.

* * * *
What is any pattern but an energy system
Interacting seamlessly with other energy systems
In one vast indivisible all-in-one-one-in-all quantum sea.

* * * *
If you don’t say it now, if you don’t do it now, whatever it is won't get done.
Now's the one and only moment, now’s one and only the time, now's the one and only way.
No matter who-what-where-when-why-how says it, no matter who-what-where-when-why-how does it,
If it isn’t said now, if it isn’t done now, how else will time play out its imaginary day?

* * * *
Life and death are intertwined: one is not without the other
In each and every moment of this play of imaginary design.

* * * *
It is attachment to one parochial mindset or another,
Attachment to one narrow-minded, insular vision or another,
That blinds so many to the fact that the same truth is indivisible in all.

* * * *
The gods of the electromagnetic spectrum run the gamut from long waves to short,
From the cosmic rays to the broadcast bands: the gamma rays, the x-rays,
The ultraviolets, the infrareds, the microwaves, the radars, the radios,
And whatever other idolatrous icons indivisibly radiates between and betwixt.

* * * *
You are the quantum program,
You are the quantum programmer,
Creation creating a quantum mirage.

* * * *
The great unknown, a mystery prior to the spontaneity of creation.
No need to fear it, no need to worship it, no need to bow or scrape to it,
No need to name it, no need to dogmatize it, no need to swath it in laurels.
No need to do anything other than to simply be it, as awareness allows.

* * * *
The sea of awareness knows no time,
Knows no space, is bound by no limitation.
What words could ever suffice to expound eternity?

* * * *
All mythologies are mind-made narratives; none abide in the eternal abyss.
They are not foundations to anything more than arbitrary, capricious cultural memes.
Thumb-sucking security blankets for those unable to endure alone the winds of temporal illusion.

* * * *
There is no normal, no ordinary, no typical, no common, no average, no conventional,
Just a world full of bat-crazy two-leggeds who think they are rational,
And band together into memes and dogmatize about it.

* * * *
Jesus ain’t coming back, and you won’t, either.
Each existence is a one-time show courtesy of the given seed,
And the ever-churning matrix into which it is cast.

* * * *
Light is a timeless function of the senses projecting into the mind.
Without their every-moment role as creators of time and space,
What light would be possible, what light would be necessary?

* * * *
Do not be bound by the constraints of this mortal theater.
It is but a play of capacities and limitations.
What is, is without attributes,
And that is the I Am you in reality are.

* * * *
All is indivisibly flawless-faultless-seamless-immaculate.
Only the worldly mind grapples with it as anything less.

* * * *
Free your Self of the concept of original sin,
The dualistic notion decreed by ignorance upon innocence,
That you were involuntarily forced into by being cast into the human epoch.
None are born wicked, none are born offending any god or gods,
None are born transgressing any moral imperative.
There is no sin, no evil, only separation.

* * * *
Identification with any person, any place, any thing, any quality, any action,
Will only confabulate suffering for you and everyone entering your shadow.

* * * *
Why be envious of experiences others are fated to play out?
Are any parts really, truly, more important than your own?
Not even one iota of quantum stardust could be more or less.

* * * *
In the figurative, rhetorical, metaphorical sense, we all commit suicide.
Merely by having been flung into existence by the genetic lottery,
Each seeks out, through many choices, consciously or not,
One manner of tangible decline and fall or another.

* * * *
Discern the nature of any life form
In the awareness peering through their eyes.
There are none who are not cousins of the same puddle.

* * * *
Asceticism is very challenging because sensory pleasures are so tantalizing.
The pain they create is easily overlooked until the cost outweighs the return.

* * * *
You are reminded of your immortality, yet choose the death of separation.
All for a few coins, the vanity of the senses, and an ceaseless variety of illusive dreams.
We are all parts in each other's plays, witnesses to an infinite diversity.
Use your awareness to discover the unicity of it.

* * * *
You may have traveled long, you may have traveled far,
But through all those countless kaleidoscoping undertakings,
When have you not been the timeless-stillness-hereness-nowness?

* * * *
What species is not bound to the capricious nature
Of the niche, of the nooks and crannies, in which they evolved.
Some may be more adaptable to change than others,
But all must abide in one yoke or another.

* * * *
Belief is a spurious brainchild of dualistic notion.
To believe implies that the subject is not connected to the object,
That the beingness is some dynamic force outside you, the observer, the witness.
It is a denial of the unicity of all that is seen, and all that is unseen.

* * * *
You are perchance here to discover the source of your beingness.
If and when that happens is souly up the fate to which you feel called.

* * * *
Everyone and everything is of the same source.
Everyone and everything has full and free access to it,
If they have the wit, the interest, the attentiveness, to discern it.
There is absolutely no point in quarreling over it.

* * * *
What need for belief? What need for creed? What need for faith? What need for prayer?
What insecure beasts we are that such inflated, hollow notions are given more import
Than the timeless awareness offered in each and every kaleidoscoping moment.

* * * *
From whence comes the ever-present voice you are within and without,
Is your portal to the awareness you truly are, have ever been, will ever be.
Make the call, take the plunge, score the deal, play the choiceless, ever now.

* * * *
Declare to your Self what Jesus is rumored to have said:
“I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
Now, discern the undogmatic truth that statement really implies.

* * * *
You many accumulate much gold and many possessions,
But in the final reckoning, it how well you addressed your heart and mind
That will prove to be the greatest treasure, the greatest gift.

* * * *
You purchase, you barter, you gather, you maintain, you consume,
In every way your time and space allows, yet what are you in the reality
Before all beginnings, after all endings, and within every play of light between,
But an indivisible fistful of timeless, inviolable, undying, quantum dust?

* * * *
Anger, annoyance, irritation, indignation, antagonism, bitterness, wrath, rage, fury:
How challenging not to give oneself over to its remorseless, unquenchable passion.

* * * *
Look at all the stress, all the strain, all the worry, compounding daily in your mind.
All because desire and fear are locked in a self-torturing dance.
To what end, Pilgrim, to what end?

* * * *
The weaving of doubt and negation are the magic carpet, the ruby slippers,
That will get you back to the integrity of the eternal mind,
The virtuousness of the eternal life.

* * * *
Where are you in the bell curve,
The rise and fall, of the human paradigm?
Who can say but those at its end?

* * * *
It is the nature of the beast, the Darwinian genome within all of us,
That even the most well-intentioned, the most conscientious, the most diligent,
Run the risk of harming others to some degree at least occasionally.

* * * *
Just because you are unhappy with the powers that be
Does not mean you hand it over to the village idiot.

* * * *
As you skim this thought, everything manifested, everything quantum, is ever shimmering anew.
A wave of life comes into being, another crashes down, and many roil in the between.
Wave after wave after wave, timeless, without beginning, without end.

* * * *
The obvious fact is that every life form
Is a drop of that which is the truth, the life, and the way.
To maintain any lesser vision is delusional, and serves no significant purpose,
Other than to create perpetual, meaningless, divisive struggle.

* * * *
In this ever-changing cause-and-effect reverie, there is no going back, there is no rewind button.
You cannot change what is not changeable, you cannot mend what is not mendable.
You must enjoy in ecstasy or endure in agony whatever consequences
Your ephemeral window of dreamtime has in store.

* * * *
There is much more faith in timelessly abiding in the awareness of the given moment,
Accepting whatever gifts, enduring whatever tortures, the eternal dreamtime manifests,
Than can ever be concocted by any fear-based belief system fabricated of the human mind.

* * * *
Does the dreamtime in your head
Ebb and flow from one extreme to another?
Only you can fathom the many thoughts, the many passions,
To which you so steadfastly, resolutely cling.

* * * *
All belief systems of mortal persuasion are fear-based, greed-laced, and mundanely played.
It takes much more courage to stand alone, absolute and free in the indivisible dreamtime of eternity,
Than it ever will milling about, mindlessly ditto-heading with any time-bound, idolatrous herd.

* * * *
What a curious thing to believe anyone across the world
Is ever thinking about you as relentlessly as you yourself do.
Even the most saintly of mothers moves on at some point.

* * * *
You must investigate existence for your Self.
All the words in the cosmos will not magic-carpet you there.
It is a scientific experiment that must be replicated by all, very much alone.

* * * *
Your mortal stance, when contrasted to the eternity you truly are,
Is really no longer than that of a fruit fly, or even the universe.
What is it that entices you to believe this worldly theater real?

* * * *
You want to hold onto everyone and everything so badly.
No doubt sand falling through fingers feels the same.

* * * *
Every life form is bound to one niche or another,
And can only carry on as long as its adaptability to change allows.
The web of life is interconnected in countless ways, and those who shred it too harshly,
Must eventually face the reality of their own adaptability forever undone.

* * * *
In less than a blink of a blink of blink,
All is undone and done, again and again,
An infinity of times prior to all counting.

* * * *
What an incredible thing to give your dream over to whatever winds blow,
To sail through life, no direction known, tacking to and fro as caprice dictates,
Each and every harbor yet another quest, another exploration, another adventure.
To set aside dread and desire, to leave behind all who would dictate otherwise,
Is a life for which only the rare few have either enthusiasm or audacity.

* * * *
Only in timeless awareness is there anything resembling free will,
And even then the patterned meme filters the dreamtime theater.

* * * *
What is mating between male and female but two half-strands of genomic material,
Evolved from the same double-double-toil-and-trouble puddle of life’s origin,
Coming together into a new universe of sensory-inspired imagination.

* * * *
You are That I Am
Which is born again and again anew
In each and every eternally kaleidoscoping immortal moment.

* * * *
How can the mind that ever longs for certainty,
Ever concede to that which can never be known?

* * * *
The only thing anyone can be sure of, is that no one can be sure of anything.
Even death and taxes are rather dubious in the fathoming of the unfathomable.

* * * *
How everything can be so different, and yet so much the same all the while,
Is the ever-present irony and paradox of this indivisible quantum mystery,
To which all fated to discern must in timeless awareness mindlessly fathom.

* * * *
You peruse these many thoughts,
But how you translate them
Is entirely based on the frame of reference
Through which your time-bound mortal dream timelessly filters.

* * * *
Who Siddhartha or Mohammed or Lao Tzu or Shankara or Moses or Jesus or Nietzsche,
Or any of the many, many others, might have been, does not matter even one iota.
Who are you? Ever the same question, ever the same answer, for one and all.

* * * *
It is only your attachment to the drama of mind that creates all this passion and angst,
That disrupts what otherwise shoulda-coulda-woulda been a relatively peaceful existence.

* * * *
Conditions set by any given mythos are rarely more than superficially endured
By those willing to face the consequences of standing alone against the tide,
Those willing to withstand the inexorable furies of the given groupthink.

* * * *
Everyone and everything in your entire existence, from the first breath to the last,
Be they family, friends, acquaintances, adversaries, or strangers,
Be it Star Wars Legos or a Lamborghini,
Is a footnote in your ever-expanding frame of reference.

* * * *
The fact that you are here in a particular form
Means you must act, you must function, in one way or another.
Until the body-mind is done, until it is food for worms, you will play out the given role.
The way that happens is labeled in many ways: destiny, fate, kismet, karma.
All of absolutely no importance to the witnessing awareness.

* * * *
Much of the world already well knows many times over,
That Malthus's discourses on overpopulation were accurate,
That food technologies cannot kick the can down any road forever.
It is a sign of our likely longevity that we have neither the wit nor the will
To hold back from our hardwired biological urge to procreate,
Either for our progeny's sake, or for our world's.

* * * *
Despite all groupthink to the contrary, you must work out your own eternal salvation.
Believing, hoping, praying, that some other will do it for you misses the reality.
Embracing agnostic oblivion is the true potential offered by awareness.

* * * *
To realize without doubt that you are the indivisible,
That you are not the temporal body or the universe it entails,
Is the supreme benediction, the paramount grace, existence can offer.

* * * *
Real and true peace is an unattainable ideal for the passionate mind.
Only in the stillness of eternal awareness is its true realization attained.

* * * *
Jesus was never called a Christian, Siddhartha a Buddhist, nor Lao Tzu a Taoist.
Neither were any of the many other oracles and seers and mystics and diviners.
Why should the real you ever endure the burden of any meaningless labels?

* * * *
The likely reality is that you neither agree or disagree with anyone all the time.
It is rather the tone and scale that establishes the barometer of many choices.

* * * *
Every human being has their own raison d'être,
Their own meaning, their own purpose, their own rationale.
Their own motivation, ethos, inspiration, philosophy, belief, and hope.
All are equally imagined, so there is no point in judging.
Be and allow, as the given moment allows.

* * * *
A child does not yet comprehend its ever-expanding universe.
Its innocence is transparent, its mind unblemished, its heart untarnished,
By the innumerable agonies and ecstasies the mind-body in consciousness has in store.

* * * *
It is awareness that is the immortal aspect, not consciousness.
Consciousness is but the filament of imagination,
The means to create and play in time.
It can never be real.

* * * *
The real gold of this ephemeral dreamtime existence
Is right relationship with nature, with all life in its myriad forms.
To value that which is but glitter, that which is but greed,
Is to miss entirely the quality of existence itself.

* * * *
One Screen to rule them all.
One Screen to find them,
One Screen to bring them all
And in the absurdity bind them.

* * * *
Quantum is the multi-dimensional veil,
In which the omnipresent-omniscient-omnipotent mystery,
The nothingness of origin, god by any name, the source its Self, witnesses all.

* * * *
To detach completely from everything, from all clung to by body and mind,
From all things, from all concepts, from all sense of self as identity.
All desires, all fears, all passions, all me-myself-and-I,
So as to be nothing but the anonymity of pure consciousness.

* * * *
Regret means that you learned something from the consequences of an action.
Some call it conscience, a.k.a. morality, scruples, ethics, principles, integrity.

* * * *
How much easier, how much simpler it all was,
Before sexuality bloomed into its inevitable genetic spectacle,
We were likely all much better off, much happier,
When innocence was a daily dose.

* * * *
You travel through existence believing it all real and true,
Until in one fated moment of realization, who knows when, kapow!
The cadaver suddenly seems both older and younger than you once thought.
And you spend the rest of your dream watching its bones turn to dust.

* * * *
You must act in order to exist in this manifest dream.
The challenge is not allowing the day-to-day to weigh you down.
To curtail the inherent friction of temporality upon the ever-present mind.

* * * *
In consciousness, desire is an insatiable, unquenchable force,
And fear its excruciating, insufferable, irrational alter-ego.

* * * *
Existence is long no matter how short, and short no matter how long.
Will you die content with all it has been, all that you have done and seen,
Or forlorn, miserable, lonely, bitter, yearning for more, more, more?

* * * *
No, it is not all about you.
Yes, it is all about you.

