The Final Utterings of 2025

 

The Final Utterings of 2025

 

 

 

Leftovers

 

 

Alas for the many who deeply yearn, deeply long, for a black and white dream,

That the ineffable mystery is permeated with the shades of gray of irony and paradox.

The subtleties, the nuances, the intricacies, the restraints, the fetters – of the ultimate reality,

Are not for the un-doubters, the sheeples, the true believers, sprinting down the road more traveled.

 

* * * *

What is death, what is demise, what is passing, what is ruin,

But dissolution, annihilation, expiration, extermination, extinction.

A world, a cosmos, a quantum mirage of space-time, undone,

Of everything the body's sensory-mind has imagined.

 

* * * *

How quickly everything becomes its memory,

In the streaming, the kaleidoscoping, of imagination.

 

* * * *

What a huge burden, what a huge bother,

To be caught up in the vanity-greed maelstrom,

Of power and/or fortune and/or renown.

 

* * * *

If it has happened anywhere across the world,

In any moment the eternal continuum brandishes,

Rest assured it can happen in your neck of the woods.

 

* * * *

Without doubt,

Without skepticism,

Without critical thinking,

What is there but an automaton,

Mimicking, reciting, echoing, spewing.

 

* * * *

You are the mystery of eternity.

Sit back, and serenely witness the illusion,

Playing out before the given senses of the mind-body,

In which You dwell for a relatively brief window of dreamtime.

 

* * * *

Embrace the given moment.

It is as close to eternity,

As close to your Self,

As You can ever be.

 

* * * *

Your cosmos will do everything it can, to drag You back,

Into whatever illusion your dreamtime delusion inspires.

 

* * * *

In every mind, in which You have ever wandered,

In every mind, that has ever witnessed your presence,

You have performed very different, very impromptu parts,

As assigned by the frames of reference of the given beholders.

 

* * * *

Much easier, to follow, to worship, some idolatrous trope,

Than it is to put in the real work, and awaken to your Self.

 

* * * *

Anyone who – labels, brands, regards, describes, portrays – themselves anything,

Is well on the way to pretty much missing the entire raison d'être,

Of everything that these writings have pointed to.

 

* * * *

Odds are, chances are, it is likely, it is probable, you can expect, you can wager,

That my rejoinder to almost any question, is in here somewhere.

Keyword searches of the pdf’s are your best bet.

 

* * * *

Meditation and contemplation are the surest means to discerning this great truth.

To wallow in the dogmas and idolatries, so many consider religion,

Is to entirely miss the mark, of the all, You truly are.

 

* * * *

Duality, is a deity, a God, out there, watching you.

And non-duality, the drop of God, the drop of mystery,

The drop of eternal awareness, You are, looking out.

 

* * * *

So many words,

So many works,

So many teachings,

To describe over and over,

That which requires no description.

 

* * * *

You have your own dreamtime.

He has his own, and she, hers, and others, theirs.

None, ever even close to being alike, and judgment, what is the point?

Being true to your Self, and allowing others to do the same,

Is the highest state, in this ineffable mystery.

 

* * * *

Science has limits.

Mathematics has limits.

Language has limits.

History has limits.

 

All things imagined have limits.

 

* * * *

Of the big questions, You know so pathetically little,

That it is truly absurd to assume You know anything.

 

* * * *

Who can say, whether or not,

The entirety of all creation has simultaneously happened,

The very same instant.

 

* * * *

Knowledge appears to make the universe expand further and further,

But how can You expand that, which never existed in the first place?

 

* * * *

Is forgetting everything perhaps the greatest challenge?

The imaginary mind-body has a great deal of difficulty,

Surrendering its imaginary self to the eternal moment.

 

* * * *

The sweet.

The sour.

The bitter.

The good.

The bad.

The ugly.

Taking things as they are,

Mitigates the suffering of existence.

 

* * * *

Caring too much.

Caring too little.

Caring just enough.

Too hot, too cold, just right.

A Goldilocks balancing act for all.

 

* * * *

All of eternity, is but one moment, one instant.

It takes imagination a little bit longer to catch up.

 

* * * *

Eternity is right here, right now, this very moment.