* * * *
Assume the words Jesus uttered were a personal vision of the greater source.
So are the thoughts of every mystic, every seer, in every time, in every geography.
The quest for union is toll-free to any and all who open themselves to the portal within.
The words cannot help but be different, but the essence has everything in common.

* * * *
Everything thought – everything seen, felt, heard, smelt, tasted – is but projection.
A perpetually kaleidoscoping a priori reverie of remembering and forgetting.
Really nothing more than sensory perception given imaginary significance.

* * * *
All idols were once very much human,
Or concocted by one mortal mind or another.
There is no deity separate from what you really are.

* * * *
Human history is the synergy of the tribal mind evolved in the jungles of long ago.
The mind bent towards one groupthink or another, be it family or community or nation state.
Sometimes the connection is social; other times economic or religious or bloodline.
Whatever the case, every ripple in this time-bound human paradigm
Is linked to the unalterable genetic coding within all.

* * * *
What is consciousness but wave after wave bound to attributes.
Awareness is the nothingness, the unknowable unknown of eternity,
Prior to all dimensions, all imaginary dreams of space and time.

* * * *
Youth, where does it go?
Ask the fading rose.

* * * *
Birth is a moment like this, death is a moment like this,
And the eternal life between is filled with moments like this.

* * * *
In the philosophical-mystical realm, there is no authority
But what any given other discerns in the truth of the words.

* * * *
A greater aloneness each and every day
As family and friends and acquaintances and adversaries,
Finish their races, and you not far behind.

* * * *
Humankind is not the be-all-end-all of this manifest mystery theater.
We have certainly played out a remarkable epoch in our trifling swath of space-time,
One likely not replicated anywhere else across the starry-starry cosmos,
But our egocentric, ethnocentric, geocentric hullabaloo,
From whatever onset to whatever finale,
Has never really been more
Than vanity-vanity-all-is-vanity on steroids.
Really little more than a twitch in the electromagnetic spectrum.

* * * *
True religion requires no dogma.
The true church requires no edifice.

* * * *
It is but vanity that sets will to endure so much.
Better perpetual torture than the feast of worms.

* * * *
The decline of age involves not being near as bright and clever as you once were,
And perhaps finally discerning enough to at-last-long-overdue apprehend
You were never near as bright and clever as you once believed.

* * * *
How can you ever make sense of something so absurdly wacko,
That rationality gave up and is drinking alone in some forsaken bar.

* * * *
Imagine you suddenly came into consciousness in an adult body without any prior experience.
No narration, no knowledge, no conditioning, no language, no attachment, no desire, no fear,
No family, no friends, no enemies, no sense of identity, completely alone, an absolute abyss.
Just pure awareness, observing the sensory feed without it making any sense, whatsoever.
A stranger in a strange land, wandering the ephemeral garden orb, as free as free can be.

* * * *
You are but a momentary portal to that which is unknowable.
An ephemeral window between what is and what is not,
In which the eternal witness has the opportunity
To observe its Self through a worldly dream.

* * * *
You are Quantum: creator-preserver-destroyer of universes beyond counting.
All across this world, in every epoch, you have sung many songs
And left behind many writings, many creations.
You are all that has ever been, you are all that will ever be.
And in your wake, every possible ripple, every imaginable consequence.
All creation emanates within and without the indifference of your timeless awareness.

* * * *
What prosperity is there in preservation?
Destruction and mayhem fatten the Beast.

* * * *
All the pain, all the pleasure, all the agony, all the ecstasy, you have ever experienced,
Have been profound teachings when seen from the vista panorama of pure awareness.

* * * *
The unknowable unknown,
The never-born-never-die quantum reality,
Is immeasurably, indivisibly, timelessly, absolutely anonymous.

* * * *
What if the entire human spectacle, the entire world, the entire universe, the entire creation.
Is merely a means, a scheme, a ruse, a gambit, a ploy, a plan, a tactic, a stratagem,
For the ultimate awareness, the ultimate intelligence, to discern its Self.
What if the definitive speculation is all about you sitting there,
Quietly reading these words, and realizing it true,
And you Soul witness of your version.

* * * *
Why keep investing in anything that can never possibly bear fruit,
Anything doomed to a pattern of self-absorption,
And all the delusions born of it.

* * * *
Consciousness requires attributes to play out its spew of imaginary notions.
Without forms, without concepts, it is caught in the abyss of awareness.

* * * *
What is the main reasons for the study of history,
But fathoming how our kind reached this point in dreamtime.
We do not have to keep repeating our patterns, continuing our collusions,
But the possibility of any meaningful change is right up in there with the flying pigs.

* * * *
In the play of space-time, why would, why should, how could,
Anyone ever live their life according to some translation
Other than the one their sensory dream imagines.

* * * *
If you examine everything through a Darwinian filter,
What makes humankind so potent is that in our evolutionary stampede,
Consciousness has magnified the underlying animal instincts to such a beyond-all-pales degree
That we are well past changing course or slamming on the brakes in any meaningful way.
Ergo, we are exponentially accelerating pedal-to-the-metal in every imaginable venue,
And only a few inches from a very solid, a very certain wall built by natural law.
Yet another petri dish experiment confabulated by an indifferent universe.

* * * *
Memory is a dead thing thought living,
A swirl of energy given meaning, a notion given relevance.
Imagination, nothing more, nothing less.

* * * *
Awareness is a solitary quality of mind, a state of timelessness, of eternal life.
And if you are to awaken to it, you must awaken alone,
For no one can do it for you.

* * * *
Death will arrive in a moment very much like this one,
With consciousness coming to an end, and eternity steadfastly carrying on,
Without the you as you have come to know it in the identification with the mind-body dreamtime.
The one and only real you, that you always are, have always been, will ever be.

* * * *
aphorism |ˈafəˌrizəm|
noun

a pithy observation that contains a general truth,
such as, “if it ain't broke, don't fix it.”

a concise statement of a scientific principle,
typically by an ancient classical author.

Origin: early 16th cent.:
from French aphorisme or late Latin aphorismus,
from Greek aphorismos ‘definition,’ from aphorizein ‘define.’

Thesaurus: she was a fount of Orwellian aphorisms:
saying, maxim, axiom, adage, epigram, dictum,
gnome, proverb, saw, tag; rare apophthegm.

* * * *
In this our pride-filled world, there are always those
Who are considered smarter, faster, stronger, lovelier, kinder.
There are always those thought stupider, slower, weaker, uglier, meaner.
We are all wandering somewhere in the statistical dynamic,
Somewhere in the bell curve of our kind.

* * * *
The lazy mind is rarely a receptacle of doubt,
Or certainly of not more than the shallow sort.

* * * *
One of the many curious things in the human drama
Is that half-baked solutions to problems in the ever-here-now,
Always seem to evolve into fully-baked problems
In a continuous then after then.

* * * *
What is the paradigm of human consciousness
But a perpetual, whirling dance of the seven emotions:
Hate … adoration … joy … anxiety … anger … grief … fear …
And occasionally the unwritten eighth: contentment.

* * * *
Any and all idolatry is but the imaginary confabulation of the conceptual mind.
It was not any deity who created us in its image, but we, he-or-she-or-it, in ours.
Give this moment, this instant, no thought, and awareness is the unalterable alter,
The matrix, the hologram, in which you very much alone, in every twinkling, reside.

* * * *
What is an accident but a mutation of sorts,
A new tack from what would otherwise have been.
Embrace it or not, it is a fact in any existence.

* * * *
Through a variety of Darwinian happenchances, humankind evolved
Such that its imagination created the fictional collusion of time.
To accomplish this revolutionary leap from Eden's instinctive rhythm,
Every manner of delusion was incorporated to cultivate and expand its viability,
The sense of identity being the first and foremost thread in its intricate, illusory weaving.

* * * *
It is a curious thing, the dance between male and female,
That men spend the relationship trying to save women, try to make them happy,
And women spend it trying to change men, try to domesticate them,
None of which the genetic coding will likely ever allow.

* * * *
What is any historical notion, whether individual, or tribal to whatever scale,
But consciousness playing out its perpetual vanity-vanity-all-is-vanity cadence.

* * * *
When you unloose them traces after a lifetime of work,
The challenge is recombobulating the scars beneath.

* * * *
Human consciousness is but one lineage,
Of the of the natural-selection quantum mystery of evolution.
The synergy of awareness, brain, brawn, sensory nerve endings, opposable thumbs, larynx,
Two arms, two legs, lung capacity, group dynamics, sexuality, et cetera.
Witness that you are, have ever been, will ever be,
It is all about you, and not all about you all the while.

* * * *
Hearts and minds, boys and girls, hearts and minds,
You do not often or easily win them over with a bludgeon.

* * * *
Try to forget the little self, the fictitious identity, at least once and awhile.
Expand into the indivisible universe, the timeless totality, within and without.
Be the awareness, the big Self, that you truly are, have ever been, and will ever be.

* * * *
To fathom all you are, to fathom all you are not,
To discern the ultimate reality of this enigmatic eternal awareness,
You must examine the given life, the given mind, the given body, both within and without,
Catching and releasing any and every form, any and every thought,
Until only you in still awareness remain.

* * * *
Each and every moment, inhaled and exhaled, examined and released.
The eternal life is not for those who cling to the imaginary concoctions of mind.
The vague memories of all that is ever come and gone, is not real living.
It is the stillness of awareness that is the fountain of existence.

* * * *
The English language is the embrace-all whore of Babbleon.
She will open her legs to any word, any concept, any metaphor, any simile, any idiom,
And will make it her own as willingly as any moneychanger.

* * * *
Never assume anything figurative, metaphorical, symbolic,
Allegorical, rhetorical, abstract, intangible, or otherwise otherorical,
Has any foothold or domain whatsoever in the ultimate reality.

* * * *
In the human paradigm, any successful competition between groups
Requires that individuals embrace the group objective,
And do whatever it takes to win the game.
What is any success, any triumph, any victory,
But the wills of individuals spun into group synergies,
And the victors getting dibs on the songs of conquest and glory.

* * * *
What is real, what is true, what is you, is never knowable
In anything but the most timeless sense awareness allows.

* * * *
Is consciousness higher or lower in this monkey-mind theater,
Or more likely a long and winding continuum of endless complexity:
More or less intelligent, more or less attentive, more or less knowledgeable,
More or less perceptive, more or less creative– all about different things.
How amazing anything exists at all, much less evolved to such a degree
As to expand this mystery to an even greater scale of unfathomable.

* * * *
negation |nəˈɡāSH(ə)n|
noun

1.  the contradiction or denial of something:
there should be confirmation – or negation – of the findings.

Grammar denial of the truth of a clause or sentence,
typically involving the use of a negative word
(e.g., not, no, never) or a word or affix
with negative force (e.g., nothing, non-).

Logic a proposition whose assertion
specifically denies the truth of another proposition:
the negation of A is, briefly, “not A.”

Mathematics inversion:
these formulae and their negations.

2.  the absence or opposite of something actual or positive:
evil is not merely the negation of goodness.

* * * *
What are you but a temporal assumption, a mind made known,
The unconditional playing out a self-actuating algorithm,
That the programmed you, constrained by dreamtime, calls self.
The me-and-myself-and-I to which the human collusion vainly subscribes.

* * * *
Eventually the human drama’s candle will go out, and all we have done
Will perchance be discovered and studied by some intelligent alien species
That has somehow survived their own rise to the heights of cooperative effort,
And become technologically proficient enough to travel across
The vast expanses of an all but infinite universe.
Think about it very astutely, how likely is it, seriously?
And why on earth would it, could it, should it, matter in any way?

* * * *
What forges any hell, any purgatory, any heaven, but relationship with others.
Other imaginary selves with whom your imaginary self synergizes in so many ways.
We are all the same monkey-mind, destined to the agonies and ecstasies of every passion.
Only in the relativity of an enduring detachment is there any possibility of a moderate course.

* * * *
Sisyphus need only let the rock roll back down the hill.
Atlas need only shrug his shoulders and set the world down.
So many things to which we cling for so many imaginary notions.

* * * *
Any given existence is born into a time in which it will play out
Whatever part is dictated by the reverie swirling hither-thither.

* * * *
The chatter and imagery of dreams is no different than that of the awake state.
Consciousness and sub-consciousness, and other imaginary conceptions,
Are not at all as distinct as the delineators would have you believe.

* * * *
No matter where we meander, no matter where we rest our weary heads,
Getting through any given instant still boils down to a mindful dollop of detachment.
Not taking it all so seriously, not taking ourselves so seriously, is the first and last challenge.
Conscious of it or not, in one way or another, we are all playing out the Atlas of our conditioning,
And learning to set down our imaginary universe may not be as hard as we choose to believe.

* * * *
Does everything you believe you possess in reality possess you?
Are commitments to anything in reality anything more
Than twists and turns of irony and paradox?

* * * *
History is but smatterings of stories passed down from generation to generation.
Much of it egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric braidings of imaginary notion,
To which the blameless future often incoherently, irrationally, binds itself.

* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how are you?
Who-what-where-when-why-how are you not?

* * * *
You learn a lot about any individual, a lot about any group ,
When you give them a little power, a little fame, a little fortune.
Sometimes you learn a lot more than you might have wanted to know.

* * * *
How can any gaze out into the immeasurable universe
And truly believe some vain, wrathful deity
Born of their feeble imagination
Did all that and more?
Pfffft.

* * * *
From the immeasurable mystery of eternal nothingness,
The quantum churning of creation and preservation and destruction,
An ever-emanating juggernaut beyond all reckoning,
The eternal nothingness all the while.

* * * *
Many if not most need some imaginary deity on the outside,
Because they fathom themselves so measurable on the inside.

* * * *
What identify with anything in this manifest dreamtime?
All the mind-body-universe concepts, you are none of them.
Allow the sovereignty of the inherent aloneness reign supreme.

* * * *
What is life, what is death,
But one-moment-you-are-here-the-next-you-are-not,
And will you discern the difference or not,
Ever the ultimate question.

* * * *
What if no one but you really exists?
What if it is all noting more than imagination
Playing out a sensory dream in the void of awareness?

* * * *
No one can rouse those who sleepwalk undoubting through their given reverie.
Awakening is a banquet to which all are invited, but for which few are earnestly ravenous.
The kaleidoscoping dreamtime of light and sound hypnotizes and seduces most.
You alone must strive to awaken in whatever way your mind allows.

* * * *
What is any other but what you,
In the dream of mind, choose to push, choose to carry.
Let the boulder go, Sisyphus, let it go.
Shrug, Atlas, shrug.

* * * *
Once you cease identifying with the mind-body
And all its imaginary-illusory-sensory-temporal creations,
What to do with whatever dreamtime that remains is a daily wander.

* * * *
The clock is just a machine,
The calendar just numbers on paper.
Only you care what time it is.

* * * *
What is male, what is female, but the ways and means
By which the three-dimensional dreamtime of awareness plays on,
But ultimately ever the same essence, ever the same androgynous indivisibility.

* * * *
In the shades of possibility between mind and heart,
There are many ways to give your self over to your Self.

* * * *
Every bell curve goes up, every bell curve comes down.
The promise of the ever-kaleidoscoping zero-sum game.

* * * *
Humankind, the world, the universe, and all its many creations, is doomed to destruction,
Because there is nothing that can be saved or preserved in this quantum hologram.
Attachment to attributes, attachment to illusion, binds you to such concerns.

* * * *
Regarding your fate, you do not know what it is,
But you do have one, every manifest creation does,
In a quantum indivisible sort of way, of course.

* * * *
No need to define your Self by the limitations of the mind-body
And its ceaseless round-and-round-rat-wheel-in-a-cage thinking.

* * * *
When you move on from anywhere,
Best to get in the habit of glancing back
To spot what you might be leaving behind.
Guaranteed, it will save a lot of bother.

* * * *
In the ever-evolving, ever-swirling, ever-unfolding,
Ever-streaming, ever-emanating web of creation and destruction,
What difference between any life form large or small, strong or weak, fast or slow?
Whatever the niche. whatever the taxonomy, whatever the kingdom.
Nothing.

* * * *
Every humanoid since the species evolved in the jungles of long ago,
Each with its own exclusive twist of a monkey-mind,
Plays out a completely different aspect of the same swirling consciousness,
Entirely based on the draw in the genetic lottery, and the winds of time into which the seed is cast.
We are all witnesses to completely unique quantum universes born of imagination.

* * * *
Your true religion is how you choose to live each and every moment.
Whether you create heaven or hell, are angel or demon,
Is played out in every act, in every deed,
And though none can ever see their part unequivocally,
Only you even begin to fathom the whole truth of your imaginary realm.

* * * *
Always carry layers.
Fine to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.
No one ever knows which way the wind will blow, for how long, or how hot or cold.
We are temperate beasts, and do not easily transcend the whims of nature.

* * * *
How can this unfathomable mystery not be boggling prior to and beyond all belief?
What need for faith? What need for religion? What need for philosophy?
What need for anything but to meld into the timeless nature,
The eternal awareness pervading all creation.
What need to more than realize the indelible enigma of it,
And to freely blossom into the inexplicable reality that you are it, it is you.

* * * *
To be but timeless awareness,
To be but the source prior to all patterning,
Is a quest all who doubt must undertake very much alone.

* * * *
Despite all the encumbrances about your body and in your mind,
You have never really possessed anything or anyone, and never really will.
You are but a temporal squatter in an erstwhile dream born of quantum playing time.

* * * *
The mind that craves more, more, and still more.
Has everything but eternal life, sometimes called heaven.
Something to do with camels and eyes of needles.

* * * *
The personal mind, the quantum mind, the cosmic mind, the eternal mind, the no-mind,
Are all the same ephemeral awareness, the same witness, the same youness,
Really nothing more than alternating frames of consciousness,
Filtering as the whimsical moment inclines.

* * * *
Unless it personally affects you, especially in some harmful, malicious way,
Why would it ever matter how another lives out their existence?
No one will ever play it the same as anyone else.
Be and allow is the highest law.

* * * *
The Seven Deadly Sins: pride, envy, gluttony, lust, wrath, greed, sloth,
Are not easily waylaid, not easily curbed, not easily moderated,
Once even partially unleashed in any given mind-body.
The narcissistic-hedonistic bent of humankind
Is at the root of everything created since our advent.

* * * *
Human beings tend to believe they are the most special concoctions this garden has ever created,
But, despite their self-congratulating, narcissistic claims of innate superiority, they are not.
Might may make right, but it is only the absurdly surreal arrogance of consciousness
That embraces the delusion that some are, in the ultimate reality, more equal than others.

* * * *
History being what it is, the vanities being what they are,
You may as well play it out as anonymously as possible.

* * * *
Whether or not there is consciousness
Anything like it has been manifested in our own garden world,
Whether or not this is a one-of-a-kind, once-upon-a-time, unique moment in all Creation,
Is a question to which mu will ever be the one-and-only answer,
For those who even bother to ask.

* * * *
If you want respect, you give respect.
Otherwise, you may get a lesson,
Perhaps several, if not many.

* * * *
The ever-changing faces and names, are they ever really all that different?
Consciousness weaving its way down neurological trails
Born of the same monkey-mind.

* * * *
Every once and awhile, try completely forgetting who you think you are,
What you think you know, all the things you think you own,
And all the desires that breed all the fears.
Be here now, be all you really are, all you really are not.

* * * *
How can anything be saved when each and every moment
Is completely and unutterably spent as soon as it happens.

* * * *
How many different perceptions, different judgments,
The many others have allotted you in their dreamtime passing.
From archangel to fiend, you are assigned every ecstasy, every agony,
That the rungs of hell and purgatory and paradise might in imagination offer.
Raised on high or condemned, the you, you truly are, is ever immaculate, ever absolute.

* * * *
Who does not begin a journey assuming they will arrive?
Who does not go to sleep assuming they will awaken?
Who does not assume, not believe, not trust, not hope,
Anything will happen just as imagination would have it.
Alas that mortal faire does not subscribe to wishful notion.

* * * *
The road less traveled is less a road than a solitary, interminable, cross-country odyssey,
Through an uncharted, untamed, no-direction-known wilderness
Complete with every distraction imaginable.

* * * *
Natural laws supersede any and all man-made concoctions.
Even the gods cannot waylay the order of quantum chaos.

* * * *
Humankind has been at each other’s throats
Since its puddle origin, long before it ever exited the jungles,
For every imaginable reason ever concocted.

* * * *
What is this magical-mystery dreamtime
But a teensy-weensy sliver of imaginary perception
Sandwiched between the pre-historic and post-historic unknown.

* * * *
Tick, tick, tick … the remorseless clock … tick, tick, tick … counting down …
Tick, tick, tick … the inescapable… tick, tick, tick … sooner, ever sooner …
Tick, tick, tick … just around … tick, tick, tick … one bend or another …

* * * *
You are the result of a long genomic strain
That has roots weaving back to the puddle of origin.
Do not feel the need to be overly bound by it.

* * * *
As it stands in its evolutionary tack, the monkey-mind
Is not even remotely capable of fashioning a casteless culture.
We are as bound by our Darwinian differences as any other creature
That has ever risen into being on this inexplicable garden world.

* * * *
Any government has always been and will ever be,
Of the people, by the people, for the people,
But which of … and which by … and which for …
Are ever the shades of gray between freedom and tyranny.

* * * *
The ultimate you is in every moment in every dimension
Creating and preserving and destroying, incarnating and morphing,
Into any and every form that this inexplicable quantum mystery deigns to devise.
There is no beginning, there is no end, there is only the unknowable.

* * * *
Sometimes you have to take a little pain, and sometimes a lot.
That’s what nerve-endings and beginnings do.
‘Tis mammalian fare.

* * * *
You are this eternal nowness, and this eternal nowness is you.
This is the one and only nowness awareness ever is, has ever been, will ever be.
In some soon-to-be mind-body space-time, you will be “doing” something else in the same nowness.
And still later, it will be the same awareness “doing” something else in the same nowness.
The timeless mind prior to the kaleidoscoping dreamtime is ever the same.
Eternal life is being mindful in an empty-mind sort of way.

* * * *
Nature is the timeless filament of all creation,
The source code by which all things come to pass,
The brush used by the quantum unknown
To paint itself the dream of time.

* * * *
What is the first and foremost vanity but you believing your identity real,
But you being attached to your body, your mind, your world,
None of which has ever really been yours at all.

* * * *
In this spinning god-eat-god Darwinian garden world,
It is not always the fastest or strongest who survive,
But the most adaptable to the ever-changing now.

* * * *
No place to go, nothing to become, yet you,
Ever the same, ever here now, wander this way or that,
For he body cannot be completely still, nor the mind completely silent.

* * * *
Realize it or not, you are in reality born again and again and again, each and every moment.
It is only in the collusion of imagination, the collusion of so-called humankind,
That you believe, that you accept, the seeming continuity real.

* * * *
Can you imagine a buzzard pulling at your entrails?
A worm peering out your left eye socket?
Something else crawly, drifting up your right nostril?
Your bones bleaching into dust beneath a blazing summer sun?
In one way or another, that is your fate etched in the vapors of dreamtime.

* * * *
Perhaps the only true act of free will
Is whether or not you give yourself over
To the choicelessness of awareness.

* * * *
We are all witness, ever alone, ever absolute, in our own unique version of a universe.
We are all right, we are all wrong, each and every one, each and every eternal moment.

* * * *
How pointless all opinion, all reflection, all judgment,
But still the mind born of space and time
Churns on and on and on.

* * * *
We all over time slip into our own level, our own scale, our own rut, of intrigue,
And by that arbitrary paradigm generally gauge the world, judge the world.
Very challenging, perhaps impossible, to wander in non-judgmental mode.

* * * *
Silly old people, with all your aches and pains and discontented thinking,
Moaning and groaning each and every day the same whiney, scratchy recording,
To whoever bothers to listen, most likely others of the same unhappy bent.

* * * *
Painting oneself royal in any of the many fashions
Is nothing more than another shade of illusory delusion,
Played out by pretenders who really believe their shit superior.
Dress up any given pig however you will, it will always be
Just another hog scampering down the same chute.

* * * *
In every age, there are those rare few in any and every imaginable context,
Who awaken to the timeless awareness within all things great and small.
Some fashion what will become dogma; others wander serenely alone.
The mystery in which all equally reside gives its Self freely to any and all.

* * * *
Nothing is divine in the deific-celestial-heavenly sense, really.
Just a no-brag-just-fact-every-moment actuality from the get-go.

* * * *
You are absolute master of your mortal fate,
King of your kingdom, wielder of your club,
Until the shadow of another’s looms larger.

* * * *
One day or night in some long ago, intentionally or not,
Your mother and father merged their seedlines, and voilà, you.
The only question is, do you play out this dream according to their meme,
The established meme of some other groupthink, or your own?

* * * *
Point of reference, frame of reference, box of reference, matrix of reference, hologram of reference,
From small to large, each and every mind fabricates a unique rendering of a universe,
All ultimately nothing more than the endless spinnings of imagination.

* * * *
Whether quantum space-time is the function of the sensory-mind,
Or the sensory-mind the function of quantum space-time,
Or both are indivisible partners in awareness,
The resulting interweaving, the resulting dreamtime,
Is nothing more than a very real-seeming, figment of imagination,
Consciousness hypnotizing its Self into believing its timeless concoction real,
An illusory theater playing out every imaginable manifestation in every imaginable way.

* * * *
Across the planet throughout all time, every human being, every life form,
Playing its little quantum-chemical-biological-cultural patterning real,
To whatever degree awareness through consciousness perceives.

* * * *
The same eternal source in all timelessly witnesses all.
It is the omnipresent-omnipotent-omniscient undying force.
Ageless, changeless, perpetual, unending, interminable, transient,
Immeasurable, inestimable, everlasting, boundless, infinite, immortal.

* * * *
Human history is chock-full at both ends of the bell curve
Of the few both making it up and fucking it up
For the many in the vast between.

* * * *
Call it what you will: pattern, meme, array, form, display, shape,
Design, prototype, plan, model, outline, draft, scheme, blueprint;
It is what you imagine, it is what you pretend, not what you are.

* * * *
Violence, and our kind’s unfailing willingness to use it,
Is written and unwritten in histories across all times and geographies,
And is daily splayed in every media that technology allows.

* * * *
You cannot help the family you get, or the geography in which you land,
But the people you meet, and the life you wander, that’s the story worth telling.

* * * *
What were cave walls, what were clay tablets, what was papyrus,
What was Gutenberg’s printing press, what is the world wide web,
But progressing eruptions in humankind’s big bang of consciousness.
Whether or not there is anything like it out there in the vastness,
Is a question we will more than likely never find answer.

* * * *
Mother Gaia, despite all humankind has done, and will yet do to it, will endure.
It will be a mutation of its Darwinian majesty, scarred and limping, but it will carry on,
Until its star, in its death throes, engulfs whatever is left, and the universe dances on, oblivious.

* * * *
It is in the winds of complete and attentive breathing,
That you will be as alive as the quantum dreamtime allows.

* * * *
Deny your fate, your fortune, your destiny, your kismet, your karma,
As confidently, as boldly, as insolently, as defiantly, as vainly, as you will,
It is emanating, materializing, unfolding, happening, each and every moment.

* * * *
For all we know, Jesus has returned times beyond counting,
But his followers are always so busy following him,
That they can no longer see or hear him.

* * * *
What is eternal life but the ephemeral awareness you truly are,
Paying as much attention as possible to the one-moment-at-a-time universe,
To which the given sensory mind-body dreamtime of temporal consciousness subscribes.

* * * *
Too hot, too cold; too hard, too soft; too this, too that.
Always something for the monkey-mind to whine about.

* * * *
Everything is distraction from reality.
Only the ephemeral is real.
In awareness, be.

* * * *
Whether or not a free mind, an unconditional mind, is even possible,
Is an inquiry you as witness must explore and discern for your Self.

* * * *
What is the cosmos but a massive, indivisible quantum matrix.
Matter patterned into every imaginable organic and inorganic permutation.
Continuously changing, altering, shifting, fluctuating, mingling, consuming, emanating, evolving.
A mechanism so beyond-all-bounds incredible as to be forever boggling.
And however you may or may not partake the truth of it,
You are it, and it is you, there is no other.

* * * *
What is real meditation
But the turning off of time-bound imagination
For a brief wander in eternity.

* * * *
The momentary awareness perceives through the senses
What the mind born of the quantum essence has engineered.
Always something to see, to hear, to touch, to taste, to smell,
Yet ever the eternal nothingness in each and every while.

* * * *
Everything spun of consciousness is nothing more than the wind of imagination.
And there is no need to kowtow to any of its countless fabrications.
Despite what the middlemen would have you believe,
There is no deity that does not include you in its conception,
And bowing and scraping to any idol is but the absurdity of vanity.

* * * *
The closest thing to free will, to self-determination, to freedom of choice,
In this infinitely choiceless universe fashioned of every imaginable patterning,
Is the timeless awareness of the quantum essence from which all things stream forth.

* * * *
The time of physical health, really your only wealth, is daily diminishing,
Sand steadily streaming through the timeless hourglass,
From first to last, every grain the same.

* * * *
Is organized religion really anything more
Than a vain rationale to be absurdly delusional
To whatever nth degree consciousness allows.