 

It cannot be seen.

It cannot be touched.

It cannot be tasted.

It cannot be smelled.

It cannot be heard.

 

It cannot be known by any creation, ever fashioned in its clear awareness.

 

* * * *

When imagination is set aside, and eternal awareness takes the helm,

Each and every moment, is, simultaneously, both the first and the last.

 

* * * *

To in any way imagine your mind-body, your Self, in any way separate

– from this moment, from this right-here-right-now, from this one and only eternity –

How irrational, how ludicrous, how absurd, how meaningless, how insane, how stupid, is that?

 

* * * *

What does a rock perceive,

What does it do,

And how in quantum,

Is it any different from You?

 

* * * *

Try not to get beaten up and/or crucified.

Martyrdom is neither pretty, nor necessary.

Take time enough to become a garden statue.

 

* * * *

You are the one and only mystery.

What more do You need to know?

What more do You need to see?

What more do You need to hear?

What more do You need to taste?

What more do You need to smell?

What more do You need to touch?

What more do You need to become?

You are the one and only mystery.

What more do You need to be?

 

* * * *

Call it consciousness,

Call it memory,

Call it knowledge,

Call it reflection,

Call it belief,

Call it opinion,

Call it conception,

Call it thought,

Call it cogitation,

Call it sketch,

Call it estimation,

Call it outlook,

Call it view,

Call it perception,

Call it scheme,

Call it hypothesis,

Call it impression,

Call it model,

Call it plot,

Call it blueprint,

Call it idea,

Call it meditation,

Call it contemplation,

Call it idolatry,

Call it theory,

Call it cognizance,

Call it deliberation,

Call it plan,

Call it rumination,

Call it introspection,

Call it design,

Call it notion,

Call it reminiscence,

Call it musing,

Call it recollection,

Call it anything You please,

It is all naught but ephemeral imagination.

 

* * * *

I am mystery.

I am totality.

I am That I Am.

I am Self.

I am God.

I am awareness.

I am timeless.

I am eternal.

I am spaceless.

I am moment.

I am infinite.

I am infinitesimal.

I am complete.

I am nothing.

I am everything.

I am ineffable.

I am indivisible.

I am indelible.

I am unfathomable.

I am creation.

I am preservation.

I am destruction.

I am unborn.

I am undying.

I am omnipresent.

I am omniscient.

I am omnipotent.

I am eternity.

I am mystery.

 

And in all these truths, so are You.

 

* * * *

Below is the Google AI answer to the query: A list of all the things human beings have worshipped throughout human history

 

Throughout human history, anthropologists estimate that at least 18,000 different deities, animals, or objects have been worshipped. These can be categorized into several distinct types of entities and physical items.

 

Entities and Spirits

 

Supreme Deities: Many civilizations centered worship on a single or chief creator god, such as Yahweh (Abrahamic), Allah (Islam), Brahman (Hinduism), Zeus (Greek), or Amaterasu (Shinto).

 

Nature Spirits and Animism: Early humans often attributed divine intelligence to the natural world. This included spirits of mountains, rivers, trees, and valleys. Specific examples include Nymphs (nature spirits) and Naiads (water spirits) in Greek culture.

 

Ancestors and Deified Humans: Ancestor worship is common in many cultures, where the spirits of the dead are appeased or venerated. Historical figures have also been deified, such as Roman Emperors or the Pharaohs of Egypt.

 

Zoomorphic Deities: Many cultures worshipped gods with animal forms or features, such as the ancient Egyptian gods Anubis (jackal-headed) and Horus (falcon-headed).

 

Natural Phenomena and Celestial Bodies

 

The Sun and Moon: Solar deities like Ra (Egypt) or Inti (Inca) and lunar deities like Artemis (Greece) or Mama Quilla (Inca) were central to many ancient pantheons.

 

Elemental Forces: Humans have worshipped the personification of thunder (Thor, Perun), fire (Hephaestus), and water (Poseidon).

 

Abstract Concepts: Worship was often directed toward personified concepts like Love (Aphrodite), War (Ares, Mars), Wisdom (Athena), and Peace (Eirene).