* * * *
For humankind to change course in any effective, meaningful way,
Would require a paradigm shift well beyond its genomic patterning.

* * * *
So many things you said, so many things you did not say.
So many things you did, so many things you did not do.
So many ecstasies, so many agonies, in this dream of time.

* * * *
The sensory blend
Every moment weaving a universe in that little old head of yours,
How amazing is that?

* * * *
What is the point, what is the reality, of any story, any chronicle, any history,
Once all trace, all recollection, of it has been lost in the mists of eternity.
Ask the forest tree, fallen and decaying, unwitnessed and unheard.

* * * *
Observe the mind and its many thoughts,
What are they but a muddle of conditioned patterning,
Founded upon whatever perceptions, whatever frame of reference,
Imagination has arbitrarily formulated in the winds
Of the given nature-nurture dreamtime.

* * * *
The world is a relatively large petri dish, the edges of which are being encroached upon daily.
It is anybody’s guess how long it will be before we and our insatiable excesses slam into the wall.

* * * *
Life is harsh; the jungle dark and menacing.
None can long aid those who will not help themselves.
All must learn to crawl, to stand, to walk, to run, very much alone.

* * * *
What is identity but the psychological adaptation to the given nature-nurture circumstance.
The personality you project, the character you portray, is but an imaginary fabrication,
Sculpted by the dreamtime your spirit has from conception every moment endured.

* * * *
What glory is there in a tie,
A draw, a stalemate, an impasse, a deadlock,
A standoff, a logjam, a standstill, a dead heat, a photo finish?

* * * *
The egocentric nature of human consciousness
Has always believed itself and all its fabrications
Far more important that they will ever, can ever be.

* * * *
So much make-work, so much make-play, so much make-whatever,
In this our busy-busy, vanity-vanity, absurdity-absurdity paradigm.

* * * *
Awareness, that which is prior to consciousness,
That which is prior even to the quantum indivisibility,
Is the mysterious potential from whence all things manifest,
The matchless singularity, prior to one, much less two.

* * * *
From pleasure palace to torture chamber, in solitary confinement all the while,
The mind-body’s neural highways play out its dream in ways beyond counting.

* * * *
If you operate under the premise that you are ultimately screwed,
Why not play it out in whatever way or ways call out to you.
Family, friends, axquandances, might take notice,
But rest assured that history will not long remember.

* * * *
What do you think all this is founded on, if not the indivisible primal source,
The quantum matrix of timeless origin, the one-and-only oneness given over to space-time,
Creator and creation in the one-in-all-and-all-in-one grand singularity,
The awareness in which all dreamtimes spring.

* * * *
Religions across the world, across time,
Have all too often been subsidized tools of statecraft
To manipulate the masses into complying with its rhyme and reason.
Far more pragmatic, more Machiavellian, more Orwellian,
Than pious sheeples might ever care to surmise.

* * * *
When scanning any ground or any horizon,
Be sure to look to the right, to the left, above and below,
And also through the many layers before, and the many pales beyond.
Any predator absorbed in its own hunt can easily become unwary prey in another’s.

* * * *
Stepping on the toes of political correctness is always a chuckle.
Imagine if you said or did everything that came to mind.
It would be a padded cell or the guillotine for sure.

* * * *
The world is full of true believers entangled in one conviction or another.
What it is matters less than whether or not it can be colored black or white.

* * * *
To all belief systems that imagine god separate,
Why would you ever cater to such limited concept?
To a notion that does not include you one in the same?

* * * *
More than 99 percent of all species, amounting to over five billion,
That ever existed in Earth’s 4.54 billion years, are estimated to be extinct.
The history of humankind’s ascent is like the history of extinction.
The far greater percentage is long undone, long forgotten,
And for all practical purposes, never happened.

* * * *
Memory of any thing is never the thing itself.
Memory is the architect of time.
Reality is timeless.

* * * *
Yet another generation of youth mindlessly swept up
In the clawing avarice and blinding confines of time.

* * * *
Familiarity, the breeding ground of contempt and aversion.
Much easier to admire and esteem what you do not know.

* * * *
The limits of perception are obvious,
The doors of perception, immeasurable.

* * * *
Yet another millennial whose mother never told him life is not fair,
Another millennial who got too many participant trophies,
Another millennial who got too many inflated grades,
And really-truly believes they mean something.

* * * *
What is history but a perpetual game, to which chess and go and dominos are but artless analogies.
It is an ever-streaming, ever-emanating, ever-graceful, temporal play of consciousness.
Imagination given context in the hologram-matrix of quantum space-time.

* * * *
The other cannot fill the void.
Nothing can.

* * * *
In the ever-swirling flow of human migration,
No individual, no culture, has ever stood long in total isolation.
All must inescapably, like it or not, morph into greater and greater self-reflections.
All must give way to the ever-expanding world, the ever-expanding cosmos,
In which the human paradigm, as self-congratulatory as it wont to be,
Is but an assumption, a contrivance, on a whirling speck of dust.

* * * *
Awareness cannot be possessed.
It is neither yours nor mine nor ours.
We are it and it is us, every moment unreal.

* * * *
The mind ever seeks the security, the certainty, the consistency, that cannot be.
Constant change is the ultimate overriding attribute of this manifest quantum theater,
And it is only the no-mind steadfast in awareness that can wander through it,
Calm, collected, composed, untroubled, unconcerned, harmonious.

* * * *
Conscious breathing, the awareness of every inhale, every exhale,
Is as present as present can be in the matrix hologram born of mind.

* * * *
Everything you have done in your so-called existence
Was set in motion the instant the nothingness
Burst into the creative process.

* * * *
No matter the speculation, no matter the assertion, it always ends up the same inexplicable mystery.
So what is the point of endlessly arguing, much less slaying others who will never see it the same.
Discern the tranquility of an agnostic framelessness of mind, and make that your harbor.

* * * *
What is it we label God by countless names but all things quantum,
Including the timeless awareness you believe your own,
Peering out through the given sensory array.
Duality is illusion; all is singularity.
Thou art That I Am.

* * * *
Die hungry or full, forlorn or content, foolish or wise,
It is discerning doubt that fashions the quality of mind.

* * * *
What is known of the immeasurable reaches where the unknown reigns,
But the shimmering attributes that imagination adjudges real and true.

* * * *
Any given mind succumbs to the perjury of self-deception
As often as needed, to whatever degree delusion requires.

* * * *
Of reverence and irreverence, of wonder, veneration, devotion, adulation, or any antithesis,
What more can be said than it really does not matter whether the glass half empty or half full.

* * * *
The cynic, the skeptic, the doubter – all seekers of truth,
Neither accepting or rejecting without judicious examination.
Scraping away what is false, using negation to discern what is true.

* * * *
You are as free as the mind is empty,
As free as the mind is naught but pure awareness,
As free as consciousness that has set aside any and all concern
For its Pandora’s Box hodgepodge of endless bothers.

* * * *
We are all just temporal recordings of consciousness,
Each and every one of us playing out one little meme or another.
Yet at the essential level, each and every one of us is the same quantum source,
Each and every one of us the same unfathomable awareness.
What’s to argue about, what’s to kill for?

* * * *
And why wouldn’t so-called God be so infinite as to include you in its creative process?
How ridiculous to believe your imaginary self separate in any way, any shape, any form.

* * * *
You may believe you have broken a habit, a pattern, an addiction,
But chances are, you have only exchanged it, morphed it, repackaged it,
Into another variation, another alteration, another mutation, of the same stripe.
A bottle, a needle, a god, any obsession, in what way are they different?

* * * *
Is it space-time that passes,
Or the awareness that travels a dream of time,
Ever steadfast, ever true.

* * * *
Where is the difference?  Where is the attribute?  Where is the transformation?
Where is anything in the mystery of mysteries, that which is eternally indivisible?

* * * *
It is upon the given reader to discern any author’s meaning and intent.
The Dead Poets Society is, after all, a catacomb of phantoms.
It is the living who must reap the gifts tendered.

* * * *
Is it day? Is it night? Is it any time?
Open thine inner eye, thine eye of awareness,
And discern what is real, what is true.

* * * *
How many star-filled universes may have come and gone before the so-called Big Bang
Or Creation or Genesis or Turtles-All-The-Way-Down-All-The-Way-Up,
Or whatever other metaphors mind may have conjured up.
And how many will come and go after this rendering,
And how many are simultaneously happening right now,
And what was and will be before and after any or all of them,
As if there could ever be any before or after any timeless fabrication,
Before or after what may well have never really happened in the first place.
Anything and everything is on the table in the indivisibleness of all things quantum.

* * * *
For every birth, a death.
For every creation, a destruction.
Zero-sum at its finest.

* * * *
Your immortality may reflect in thought and deed in this mortal banquet,
But they are naught but vibrations in the indivisibility of the quantum reality.

* * * *
Illustrate, if you can, where you are in a mind that is still,
Where you are in the timeless quietude of pure awareness?

* * * *
What is the aging process but the mind-body daily getting more and more bothersome.
All that hedonism, all that narcissism, all that vanity-vanity, gradually turning into dust.

* * * *
What is death but the end of time, the end of space,
The return to the eternal indivisibility that all ever are.
Nothing to fear, nothing to doubt, simply the way it truly is.

* * * *
Whether mental or physical, it is only pain,
And you can endure it, as you always have.

* * * *
Babble-babble … babble-babble … babble-babble … babble-babble …
Babble-babble … babble-babble … babble-babble … babble-babble …
Babble-babble … babble-babble … babble-babble … babble-babble …
Babble-babble … babble-babble … babble-babble … babble-babble …

* * * *
Were the so-called seers and mystics and prophets in ancient times and places, early scientists?
Or merely charlatans taking advantage of fearful, gullible flocks for their own ends?
Any answers are but assertions of one unverifiable speculation or another,
But of the muddled, tangled histories played out since, we can be much more sure.

* * * *
Awareness sets in motion the pretense of existence.
The brain is but a fertile recording and processing apparatus,
That the senses permeate with an ever-present universe,
In which the mind plays out its imaginary theater.

* * * *
Using only skillful opposable thumbs
And minds inspired by sumptuous programming,
Great warriors kill countless dragons and build vast empires
Every night in the safety of their bedrooms.

* * * *
You could conceivably play anything out any way you please,
But the given genetic patterning, the given cultural conditioning, the given nature-nurture,
Have shaped your thoughts and actions to such a predictable degree
That any assertion of free will is absurd.

* * * *
If you are the ever-present awareness every given moment offers,
What need for identity, or any other contrivance of consciousness.

* * * *
Great strategies come and go,
But tactics, tactics are where boots hit ground,
Fingers pull triggers, and blood flows.

* * * *
Entitlement has a way of sneaking up on just about everyone under any given sun,
The gift of life, painful thing that it can many daze be, being at the top of every list.

* * * *
Where can “you” ever be but right here, right now,
In whatever sphere, whatever bubble of awareness “you”
In the inexplicable, indivisible quantum hologram-matrix reside.

* * * *
Ebb and flow,
Yield and resist,
Listen and speak,
Receive and impart,
Retreat and attack,
Maneuver and fire,
Block and strike,
Give and take,
Yin and yang.

* * * *
The wily middleman cannot afford to inquire too deeply,
Else he would forfeit everything he has so cunningly usurped.
His talent is parlaying smokescreens to blind all to the truth within.

* * * *
Your ancestors had their slice of dreamtime, you have yours,
And, if you have descendants, they will have theirs.
Do not feel the need to impose all your inanities upon them,
Past what is pragmatic for their fleeting portion of conscious design.

* * * *
What is it little old you discerns in this theater into which you have without choice been cast?
Without all the countless devices we toolmakers have devised to measure our universe,
Without all the sciences, without all the mathematics, without all the technologies,
Without all the things the monkey-mind will do to quantify to the nth degree,
What is it you for your Self alone intuit, you for your Self alone deduct,
What is it you for your Self, without any influence from any other,
Discern real and true in this immeasurable enigma beyond all pales?

* * * *
Awareness is naught but awareness.
Neither near nor far, high nor low, great nor small,
Good nor evil, true nor false, boundless nor bound, real nor unreal.
It is the what is, that ever is, yet has never been.

* * * *
You are not the first; you will not be the last.
You are the first; you are the last.
Irony and paradox rule.

* * * *
Is any organized religion anything more than a parade, a carnival, a pageant, of idolatry?
Whether it be a persona, a boulder, a figurine, a set of writings, or merely a concept,
How is it anything but groupthink absurdity garnished in self-absorption?

* * * *
You are in no way, no shape, no form, separate from the totality of this mystery.
Call it what you will – God, Brahman, Tao, Buddha, Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, turtles ad infinitum,
All dualistic notion is founded upon believing the illusions body and mind weave,
Upon believing the ever-kaleidoscoping sensory input real.

* * * *
Let us differentiate between reality and perceptions of reality.
The former ever is, and all the latters are figments of imagination.

* * * *
Just what ‘part’ of the mind-body-spirit do you believe is immortal,
If not the indivisible awareness, that vast totality both within and without,
In which within or without are nothing more than confabulations of imagination.

* * * *
War is the insatiable beast, peace the sublime quietude.
Humans do not tend to for long fare well with either.

* * * *
To be the undying awareness is to wander without attachment to the dream of mind,
To endure, free of time, free of all the agonies and ecstasies imagination musters into notion.
Eternal existence is for the rarest of the rare, those few and far flung who render themselves whole.
One must be absolutely fearless to ascertain the immutable immortality
They are, have ever been, will ever be.

* * * *
Just too fucking annoying sometimes, the price life requires,
The unceasingly heavy toll consciousness so often metes out.

* * * *
The only objectivity resides and abides in the indiscriminant awareness.
All creation is arbitrary from whatever beginning to whatever end.

* * * *
So many worrying about yesterday and tomorrow,
That they miss what is happening right here, right now.

* * * *
The groupthink creates.
The groupthink conducts.
The groupthink influences.
The groupthink manipulates.
The groupthink persuades.
The groupthink controls.
The groupthink harvests.
The groupthink destroys.
The groupthink perseveres.

* * * *
Is it: Death be not proud? or Death, be not proud?
And what rat’s ass would the Grim Reaper give either way,
As if the terminator to existence is even aware of its conclusive role.

* * * *
Life is full of every imaginable pain, every variety of suffering.
Some are long forgotten, but some persist ever-present,
And fold into each other like subprime mortgages
Until they twist into debilitating default.
Ain’t nothing Golden Pond about growing old.

* * * *
Who is the who, who desires? Who is the who, who fears?
Who is the who, who plays out any action, plays out any passion,
But the indivisible awareness cloaked by the attachment of consciousness
To the mind-body presenting itself, pretending itself, colluding itself, real and true.

* * * *
The entire human spectacle, and all it countless histories,
Is nothing more than ever-changing, temporal, imaginary perception.
A make-it-up-as-we-go, spontaneous kind of thing, that really is not any thing at all.
A holographic dream, which all are genetically programmed, culturally conditioned, to play along.
An enigmatic quantum reverie: nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
Very bemusing to all concerned, indeed, indeed.

* * * *
Yet another anecdote, another footnote, another notch,
In the long list of disappointments in this human debacle.

* * * *
Why do you keep getting out of bed every morning?
Because the conditioning is a strong and aromatic brew, the senses too enticing to withstand,
The theater too filled with agony and ecstasy to avert the busy mind.
To simply be is not near as entertaining.

* * * *
The you, you think is you, the me, I think is me, the s/he, s/he thinks is s/he,
Are they really a different you, a different me, or a different s/he?
Who is born, who dies? Who is reborn, who dies again?
Who abides in heaven, who abides in hell,
But the same awareness in all.

* * * *
Consciousness is the source of all disparity.
In the quantum indivisibility, there are none.

* * * *
Male or female, we are all the same monkey-mind, only the players change.
The faces, the bodies, the names, the languages, the mindsets, the memes,
All the differences are but nature-nurture variations of the same theme.
Cast any anew on an island, they would imbue it very much the same.

* * * *
All notion is nothing more than filtered imagination.
Perception may be all, but it is nothing all the while.

* * * *
It is the rare few who are called to journey outside the boxes of limited thinking,
Where the imaginary vastness of consciousness dances without consequence.
What need for wings of wax when all the suns of the universe abide within.

* * * *
What is the world, the universe, but a baggage train of notions
Slung about by imagination as if it were real and true.
As if it was more than a nebulous collection
Of pluses and minuses streaming about a neuron matrix.
Discern the awareness you are, disentangle from thought, wander unbound.

* * * *
Ponder anything however you will,
Words are but a tonic to the emptiness
Through which they echo to and fro.

* * * *
A good toke of clean, fresh, oxygenated air,
Is far more likely to steady that passionate mind
Than any neural contortion of consciousness.

* * * *
One of the many disturbing discoveries in this vanity-vanity existence
Is that you are likely not as intelligent or powerful or important
As you might have in more youthful moments once believed.

* * * *
Who are you?
What are you?
Where are you?
When are you?
Why are you?
How are you?
… Are you? …

* * * *
The mystery is the mystery is the mystery.
You are but one speck, one light of awareness – no greater, no lesser –
Of the incalculably vast universe of witnesses
To your indelible unknown.

* * * *
No point worrying about death, it is going to happen one way or another.
Whether the means is infection, cancer, blood, endocrine, mental, nervous, circulatory,
Respiratory, digestive, musculoskeletal, genitourinary, perinatal, congenital, or some external cause.
The flesh and bones to which you are so attached is fated to melt back into the indivisibility.
If is useless, and vain hope for something more, nothing but idle speculation.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, keep moving while you can.

* * * *
No matter how small or huge it might be,
It is every moment just as huge and small.

* * * *
What cannot survive us, perishes; what can survive us, thrives or abides.
In the declaration of Quintus Arrius to the slaves chained to their trireme oars:
You are all condemned men. We keep you alive to serve this ship. So row well, and live.
Some rowers have wings, some fins, some roots, and some four legs or more.

* * * *
Suffer not the vain, puny, frivolous deities concocted by consciousness
Convoluted assumptions and endless absurdities do not for truth make.

* * * *
You see what you are.
You see what you are not.
So it goes, no worries.

* * * *
The electromagnetic spectrum changes. the chemistry changes,
The body changes, the mind changes, the world changes, the universe changes,
But the awareness, that which perceives that which exists only in imagination, is ever the same,
Unborn, undying, each and every indivisible, indelible, enigmatic moment.

* * * *
Everything that happens is beyond all explicability.
There is no reason, there is no purpose, there is no doer,
And the awareness, the witness you are, is the source of it all.

* * * *
You will inevitably hurt others, intentionally or not.
The challenge, if it is your inclination, is to keep it to a minimum.
If you lean toward a harmful bent, of being sociopathic or some label beyond,
Well, there is really nothing that can be done but witness the blaze in your indifferent wake.
We must all face the consequences of whatever principles we incline.

* * * *
And what has all that pride, all that vanity, gotten you, really,
But yet another life, yet another existence, yet another dream of time,
To which only the ever-evaporating vapor of imagination clings.

* * * *
Are you streaming through space-time, or is it timelessly appearing through you?
What is this inexplicable, impenetrable, indelible, incomprehensible,
Indecipherable, inscrutable, inseparable mystery,
But an indivisible emanation of the ephemeral eternity you are.

* * * *
What anyone thinks, what anyone does,
Is absolutely nothing in the ultimate mind’s eye.
All judgment is but human concoction, human absurdity.

* * * *
Granted, little boys may be made of snips and snails and puppy-dogs' tails,
But little girls, despite all fairy tale indoctrination to the contrary,
Are most definitely not sugar and spice and everything nice.
Going overboard on surreal notions is a bumpy road to delusion.

* * * *
You are but an imaginary blend,
A concoction born of the nature-nurture dreamtime
Into which your temporal seed was cast.

* * * *
Lawyers, accountants, bureaucrats, and all their political allies,
Find interminable ways to make any fine print finer and finer.

* * * *
Mastery in the art of war or any other competitive enterprise,
Is doing the unexpected when the expected is expected,
And the expected when unexpected is expected.

* * * *
You have been hypnotized, conditioned, brainwashed, mesmerized, indoctrinated, deceived,
Into imagining you are what you are not, have never been, and will never be.
In the one and only indivisible reality prior to consciousness,
You are timeless, you are without bounds.
Know this and break free of all limits born of mind.

* * * *
But for the currents of consciousness,
It is as quantum indivisible on the inside
As it is quantum indivisible on the outside.

* * * *
How can the parochial mind ever fathom beyond its countless divisions, its countless limitations?
Thoughts of the rare few who discern a greater vision, despite all their good intentions,
Only again and again cause swells to crash hither and thither upon the shores
Of those unable to plumb deeply beneath the vast ocean surface.
The lone sheep dog can do little to protect the flock
From the crafty, resolute pack of charlatans and usurpers.

* * * *
The world is afire with the madness of humankind’s incessant vanity.
What is there to hope for when faced with such insurmountable odds.

* * * *
All creation is nothing more than a subjective reality,
Born of the human mind, born of imaginary conception.
Objectivity can never be more than an unattainable notion.

* * * *
Call it what you will
– Collaboration, collusion, syndicate, conspiracy –
The quantum enigma is in charge.

* * * *
If there is to be any freedom in this relatively brief, corporeal existence,
The key, the fulcrum, the fount, upon which it is founded, is doubt.
And then only if its embers are fanned by the wind of an indomitable spirit.
There is no journey beyond the conditioning, no venture outside the cave, without it.

* * * *
Your temporal existence will weave your sensory mind
In whatever way the reverie of space-time ripples through it.
The final tapestry will be imbued with the integrity you render it.

* * * *
Human beings always want more-more-more in their ephemeral sojourn in space-time.
But more is really nothing more than an itsy-bitsy vibration in the electromagnetic spectrum,
An indivisible, unborn-undying quantum whatever, which has neither beginning nor end,
Nor any size, nor any shape, nor any limit, nor any time, nor any value, whatsoever.

* * * *
Jews claiming they are the chosen people
Is nothing more than yet another ethnocentric absurdity.
It would be analogous to Woody Allen asserting he is God’s favorite thespian.
No offence, Woody, but it just ain’t ever gonna be so.

* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how can any dreamer perform their imaginary character,
But through the nature-nurture sculpting assigned by the genetic lottery.
Embrace it or endure it, from all beginning to all endings,
We are all just prisoners here, of our own device.

* * * *
What is any human existence but a tentative, arbitrary collection of memories,
Perceptions of a dream of time forever forgotten with the last wheezing breath.

* * * *
The irony is that this garden world
Has freely provided everything humankind needs
To drive its brief little dream into complete and utter extinction.

* * * *
Who is the I that believes this awareness their own,
But a brief fiction of imagination entirely alone.

* * * *
Who, what, where, when, why, how … am I?
Who, what, where, when, why, how … are you?
Who, what, where, when, why, how …  is anyone?
Who, what, where, when, why, how …….. is anything?
But the same indivisible upwelling permeating everything.
Call it by whatever vibration you choose, it is the same clayness,
The same omniscience, the same omnipotence, the same omnipresence,
The same unborn-undying awareness, ever creating its Self anew.

* * * *
We are only young or middle-aged or old on the outside.
The awareness within is ever the same timeless upwelling.

* * * *
All time, all history, all narration, whether individual or cultural,
Is nothing more than the play of consciousness, a paradigm of imagination.
All illusion, all delusion, all nothing more than the existential collusion of memory cells.
You are, have ever been, will ever be, the ever-present, right-here-right-now of eternal awareness,
The singular observer, the solitary wanderer, in the infinite-infinitesimal
Of nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
It is pain that forces you to look more closely, to pay attention,
And perhaps even survive, even thrive, yet another day, or more.

* * * *
First Law of the Hoity-Toity: The Hoity-Toity is bona fide.
Second Law of the Hoity-Toity: The Hoity-Toity is indispensable.
Third Law of the Hoity-Toity: The Hoity-Toity is everlasting.

* * * *
The eternal life offered by pure awareness is the one and only true religion.
It has no name, and requires no faith, no scripture, no dogma,
No idols, no symbols, no priesthood, no followers.
Those who believe otherwise muddle in the fog of vanity.

* * * *
The definition of cancer:
The disease caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body.
We are it, and it is us.

* * * *
The something that is nothing is ever the nothing that is something.
Back and forth and forth and back again and again,
The unborn is born and unborn dies.
Oblivion and creation are ever and ever the same.

* * * *
How can anyone ever begin to justify their given existence
In the eyes of someone determined to judge them harshly?

* * * *
Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.
The fleeting existence is confusing, bemusing, bewildering,
Puzzling, perplexing, muddling, flummoxing, befuddling, nonplussing,
Mystifying, confounding, stumping, dazzling, stunning, overwhelming, bamboozling.
To be sure of anything, how is that even remotely possible, really?

* * * *
Nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to be;
Bubbles of vanity frothing in a crashing sea.

* * * *
Mother Gaia does not give a rat’s ass whether you live or die,
So pay attention, Pilgrim, if you want to live long and prosper.

* * * *
The curious thing about human history across all times and geographies,
Is that once vanity relegates any fellow humanoid to any so-called lesser kingdom,
Any and every variety of abuse or enslavement or extermination is allowed.

* * * *
Contemplation is about consciousness
Putting your imaginary universe in perspective.
Meditation is about being the awareness you actually are.

* * * *
What difference between provincial and cosmopolitan, really,
But arbitrary variations in the shaping forces of nature and nurture.
After all, imagination is just imagination is just imagination.

* * * *
There are no attributes, no patterns, no systems, no laws, no histories,
No quantifying measurables at all in the immeasurable indivisibility.

* * * *
All patterns are created of illusion.
From the indivisible, all creation arises, all creation subsides.
There is naught but eternal unicity.

* * * *
That list of things you will never experience, projects you will never complete,
Schemes you will never carry out, daily grows longer and deeper and broader.

* * * *
The explorer of consciousness is very much alone
In the maze-like concourses of the eternal fabric,
The imaginary hologram of the passionate mind.

* * * *
History will write what it writes, and time will erase it all.
Who is the who, who cares, is the last question standing.

* * * *
Are you a who, a what, a where, a when, a why, a how, in the all of it?
Or a who-not, a what-not, a where-not, a when-not, a why-not, a how-not?

* * * *
What difference between wafting smoke and solid concrete?
Both change, certainly at different rates by any eye,
But just as absolutely, just as inexorably.
It is a god-eat-god universe,
No matter how any mind might measure it.

* * * *
Baal is Baal, Tao is Tao, Brahman is Brahman, Buddha is Buddha, Allah is Allah, God is God,
No conception devised by consciousness can ever be more than a temporal metaphor.
The unknowable, ineffaceable truth of this mystery is timelessly indivisible.
Infinitely, infinitesimally, omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient.

* * * *
You are your own constant companion.
Be as gentle with your Self as mind allows.

* * * *
The indelible mystery you indivisibly are, is neither friend nor enemy.
It is indifferent to all imaginary notions, indifferent to all temporal attributes.
What attachment can that which creates and preserves and destroys,
Without motive, without remorse, have to anything?

* * * *
Any given existence is shaped by so many injuries, so much suffering.
Like the punctuation marks woven into any given narrative –
The periods, the commas, the question mark, the exclamation points,
The colons, the semi-colons, the apostrophes, the hyphens, the quotation mark –
All whittle, all sculpt, all transform, the fates, the destinies, the outcomes, all life must endure.

* * * *
Who can love unconditionally,
But those whose aversion to differences
No longer absorb, no longer seethe, no longer bind.

* * * *
This here-now is what you are, is what you have been all along, is what you will ever be.
The sensory dreamtime is but imagination steeped in illusion,
Is but a mirage cloaked by delusion.

* * * *
However you spend it,
The moment will always come and go the same, guaranteed.
Time is like that.

* * * *
There is no finishing anything; process is without conclusion.
A punctuation point only signifies some sort of inflection within a sentence,
Or the beginning of the next sentence, the next paragraph, the next chapter, the next book.
The end of one narration is but the streaming beginning of another.

* * * *
What it is, is what it is not.
Same thing, same thingless.

* * * *
Being domesticated, being cultivated, being trained, as a human being,
Does not make you any closer to godness than any other life form.
Every single beast has evolved from the same quantum origin.
The only difference between you and any other organism
Is an inexorable egocentricity born entirely of imaginary notion.
The entire human drama is nothing more than a collusion of consciousness,
Made possible by the evolutionary happenstance of an ingenious, group-oriented mind,
Two arms, two legs, a larynx, opposable thumbs, and high-capacity lungs.
All the critters born into this mystery did not stand a chance.
And, being far too clever for our own good,
Neither, ultimately, do we.

* * * *
Intelligence is a quantum program,
Encoded by natural selection,
Witnessed by awareness.

* * * *
All those little aches, all those little pains, gradually magnify
Into debilitating annoyances over which you have little or no control,
Until they all finally disappear in the dust-to-dust of that last wheezing breath.

* * * *
The quantum physics of nature is indivisibly, ttmelessly, irrevocably Darwinian.
Vectors and velocity and mass spin out consequences each and every moment.