 

Physical Objects and Artifacts

 

Sacred Stones and Landscapes: Notable examples include the Black Stone of Mecca in the Kaaba and meteorites or upright stones (menhirs).

 

Relics and Human Remains: Devotees have worshipped physical remains of holy figures, such as fragments of the True Cross, the Shroud of Turin, and the bones or "relics" of saints.

 

Votive Figurines: Prehistoric artifacts like Venus figurines (depicting female figures) are believed to have been related to fertility or goddess worship.

 

Statues and Icons: Physical representations of the divine, such as the Parthenon's statue of Athena or Hindu murtis, serve as focal points for worship where the deity is believed to reside.

 

Sacred Texts: In some traditions, the physical scriptures themselves are objects of veneration, such as the Torah scrolls in Judaism or the Guru Granth Sahib in Sikhism.

 

 

 

Soundbites

 

 

How quickly everything becomes its memory, in the streaming, the kaleidoscoping, of imagination.

 

* * * *

Religion is such a mockery, such a travesty, such a parody, of truth.

 

* * * *

Eternal life is in the perpetual birth and death of each and every indivisible instant.

 

* * * *

Why pretend to know what You cannot?

 

* * * *

The You in You, is the You in all; the all in all, is the all in You.

 

* * * *

History is a kaleidoscoping stream of ecstasies and agonies on its journey to oblivion.

 

* * * *

Believe what You want to believe, it matters not.

 

* * * *

Awareness and health are your only real wealth, and even they are as ephemeral as any pile of gold.

 

* * * *

Odds are, chances are, that my rejoinder to almost any question, is in here somewhere.

 

* * * *

Wisdom is the coin of eternity.

 

* * * *

Just because something has not happened, does not necessarily mean it cannot, or will not.

 

* * * *

The gap between awareness and consciousness, is the same as the one between eternity and time.

 

* * * *

Do You listen to your own advice?

 

* * * *

Survived yourself again.

 

* * * *

Call it consciousness, call it knowledge, call it cognizance, call it memory, it is all imagination.

 

* * * *

Without doubt, without critical thinking, what is there but a regurgitating automaton?

 

* * * *

In the dream, but not of it.

 

* * * *

Win some, lose some, maybe win more later.

 

* * * *

The cost-benefit ratio of existence skews a tad more negative with every passing year.

 

* * * *

Embrace the given moment; it is as close to eternity, as close to your Self, as You can ever be.

 

* * * *

The madness of zealotry is an unyielding force.

 

* * * *

Profound high jinks.

 

* * * *

So many concepts describing the same thing, and the immaculate pie ever whole all the while.

 

* * * *

To care or not to care, You every moment decide.

 

* * * *

Just because something does not matter to you, does not mean it to be neither true nor important.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the silent om of the universe; from it, all sentient beings arise and abide.

 

* * * *

Another Buddha; kill it, holmes.

 

* * * *

In every inclusion, some exclusion; in every exclusion, some inclusion.

 

* * * *

Time is a function of imagination; awareness, a function of eternity.

 

* * * *

And what is forever, and what is not forever; need we ask anyone to tell us these things?

 

* * * *

Is it arrogant to discern it thus, or arrogant not to?

 

* * * *

Human silliness might be truly depressing, if it were not laced with so much absurdity.

 

* * * *

Timelessly transient.

 

* * * *

Choose yes, choose no, choose maybe, consequences ever ripple.

 

* * * *

What no one knows is much easier to forget; if You want a secret kept, best keep it to yourself.

 

* * * *

Your cosmos will do everything it can, to drag You back, into whatever illusion your delusion inspires.

 

* * * *

Which modern time is not whatever moment the witness is witnessing?

 

* * * *

What is this monkey-mind need, to have all the answers to a mystery, that requires no solution.

 

* * * *

Duality, is a God out there watching you, and non-duality, the drop of God You are, looking out.

 

* * * *

So many words, so many works, so many teachings, to describe that which requires no description.

 

* * * *

Existence is suffering; no one get a free pass.

 

* * * *

Being true to your Self, and allowing others to do the same, is the highest state, in this ineffable mystery.

 

* * * *

Imagination only has – answers, solutions, explanations – to questions that never needed asking.