* * * *
All the monotonous things you do day after day after day,
Broken down into a never-ending stream of programmed fragments:
Eating, sleeping, working, brushing the teeth, trimming the nails, ad infinitum,
How much longer to get the gist?

* * * *
How could the observer not be the observed
In this indivisible, kaleidoscoping, quantum mystery theater?
Pfft, even the most supreme being humankind can ever imagine knows that.

* * * *
Who is there to prove anything to, really?
Apart from an imaginary vanity-vanity show,
What more is there than the quantum beingness?
What more is there than awareness of the singularity?

* * * *
The human drama is rooted, is steeped, is bound, in vain notion.
It is nothing more than the perpetual confabulation of imagination.
What solution can there ever be to what was never real from the get-go?

* * * *
The boardroom pharaohs, the sun gods of these our modern times,
Are still succumbing to the mindless vanity of their polyhedron tombs.

* * * *
The incessant back and forth, straddling the fence
Between playing this identity real, and knowing it is not,
Can be more than a little wearing, more than a little maddening.

* * * *
All those thoughts, all those desires, all those fears, all those emotions;
What are they really ultimately but the illusory poof of imagination.

* * * *
The inexplicable garden world from which humankind ascended is a timeless analog creation
That our tool-making abilities have fashioned into a linear technological one.
All well and good in its own right, it is an inescapable reality,
An expedition for which there is no rewind.

* * * *
What is a friend but someone who accepts you as you are,
And does not expect more than what you spontaneously offer.

* * * *
Quantum brain, quantum eyes, quantum ears, quantum nose, quantum tongue, quantum skin,
Quantum nerves, quantum ductless glands, quantum viscera, quantum everything.
A quantum matrix, a quantum hologram, by and for its Self to play,
Perchance to perceive, to realize, to comprehend, its inexplicable mystery.

* * * *
“What is time?” he asked rhetorically.
“No idea,” she answered candidly.
“Nothing but,” his koan reply.

* * * *
We have become slaves to nationalistic and corporate and religious branding,
Following hither and thither the gratuitous whimsy of this logo or that.
The unremitting, pervasive identification of the Me-Myself-and-I,
Well beyond the guileless daze of t-shirts and baseball caps.

* * * *
It is all made up, it is all arbitrary.
The only question, the only concern,
Is how seriously you choose to take it.

* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how creates this kaleidoscoping theater of dreamtime,
But the eternal awareness neither within nor without the quandaries of imagination.

* * * *
And why would anyone ever believe any one culture in any given time,
Would ever hold the key to truth, or be favored by any one deity?

* * * *
There is only the here-now, there is only eternal life.
All vain notions about it are ultimately meaningless.
Be anonymous within and without, free of all claims.

* * * *
Libraries and bookstores and thrift stores are chock-full of unread tomes
That, but for the keenness of those destined for obscurity,
May as well never have been written.

* * * *
Where is the apex of the human drama?
Where is the point of diminishing returns?
Have we yet to pass over the bell curve’s peak?
Or is it already a memory in the rear-view mirror?

* * * *
All those memories, all those things, all those sensations, all those thoughts,
All those patterns, dreams, habits, relationships, loves, likes, hates, joys, sorrows,
Skills, awards, derisions, pleasures, beliefs, opinions, notions, hopes, fears, ad infinitum,
All those many experiences, no matter how dear, must all eventually be released and forgotten.

* * * *
Within the pool of awareness,
All possible universes, all possible dreams, dwell.
The creative potential of the quantum essence is infinitely choiceless.

* * * *
What you perceive is but a quantum veil that the sensory mind arbitrarily measures.
Of the immeasurable from which all dreams manifest, there is nothing to be known.

* * * *
Who is more foolish, the writer who penned nonsense in some ancient past,
Or the babbling dittoheads who give it true-believer weight in the here now?

* * * *
What is any worldview, any frame of reference, any paradigm,
But an imaginary state to which the mind every moment clings.

* * * *
The mind is founded upon consumption, upon accumulation, upon differences, upon conflict;
Upon the unremitting narcissistic, hedonistic, self-absorption of the me-myself-I;
Upon the insatiable pursuit of pleasure, of power, of fame, of fortune.
There can be little real peace without discernment and surrender to the indivisible.

* * * *
Awareness is not a sensation.
Beingness is not a sensation.
Reality is not a sensation.
You are not a sensation.

* * * *
Every organism under any given star has a completely different translation of the universe.
Which begs the question, is there even a real universe that stands alone and true?
Or are all nothing more than unique, arbitrary quantum creations,
Done and undone and done again times beyond counting.
Light dancing its Self manifest, for whatever forever dreamtime allows.

* * * *
Alas that pain and suffering play such enduring parts in these corporeal creations,
And all the better-living-through-every-sort-of-chemistry remedies
Can only do so much to salve the myriad ways
The neurology ceaselessly finds
To torture the mind-bodies in which they weave their way.

* * * *
Become aware of the mind as a means
– a tool, a device, a utensil, an implement, an instrument –
Rather than an end – a purpose, an aim, a reason, an outcome, a goal – in itself.

* * * *
If there is ever to be any real revolution of consciousness in this human paradigm,
It will have to begin within the plebeian minds of the wayward mob.
Holding your breath may not be the best strategy.

* * * *
To many unanswerable questions in this dreamtime mystery,
Always springing up here and there like zombies in the fields.

* * * *
What can any human being, no matter the time, no matter the geography, ever really experience,
But their own unique egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric-solarcentric sensory universe.
That which is perceived through their unique nature-nurture frame of reference.
Every part and particle of it born entirely of subjective, self-absorbed, imaginary notion.

* * * *
How ironic.
How paradoxical.
How absurd.

* * * *
The plethora of inventions to which humankind has given over its tool-making abilities,
Is ever bound to the ground of nature from which they were crafted.
There is absolutely nothing that is not of nature,
No matter the process through which they were manifested.
The source of all things is indelibly, indivisibly, unconditionally inescapable.

* * * *
Everything in this touchy-feely-three-dimensional-space-time dream
Is ultimately nothing more than quantum illusion.
Yes, absolutely all of it.

* * * *
How would any of this be if the awareness you truly are were not bound to the mind-body,
If you were not attached to all the notions inspired by the sensory dream.
The universe did not exist before the unborn was born.
It will not exist after the unborn dies.
Die to it now.
Eternal life is yours for the being.

* * * *
What is prior to religion, prior to doctrine, prior to faith, prior to belief,
Prior to all notions of gods and devils and their myriad minions,
And the countless heavens and hells they spawn in time.

* * * *
Exploring the many-faced no-mind is an alonely path
That has been trod in many times, many places,
By who knows how many monkey-minds.

* * * *
To observe your existence with the same indifference as the infinite unknown,
That is the challenge of all who would be free of all claims of the finite known.

* * * *
Pretty rough to straighten things out
When pretty much everything humankind touches
Ripples into some inevitable fuck-up.

* * * *
What a strange thing it is to hear, to see, any word, any concept,
And realize all the antiquity it took for it to evolve to this point in time,
And that it, and all the other words in the sea of metaphors in which it swims,
Shall ever continue to morph for as long as human consciousness manages to survive.

* * * *
You are only where you are “supposed” to be
When you are fully paying attention to the here-now.

* * * *
The mind weaves it own traps, cuts its own grooves, molds its own way,
Its own obstacles, its own fetters, its own miasma, with unceasing regularity.
It is evolved of narrow thinking, and often resides fogbound for the given lifetime.
Relatively few realize the insightful emancipation, the sovereignty of the immeasurable.

* * * *
The future past, as it more and more feverishly rushes by,
Is completely untenable to anyone paying attention,
And far too few ever have, or likely ever will.
Greed has always worked far too well.

* * * *
The same genetic force, the same patterning,
That draws women into their worlds, draws men into theirs.
Ergo, Mars and Venus, and all the many worldviews playing out over and over.

* * * *
Neither one nor two,
Neither single nor double,
Neither solid nor ephemeral,
Neither everything nor nothing,
Neither what is nor what is not,
Neither living nor nonliving,
Neither right nor wrong,
Neither time nor space,
Neither here nor now,
Neither good nor evil,
Neither true nor false,
Neither judge nor jury,
Awareness is.

* * * *
The quantum universe is engaged in a fair number of adventures.
Sometimes you have to stand in line and wait you turn.
Try to remain rational about it, if you can.

* * * *
An indifferent mind is a reflection of the indifferent awareness.
And the eternal mystery from which it all indifferently emanates.

* * * *
There will always be true believers willing to live and die
For whatever cause they have discerned most noble and true.

* * * *
Every moment giving and taking that which is ever emanating anew,
And you only able to distinguish it through the myriad filters
Born of nature-nurture’s inevitable conditioning.

* * * *
Whatever path to glory might be devised by any given mind,
It is ever nothing more than the vanity born of imagination.

* * * *
What is awareness? What is consciousness?
A chemical reaction? An electromagnetic storm? A quantum wind?
The unknown playing known? Nothing playing something?
A stream unto its Self, however mind conceives.

* * * *
The mind’s self-absorbed emotional sorrow is unquenchable,
But through embracing the barren hollow of the null and void.

* * * *
Happiness and contentment are delusional myths born of sorrow and dissatisfaction.
Consciousness ever ebbs and flows through the ductless glands and viscera.
Abiding in the moment, in the awareness prior to all the chatter,
Is the as-good-as-it-gets any given mind can offer.

* * * *
What the body needs and what the sensory-mind craves,
Are all too often at odds in ways not designed for longevity.

* * * *
Why should anyone provide what you will not yourself earn?
The jungle is a forbidding place, and those who do not make their own way
Cannot forever depend on the compassion of those about them.

* * * *
Every generation plays out the window of time
That the reverie of history offers the given geography,
As it plays out in the ripples flowing to and fro across the world.
From all beginnings to all ends, it is very much a choiceless reality for all.

* * * *
Everything you experience,
Everything you see, hear, smell, touch, taste,
Adds to the frame of reference from which it is eternally witnessed.

* * * *
Even the ethereal begins supposedly traversing the Himalayas,
Are fellow primates, fellow two-leggeds, of the same quantum origin.
No need to make them more paranormal than you or any other cockroach.

* * * *
What pattern is not born of conscious design,
And why would the quantum ground, the source of all,
Be bound by any notion, no matter how grand?

* * * *
The powers that be: the estates, the kingdoms, the empires, the heralds, the behemoths,
The balance-of-power-might-makes-right in these our modern times of this so-called civilized world.
The executive, the legislative, the judicial, the corporate, the media, the bureaucratic,
Are what they please, do what they please, take what they please,
As the rule of law stipulates, or arrogance and avarice allow.
The bottom-feeders, well, they endure, they survive, as they always have.
Or pay the consequences, the tribulations, as the law of the club, of claw and fang, allow.

* * * *
You need not discern all the secrets of this indelible mystery
To yield to the essence of the indivisible awareness
Your are, have ever been, will ever be.

* * * *
Outside the last box is that awareness prior to consciousness,
And where can any box abide in that which is indivisible.

* * * *
When the immeasurable is presumed measurable,
Pretense and arrogance take root, and chaos rules.

* * * *
What is it to awaken, to realize, but to become very still, very attentive,
To the eternal awareness you truly are, have ever been, and will ever be.

* * * *
What part of yes means yes,
No means no, and maybe does not mean yes,
Don’t some people understand.

* * * *
We are all just screengrazers here, with our own device.
Smarter phones, dumber people, daily dumbing down.

* * * *
Fascinating how indifferent we can be toward each other and all our fellow earthlings.
That we can be so cruel, so unempathetic, so unwilling to discern all are ultimately one in the same.
The compassion, the benevolence of the Golden Rule, treating others as you would your Self,
Requires a mind free of desire, free of fear, free of conditioning, free of convention,
A mind willing to stand alone against the whimsies of human limitation.

* * * *
Contentment, satisfaction, gratification,
What are they but variations of the vanity-vanity,
The usual suspect steeping in every moment of conscious design.

* * * *
The mystery is prior to all thought, prior to all knowledge, prior to all emotion, prior to all passion,
Prior to all language, all science, all math, all music, all everything ignited by consciousness.
It is the primal awareness from which the unknowable bursts into timeless creation.

* * * *
Awareness cannot even for a moment
Pause to examine its timeless, non-dualistic nature.
After all, how can that which is the origin, that which is the essence,
Do anything but what it does, be anything but what it is.

* * * *
You are the mystery, you are the unknown, you are the known unknown.
You will make of it what you will, you will do with it what you will,
And if you are a rare one, you will perhaps undo what you will.

* * * *
Any philosophy, any religion, any archetype, any paradigm, that loses sight of natural law,
That loses sight of the indivisible relationship between all things,
Is no worldview worth its brine.

* * * *
Eternal peace is merging into the indivisibly, the aloneness, free of attributes.
Giving the world no thought: some call it heaven, some call it madness.
What matter what any other thinks, what any other believes?

* * * *
How many creatures have suffered greatly or died
That faces might be adorned with clownish facades.

* * * *
Hogwash, nonsense, gibberish, garbage, baloney, rot, claptrap,
Gobbledygook, noise, babble, jabber, poppycock, balderdash, tripe,
Hooey, bunkum, hokum, humbug, twaddle, drivel, rubbish, codswallop.
Words that come to mind when talking politics, economics, religion,
And other juggernauting dysfunctions of the human paradigm.

* * * *
This quantum theater is never more real than a dream.
The awareness you are is never not the witness.
The only question is whether or not you are aware of it.
And from all beginnings to all endings, and all endings to all beginnings,
It really does not matter if you wake up to it or not.
It never did, it never will.

* * * *
The so-called scriptures are not really belief systems.
They are histories, archives, field guides, instruction manuals, schemas.
Insights set down by seers across time and space who have discerned the mystery firsthand.
Does the quantum indivisibility need to worship the forms into which it is made,
Some imagined sculptor, or the essence that is its truest nature?
Does it really need to venerate anything at all?
Is not simply being enough?

* * * *
There is the whacko two-legged in the first standard deviation: we call that normal.
The second, we call eccentric; the third, crazy; and beyond that, insane.
Really all just different shades of the same monkey-mind.

* * * *
The source for one is the source for all,
Which means in the ever-changing quantum theater,
All things great to small are ever consuming, ever being consumed.
It is an eternal, indivisible, kaleidoscoping, one-in-all-all-in-one, god-eat-god reality.

* * * *
Awareness, the source of all creation, knows nothing.
Self knowledge is but the imaginary fabrication of consciousness.
Without the matrix of quantum indivisibility, without the dream of otherness,
There would be no reflection, there would be no inquiry into the mystery of all mysteries.
And even in that reflection, as expansive or focused as it might be,
The inexplicable remains forever inexplicable.


* * * *
* * * *
* * * *


LEFTOVERS ADDED TO “THE RETURN TO WONDER BLOG”

(Transferred to fill out the diminished ten-page blocks during
the very gradual edit underway since September 2015)


The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown

Dedicated to all those fated to ponder the mystery
From which all things great and small
Are equally created.

The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009

World Rights Reserved


CHAPTER ONE

Here you are, a drop of the grand mystery,
Weighing in as best you can with what tools you have,
Still unable to fathom any who-what-where-when-why-how to it.
What can you do but be here, be now, temporal witness to the dream of time.

* * * *
If it is your calling, your fortune, your kismet, your fate, your destiny,
You will discern the me within you, the you within me, the same me,
The same awareness within and between all things great to small.

* * * *
Other than the endlessly wearing reality
That two-legged existence is politics from the get-go,
Why would it matter even one iota what any other thinks of you?
Forever alone, you must daily pretend you are not.

* * * *
Light gets in your eye; sound, in your ear; taste, in your mouth;
Touch, in your flesh; smell in your nose; a universe in your mind.

* * * *
Informal communities are a little more relaxed, a little more cordial,
A little more civil, a little less disheveled, than the more organized ones.

* * * *
How can you think
You have accomplished anything
If you have not yet discovered the unconditioned?

* * * *
The universe has been spontaneously, ingeniously crafted
That you might penetrate this point in time,
Conscious witness to the play.
The price of the ticket: ecstasy, agony, death.

* * * *
The world, the universe, the hologram, the matrix, the quantum, call it what you will,
Is in a relentless state of consumption, a constant state of fluctuation,
Unscathed, unchanged, uncaring, all the while.

* * * *
To all who caste themselves upon high, who herald themselves greater,
Know well there are many who reside on the level playing field
Who do not and will never subscribe to hollow pretense.
Might may make right, but it does not make true.

* * * *
Duality is temporal illusion.
There truly is no other.
Nor was there ever a second.
The real you has always been, ever is,
And will ever be, number one.

* * * *
Identity is but an imprisoning, painful habit,
A play of light of temporal reality,
A fabrication to which mind desperately clings.
It requires the greatest courage of spirit to journey beyond it.

* * * *
At some point playing a prescribed identity
And participating in the collusion
Becomes so insufferable
Seeking release is not a choice.

* * * *
Wander with an empty cup,
Always an apprentice, always a beginner.
Eventually, perhaps you will even do away with the cup.

* * * *
You may use a variety of drugs
To understand the relativity of consciousness,
But remember they are but tools to be consumed in moderation,
That it is the essential nature, not the medicine,
Which is being explored.

* * * *
Remember always that you are the creator of this playful illusion.
When you surrender and journey timelessly prior and beyond birth and death,
There is a growing awareness of the absolute's infinite power within.
A time to be even more wary of Maya's enticing games.

* * * *
You know only what has been agreed upon within the given cultural blend.
Beyond the echoing collusion of any mythological set,
You can really know nothing.

* * * *
Until one sees it as an illusory, kaleidoscoping theater of light,
Pleasure and pain, the vexation that consciousness is,
Will continue, oblivious to the timeless at hand.

* * * *
So what is the point?
The point is, here you are, it is all you,
Breathe it in, breathe it out.

* * * *
You know only what has been agreed upon within the given cultural blend.
Beyond the echoing collusion of any mythological set,
You can really know nothing.

* * * *
Consume whatever you will,
But always, keep a firm reign of moderation
As you ride the mad bull through all its potential consequences.

* * * *
Man and woman merge in the throws of sexual ecstasy.
In the quiet tempest of goo, two fertile eggs unite.
In the mystery of the woman’s dark womb,
In the eternal stillness before time,
The seed grows, forms into life.
Out comes an organism
Wired for a fate yet unknown
Into a universe of its own conception.

* * * *
You cannot expect, or even hope,
That many will even begin to comprehend
This inward journey you are compelled to wander.
It is a lifetime sojourn into the utter aloneness of true nature.
It is a many-are-called-few-are-chosen-fewer-still-volunteer kind of thing.

* * * *
Neither resistance nor acceptance will connect you to the ultimate state of awareness.
You must be, allow, embrace, every aspect of consciousness as a whole,
If you are to rediscover the unbound state of the newborn.

* * * *
The other creates opportunity for reflection,
Something to which many throughout time and space
Have given their lives over, most often willingly, sometime not.
It is a creative enterprise, the pleasure of which sustains beyond measure.


CHAPTER TWO

That little gratification, that little pleasure,
That little satisfaction, that little amusement, that little enjoyment,
That little hedonistic longing, that little decadent inclination, that little narcissistic notion,
How much do you really need it?  How important is it, really?

* * * *
Double-speakers calling the circle, square, and the square, circle.
And weary octagons forever on their own, ever out on limbs too far.

* * * *
Every moment springing simultaneously anew within the indivisible quantum matrix.
All its concoctions, all its innumerable forms, ever the same source,
Ever the same awareness, ever the same you-ness,
Ever the same boggling mystery.
How astounding this indelible Song of Godness,
This eternal eye gazing out the masks and veils of manifestation.

* * * *
Awareness is the “awakeness” of all living creations,
Of the indivisible quantum matrix, the stardust, come to “life.”
It is the eternal eye of the unknown prior to all manifestation ever-changing,
And whatever dreams they in spontaneous combustion may inspire.

* * * *
You have been filled to the brim with countless vain distractions
That are ultimately nothing more than deceptions formed of sensory illusion.
Attributes spun of random, arbitrary evolutionary happenstance,
Nothing more than nothingness playing its Self real.

* * * *
In all destinies there is an executioner, an assassin, a slayer,
Ever formed of the earth-air-water-fire of all things here-now ether.
There is no escape for the awareness you are, only an abiding endurance.
Spurn the Fates, they cannot touch you once the shadow of karma loses its hold.

* * * *
Call it what you will – soul, self, cosmos, god, whatever –
You are the awareness, not a dream of consciousness.

* * * *
At some point the fevered monopoly game runs out of new ground,
And the worn and torn infrastructure turns to gravity for resolution.

* * * *
Identity is the mistaken belief that the awareness you really are
Is at all attached to the sundry attributes of the  food-body,
Or the world of appearances through which it renders.


CHAPTER THREE

The universe exists because the oneness cannot do it all but through the many.
Truth is, who would ever want to revel in every ecstasy,
Much less endure every agony?

* * * *
Can you take all the pain upon which you dwell,
And cast it away in one mighty knock-down toss?

* * * *
Water flows, plants grow, birds fly, universes bang, universes crunch.
Only the mind you imagine you are daily struggles to be more or less.

* * * *
All seeds merely inherited genetic blueprints
Dutifully playing out their design.
No brag, just fact.

* * * *
If you are still looking for something, try turning your mind inside out.
Look to nothing, see what it is, see what it is not,
And that it is the just reward.

* * * *
Best deal with the fact that relatively very, very few
Really give a rat’s ass about your existence
At any relatively meaningful level.

* * * *
When the ebbing and flowing of the essence, the quantum fever, subsides,
When foreword is no longer forward, when backward is no longer backward,
When the singular awareness transcends the ever-moving tides of thought,
Where is the me-myself-and-I that believed its imaginary realm so real?

* * * *
Erase all boundaries, burn all flags, discern the common ground of awareness,
And wander your universe unburdened by the differences born of imagination.

* * * *
For consciousness to examine itself, for awareness to become aware of itself,
For the mystery to gaze into the indivisible depths of its mystery,
Is not this the ultimate raison d'être for all creation?

* * * *
How ridiculous it is to believe anyone individual can save anything or anyone,
When in the reality of this kaleidoscoping dream, there is nothing to save.
And even if there were, it would be the matrix-level synergy doing it,
Not some illusory persona wrapped in inflated self-absorption.

* * * *
What is the Bible but a poorly organized history book, laced with smatterings of wisdom,
Certainly no greater than any other so-called scripture written across this temporal orb.

* * * *
You are entirely a dream in everyone else’s awareness, and they in yours.
We are all alone together, from this shore to the farthest reaches and beyond.

* * * *
Through all creation, all preservation, all destruction,
The indivisible nothingness of totality reigns absolute.


CHAPTER FOUR

The senses daily pull you into believing the dream real.
To greet every moment as nothing is, indeed, a challenge.

* * * *
Move beyond being merely a corporeal, temporal entity.
You are not a human being, you are not bound by any form.

* * * *
All there is to remember … Oy vey!
What a load in that head of yours.

* * * *
Earth, wind, water, fire, quantum ether.
That is all that all of this grand mystery truly is.
Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
Forget everything.
Be everything.
Be nothing.

* * * *
Awareness is a very nothing-but-youness.
What is there to think about, really?

* * * *
How many dimensions might there be?
How many ways can you cut any pie?

* * * *
Perhaps rather than calling it a redistribution of wealth,
It should be called a redistribution of compassion.

* * * *
To see what cannot be seen,
Hear what cannot be heard,
Taste what cannot be tasted,
Smell what cannot be smelled,
Touch what cannot be touched,
Now there’s the rub.

* * * *
Whether intentional or not, those who have, those who can,
Often enslave those who do not have, those who cannot.

* * * *
At some point there is really no need to even assert “I Am.”
Just being – breathing in, breathing out – is more than enough.

* * * *
It can indeed be a long and winding and oft times lonely road
Until you discern the matrix through which all time-bound linear notions wander,
Is, has ever been, will ever be, eternal aloneness unto thy Self.


CHAPTER FIVE

How is it that you ever imagined
That your origin was ever any different
Than anyone or anything else’s?

* * * *
Filling the day with another round of nothing?
Or filling another nothing with a round of day?

* * * *
It is what it is, and nothing anyone thinks or does
Has ever mattered even one iota of diddley-squat.

* * * *
History is whatever each of us thinks it is, and much of it absurd hogwash.
Time always boils down to be here now, and enjoy or endure it as best ye may.

* * * *
What is the universe?
And what makes you believe it has ever existed
In any which-way the senses have deceived your mind into daily believing?

* * * *
The Seven Deadlies: Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Wrath, Greed, Sloth.
The cornerstone for any narcissistic, hedonistic, Sybarite.
The perdition of any of monk-ish design.

* * * *
The one mind discerns the one in all, the one mind discerns there is no other.
What point anything but compassion, even for the most abominable.
We are all just visitors here, prisoners here, of our own device.

* * * *
The now streams indivisibly each and every moment into the next,
While the sensory mind consumes it, metabolizes it, weaves it,
Into a perception of time, which only imagination knows.

* * * *
Nobody really knows what is going on around any given corner;
How could they possibly know is happening across the universe?
Or who-what-where-when-why-how it all started in the first place?


CHAPTER SIX

Through the endless suffering caused by extremes,
The moderation of the middle path is discerned.

* * * *
Stop pretending to know.
You do not, never did, never will,
And no one else does, did, nor will, either.
Agnostic is the only frank assertion under any sun.

* * * *
What attachment can awareness have to anything?
Only the winds of consciousness fabricates attributes
Of every form, of every hue, of every shade of gray.

* * * *
Light is only discerned through awareness,
And awareness only possible through manifestation
In one form, one dimension, or another.
The possibilities are infinite,
But there is but one source to all.

* * * *
Is there anything not made stronger
When fashioned by a certain amount of challenge,
A certain amount of adversity, a certain amount of pain and suffering.
Of the qualities needed for survival in this manifest world,
Amorphous is likely only rarely included.


CHAPTER SEVEN

From nothingness to nothingness,
The manifest journey between naught but imagination,
And death before dying the only release.

* * * *
Best never to presume you know another’s mind,
Without figuring out what is going on in yours first.

* * * *
Evaporate the wind-blown clouds of consciousness
That swirl through the awareness you truly are.

* * * *
What have you really given your child if it does not include
Discipline, fortitude, resourcefulness, gumption, and grit?

* * * *
If you know pain, you likely know fear, and what weaves pain
But the conditioned mind that clings to its imaginary universe.


CHAPTER EIGHT

Through awareness of the other comes awareness of the no other.

* * * *
You cannot erase pain unless you deal with its cause,
And that may or may not be well beyond possible.

* * * *
At some point, it there really anything that you have to do ever again?
Seriously, how many times do you have to brush your teeth to get the gist?

* * * *
What we call knowledge is no less imaginary than any fairy tale.
Both are equal products, equal conscripts, of the time born of mind.


CHAPTER NINE

You are but another life form, another creature, another universe,
Ultimately as anonymous as any other Mother Gaia has ever created.

* * * *
Do you seriously believe any supreme being
Would not be bored to tears with human absurdity by now?
Likely less the absentee landlord than the gone-fishing project manager.

* * * *
It is less about what any other thinks about you,
Than it is what you think they think about you.

* * * *
Whatever bearing you take on this inexplicable mystery,
Whether the all-knowing many-faced version,
Or that all knowledge is fabricated,
Where are you left with the vision offered?

* * * *
What to do when the world and all its vanities no longer moves you,
When thought subsides and the mind is content to reside in awareness.

* * * *
How much time have you dwelled on all the inanities of the human drama?
What do you need to prove, what can you prove, to any other anymore, really?

* * * *
Always examine, always question, anything and everything closely for your Self.
To blindly accept another’s outlook as truth without a critical eye,
Is a dark and wayward road down which the mob
Has traveled times beyond counting.


CHAPTER TEN

What was the face of God before you were born, what will it be after you die,
But the same faceless, still awareness it has always been
In every timeless here now
Since long before the advent of stardust.

* * * *
We two-leggeds embrace a good story.
Weave a mundane shopping list into a tale,
And it risks becoming a coast-to-coast best seller.

* * * *
The cause becomes the effect becomes the cause becomes the effect becomes …
In the streamlessness-causelessness-effectlessness of it all.

* * * *
Once you own any thought, any concept, any impression,
Once any perception is added to the dynamic of your frame of reference,
The insights it reveals, mix-and-match-new-and-unique,
Double-double-toil-and-trouble meld,
Into the witch’s brew of your paradigm stew.

* * * *
None are islands in this finite, temporal, mortal dream of time.
Only in eternal awareness are all worlds, all universes, undone.

* * * *
This one and only timeless moment, are you giving it your full attention?

* * * *
You can think about this grand mystery in whatever way you wish,
Or not at all, for all that it matters.


CHAPTER ELEVEN

Some get born into pondering such as these, some are found and hijacked into them,
But most of those who investigate the indelible unknown of their own accord
Must discover the way with their own blend of doubt and gumption,
And the many serendipities of the given Yellow Brick Road.

* * * *
Awareness is the only god,
The only dogma, the only shrine, the only idol, the only symbol,
The only truth anyone really needs.

* * * *
What is any story but the chaff surrounding a message, a moral,
The fruit that draws a creature to consume the kernel and convey it to new ground,
The means to draw a reader, a listener, to a conclusion, to an insight,
That may flourish, and perchance ripple further still.

* * * *
You are here now because your genetic line,
Since existence kicked off in the swampy puddle of origin,
Somehow survived, somehow thrived, at least long enough to procreate.
The consecration of patterned happenstance; nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
Windows of agreeable health and vibrant energy are but fleeting reprieves
From the calamitous endgame that is as sure and true as sure and true can be.

* * * *
Pain is best met with a certain amount of detachment
If it is to be endured without morphing into the suffering
The human mind so effortlessly, so readily, entertains.

* * * *
You cannot force someone to like you, to give of themselves willingly.
That is of a resonation inspired by an inexplicable dynamic,
A mix of commonalities of mind, body, spirit,
That may even include vibrations at a molecular level.

* * * *
What is any word but a stagnant thing
Without the dynamic of the eternal moment
Beneath the wave upon which it surfs.

* * * *
What does any patterning great or small do
But waft through its tiny slice of matrix
For as long as its shelf life pertains.

* * * *
All these inventions we tool-makers have conceived and manifested into the day-to-day,
And many if not most feverishly straining to keep up with the beast it has wrought,
Often competing with the myriad creations as if we ourselves were machines,
But really only ending up more and more inane, more and more insane.
What are we and this dream world but victims of our own insatiable vanity.


CHAPTER TWELVE

The writings of any seers should be called just that: writings, notes, works, books.
Not scriptures, because the definition often implies some sort of authority,
And in when it comes to the unknowable, there is no such thing.
All are inquiring into the same mystery to which all have equal access.
And for anyone to claim any expertise, or some greater connection, is absurd.

* * * *
We are molecular beings inhabiting a molecular universe.
The drug-induced possibilities offered by Eden are many and varied.
How they came to be is ever a question without answer,
Other than to say, “Yay, Team Quantum.”

* * * *
Release the world in your mind,
And where are you, when are you,
But the only now that has ever been.

* * * *
Challenging to let go of vanity when the mind-body duality so inspires it
With the countless delusions that desire and fear fuel in this dream of time.

* * * *
Imagine existing in this world when it was perfectly untamed,
And you with neither claw nor fang, only mind and opposable thumb,
And an abiding, pitiless will to survive, and perchance thrive.
You are a direct descendant, the genomic outcome,
Of those who somehow persevered
From the puddle of origin to this here now.

* * * *
No one is even near as notable or essential
As so many spend their lives vainly believing.
The countless delusions of the human paradigm
Must certainly be the laughingstock of the universe,
Assuming, of course, that the universe is even watching.

* * * *
Breathe in you.
Breathe out you.

* * * *
It was perhaps when our kind began to communicate,
When we discerned that we all perceive our worlds differently,
That we began to harbor resentments and merge together as mindsets,
And in doing so, truly set in motion the dystopian endgame
In which we the descendants now find ourselves.

* * * *
To just completely, absolutely be,
At such a level as to neither assume nor judge,
Is a yogic feat of the highest order.

* * * *
The potential of concept is that the essence of many things can be clearly discerned
Without ever having to experience them in the first person
Once the frame of reference
Has the depth and breadth of an abundant life.

* * * *
The mortal coil comes into being, grows bright, dims, and expires,
Ever the same quantum essence witnessing its inexplicable nature.

* * * *
There is only one quantum dimension, one quantum matrix, one quantum soul.
Neither within nor without, neither known nor unknown,
Neither here nor there, you are.

* * * *
What will endure, what will emerge, what will reign,
After mammalian life can no longer survive this spinning garden orb
That humankind has through the twists and turns of consciousness forever desecrated?
What great kingdom would you not readily yield for a time machine
To witness Eden play out it magical mystery.

* * * *
Curiosity is one of those things that generally lessens over time.
It is the tool of the young in the sponge-time of  their lives,
The time when they are exploring, finding their way.
To daily view the universe with fresh eyes is a rare feat.

* * * *
To give attention to the ephemeral eternal moment
Is a busy-busy, measuring-measuring mind’s most arduous task.
The imaginary past and its countless projected futures stoke far too much passion
For the quietude of eternity to be allotted its true autonomy.

* * * *
The nothing and everything from which all creation does and does not emanate.
The ethereal nada’s kaleidoscoping lightshow playing out its ever-present enigma.

* * * *
The nothing special.
The nothing, special.

* * * *
Awareness has no ego, no attributes, no boundaries, whatsoever.
The imagination of consciousness, in all its dualistic notions,
Is sole source, soul proprietor, to that whimsical state.

* * * *
You know …  you know not …
You know …  you know not …
You know …  you know not …
You know …  you know not …

* * * *
How many lives, how many dreamtimes, is anyone, whether for good or ill, yay or nay,
Of any real consequence to, is a question to which no one can have answer.
Consciousness ripples, but how far, how strong, how long,
Who can even more than begin to guess?

* * * *
Sacks of shit and piss and bones and goo,
Yup, that is all we are in our inflated game, our vain diversion,
Just the electromagnetic spectrum daily playing out its impromptu theater real and true.

* * * *
What is evolution but the unknowable,
The creation, the preservation, the destruction,
The selecting, the pruning, the thinning, the harvesting,
The ever-changing nature of matter and motion, energy and force,
In the dance, the play, the lila, of eternal space and time.
An indivisible, boundless, quantum billiard table,
With neither beginning nor end nor middle,
Witnessed each and every moment,
In every imaginable way,
By the awareness you truly are.

* * * *
All the words in the world have never even once saved anyone.
All are doomed from the get-go in this terrible-swift mortal fray.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Some call it this, some call it that.
Words, words, words; sounds given conceptual overlays.
The nothingness given meaning, given purpose; identity it neither needs nor requires.
The busy-busy cacophony of the human mind’s unceasing obsession
With re-hashing everything in its own muddle.

* * * *
Black and white are but fringes of consciousness,
With everything between every shade of gray.

* * * *
Where is the demarcation between the awareness within
And the universe without, but a wall built of imagination.

* * * *
Only in the stillness of eternal life,
Of the awareness prior to all things imagined,
Is there freedom from the myriad vanities of consciousness.

* * * *
The linear mind is no match for the ever-accelerating,
Ever-morphing exponential of these our modern times.

* * * *
Challenging, indeed, for the mind to just be, given its conditioning,
And the life force at whose helm it navigate the shoals of existence.

* * * *
Of the crimes committed,
A don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy is advised.
The secret no one knows is the secret no one tells.

* * * *
Here you are now ...
Here you are now ...
Here you are now ...
Here you are now ...
Here you are ...

* * * *
The awareness is a formless sea behind the eyes.
The senses inspire consciousness to imagine a vast universe,
But it is no more than a brief dream to which mind every moment yields.

* * * *
Playing a little part in a little play is but a little smidgeon of imagination
Given over to vain notion based on a nature-nurture fiction of quantum design.

* * * *
Are you something that is something, something that is nothing,
Nothing that is something, nothing that is nothing.
Or all of the above in a sea of relativity.

* * * *
The universe is a pulsating-vibrating-kaleidoscoping-hologram-matrix-quantum theater
In which you are witness within and without the within and without
That is not, was not, and will never be.

* * * *
What a hungry thing the mind is, consciousness is, the indivisible essence is.
What is all experience but the insatiable consuming itself every moment.

* * * *
The stillness of awareness
Witnesses the clouds of consciousness come and go.
You only think you are the wind.

* * * *
You are it, have been all along,
And will be in every future-past hence,
In the forever-after-genre-milieu whatever.

* * * *
Dirtier water, dirtier air, dirtier ground.
Less food, less space, less accord.
The dystopian now unfurls.

* * * *
Desire, fear, the myriad passions of the monkey-mind in general,
Are nothing more than predicable habits, patterns born of nature-nurture,
Of genetics and the incessant winds of time playing out the vanities of consciousness.

* * * *
None of it is real, none of it was ever real, none of it will ever be real.
None of it ever more than a kaleidoscoping dream of stardust,
The quantum essence come unto the pretense of life.

* * * *
You are screwed anyway; the Reaper always hovering naught a breath away.
May as well enjoy your Self, die in the saddle, in so-to-speak cowboy parlance.

* * * *
There are those rare who dwell in the momentary awareness,
Those who dwell in discernment, those who dwell in the eternal mind,
Insight is its own law, neither bowing to authority, nor subscribing to dogma.

* * * *
Is the atheist any less determined not to believe, than the believer is to believe?
So much assertion, so much struggle, so much dwelling on so many this’s and that’s,
For nothing more than vain notion, hollow whimsy, over that which can never be known.


CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Just about everything you have ever seen, heard or done
May well be happening somewhere in your world in particular,
Or your imaginary quantum universe in general.
Who knows, who cares?

* * * *
A multi-dimensional tapestry,
Too inexplicable for any but god-minds
To but vaguely comprehend.

* * * *
And when you do find it,
When you do give your Self over to it,
What then, Grasshopper?

* * * *
If something is true, it can be verified by many eyes.
Subjective assertions are not the harbor of science.

* * * *
Good and evil are human concoctions.
If you believe they existed before we unleashed upon the world,
You are caught in the mire of delusion.

* * * *
Look where pretending to know
What can never be known
Has brought us,
And is taking us further still.

* * * *
What is any hell but a veil between awareness
And that which is not, never was, will never be.

* * * *
Every day another level, another tweak, of degradation.
How much longer will our little mishap in time carry on?

* * * *
Hang out in the left brain
When it is all about monkey chatter,
And the right side when stillness has the notion.

* * * *
The only difference between a big mind and a little mind
Is in the little mind's ceaseless absorption in attributes.

* * * *
What does it truly mean to be one with the oneness?
Completely free, completely alone, completely eternal.

* * * *
This universe is merely a temporary theater,
But the you that you really are is real,
Immortal, and free for all eternity.

* * * *
There is no solution
But the inevitable consequences
Of all things approached by imbalanced minds.

* * * *
Consciousness is riddled with every sort of desire,
And desire is the most worthy opponent
Of those who would be freedom
In this world or any other.

* * * *
Desire is like a hydra.
You must eradicate the beast,
Else its many heads will flower ever anew.

* * * *
Just because you are godness,
Does not mean you can break the speed limit
And always get away with it.

* * * *
Earth, air, water, fire
Are but ephemeral players,
And anything ephemeral
Is but a cloak to truth.

* * * *
No matter
Where you are,
Whenever you are,
It is really all the same,
Has always been the same,
Will ever be the same.

* * * *
Male and female in every species are wired with different mindsets.
Their interests may intersect at varying points, but never completely.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

That which in the prime of youth,
You knew so well,
Is in the many years passed
So challenging to more than vaguely recall.
So many lifetimes in just this one.

* * * *
Have you ever really made anything happen?
Or is that merely the murky delusion
Of imagination’s ego?

* * * *
Just not interested
In any more dog and pony shows,
Carny acts of the manifest kind, if you get the drift.

* * * *
Consciousness will play out
As consciousness will play out.
That I Am is unconcerned.

* * * *
Challenging to play your self and your Self, too.
To eat your cake, or not to eat your cake,
That is, indeed, the question.

* * * *
What is all this accumulation, anyway?
This incessant gorging of the mind
With every sort of trivial pursuit.

* * * *
Somewhere along the line, all learn to fear.
The challenge is to somehow transcend it.

* * * *
That which in the prime of youth,
You knew so well,
Is in the many years passed
So challenging to more than vaguely recall.
So many lifetimes in just this one.

* * * *
Have you ever really made anything happen?
Or is that merely the delusion of imagination’s ego?

* * * *
Just not interested
In any more dog and pony shows,
Carny acts of the manifest kind, if you get the drift.

* * * *
What is this world, this universe, this grand mystery,
But a quantum theater born of senses and mind.
Like cotton candy spun of sugary nothingness.

* * * *
Consciousness requires your presence
To meander willy-nilly as it will,
But you, source of all,
Require nothing.

* * * *
So much gibberish.
Be done with it.

* * * *
Every life form has a unique vision
For the universe, into which they are,
From the formlessness, made manifest.

* * * *
The next game show: Name That Meme.
And a t-shirt to match: What’s Your Meme?

* * * *
Real strength, real power, is an inner confidence
That does not require effort or show,
A sword rarely drawn.

* * * *
There is ultimately nothing for which you need be forgiven.
You did not ask to be here; there is no need to pray for more.

* * * *
The unknown pervades all.
You are the mystery; the mystery is you.
That which is known is but a bubble of imaginary notion,
A dreamtime play of consciousness, nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
However any life form great or small may sense it,
It is ever the same quantum matrix playing its magic.

* * * *
True religion is much more than regurgitating some historic dogmatic notion,
That is really no more real and true now than it was in the way-back-when.

* * * *
Duality is a fabrication of consciousness.
In reality, there  can be only oneness:
All-pervading, all-knowing, ever-present.
The all-in-one-one-in-all quantum awareness.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The hologram born of imagination is discerned complete
When the awareness you believe a separate you
Fully realizes that its true, ultimate nature
Is the infinite, eternal oneness.

* * * *
Futility is beating your head on the wall,
Believing you can change anything
Without changing into your Self.

* * * *
To the bitter end?
Or some quick, self-determined conclusion?
Aren’t they all of the sword
By which we live?

* * * *
Yet another dogmatic, idolatrous, cultish hoax played out as religion.
Why waste any eternal breath attempting to convince others
Of that which is obvious to those who are not blind?

* * * *
You have pretended it all matters long enough.
Feel free to take a long vacation,
An eternal holiday,
From this theater of the absurd.

* * * *
What need or concern would the clayness have
For light or sound, form or being, thought or memory?

* * * *
Unless you win a lucky spin in some lottery, or happen upon a pot of gold,
You are not likely to get much of anything out of something
Into which you put piecemeal or no effort.

* * * *
The passions draw you out into this imaginary world.
Without their hot and cold, you are nothing more
Than the infinite stillness of pure awareness.

* * * *
What a mystery this holographic matrix,
A mirage of space and time,
An imaginary sandbox,
In which all play,
But none truly exist.

* * * *
If you wander about thinking and behaving
You are somehow superior to a wide slice of the pie,
You are more than likely in for a relatively rude awakening.

* * * *
Everybody and everything is not going to wake up,
And what does it matter, really?
If you are awake,
There is really no other needing to awaken.

* * * *
Seriously, folks,
At the fundamental level,
How can anyone really be all that different
From any other life form?
Come on,
Think about it.

* * * *
Totally, completely, absolutely, indivisibly, undeniably,
The You, you really are, have ever been, will ever be.


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

(Under Construction)