 

* * * *

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

 

* * * *

The Way is simplicity its Self; only You perceive it complex.

 

* * * *

It is consciousness that presides over the passions; awareness is tranquility, through and through.

 

* * * *

Do not beg forgiveness, for every ill thing You have ever done; an earnest apology will do.

 

* * * *

Existence is the first and last entitlement.

 

* * * *

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

 

* * * *

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

 

* * * *

It took a while for the seed You call You to develop, and when it runs out of steam, where will You be?

 

* * * *

Most stop looking before they even start.

 

* * * *

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

 

* * * *

Great wisdom is the distillation of a great deal of foolishness.

 

* * * *

The attitude to which You are most attached, is the well from which You daily draw water.

 

* * * *

Impossible to go through this mortal existence, without raining on many parades along the way.

 

* * * *

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

 

* * * *

The speeding bullet is but a moment away; how You react is the essence of your story.

 

* * * *

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

 

* * * *

Not only are they blobs, they are illusionary blobs.

 

* * * *

Scientific objectivity is flushed down the drain, when funding dictates a self-serving outcome.

 

* * * *

Nobody can imagine anything the same; it is a solo act in every mind.

 

* * * *

Everybody wandering around imagining they know something.

 

* * * *

Sometimes You do, sometimes You do not; such is the nature of the weather, too.

 

* * * *

Speculation is not truth; it is all speculation.

 

* * * *

Of the big questions, You know so pathetically little, that it is truly absurd to assume You know anything.

 

* * * *

Illusion makes for every variety of delusion.

 

* * * *

The mystery spawned You, and You created a vast universe; a partnership of senses and imagination.

 

* * * *

All mortals are shaped, by the forces of space and time, as figurines are by molds. Free will? How so?

 

* * * *

The aloneness in one, is the aloneness in all.

 

* * * *

Ultimately, all forms are but anonymous, vaporous ghosts in the mists of time.

 

* * * *

What mind-body can long abide sensory deprivation, without tumbling into unutterable madness?

 

* * * *

How many ways there are to die, is a list that technology daily lengthens.

 

* * * *

The jungle is still in all of us.

 

* * * *

Were choices, that were made all along the long winding trail, ever really choices at all?

 

* * * *

Do You really believe all your answers, all your conclusions, all your speculations, mean anything?

 

* * * *

All times are equally the same moment.

 

* * * *

What is any history, but a means to preserve, to sustain, to bolster, the given cultural mindset.

 

* * * *

You are herein introduced to your Self; from your Self to your Self, so to speak.

 

* * * *

Red pill, blue pill, was there ever really a choice?

 

* * * *

If You must hope for anything of this existence, hope for a quick, unexpected, painless death.

 

* * * *

Ain’t it amazing how much You do not know, and yet the first and last knower all the while.

 

* * * *

How absurd must absurd be, before absurd wakes up to its absurdity?

 

* * * *

The Way is neither moral nor immoral; isness is not bound by any play of mind.

 

* * * *

No need to pray for this or that, or that or this; just accept what comes, and let go what goes.

 

* * * *

How can the mind that ever longs for certainty, ever concede to that which can never be known?

 

* * * *

Existence is short no matter how long, and long no matter how short.

 

* * * *

No, it is not all about You; yes, it is all about You.

 

* * * *

Perhaps the only true act of free will, is giving your self over to the choicelessness of awareness.

 

* * * *

Human history is the synergy of the tribal mind evolved in the jungles of long ago.

 

* * * *

Youth, where does it go; ask the fading rose.

 

* * * *

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.

 

* * * *

What prosperity is there in preservation; destruction and mayhem fatten the Beast.

 

* * * *

Eternal life is being mindful, in an empty-mind sort of way.

 

* * * *

The lazy mind is rarely a receptacle of doubt, or certainly of not more than the shallow sort.

 

* * * *

Hearts and minds, boys and girls, hearts and minds, You do not often win them over with a bludgeon.

 

* * * *

Everything is distraction from reality, only the ephemeral is real, in awareness, be.

 

* * * *

Discerning tabula rasa is as simple, as eternal, as it gets.

 

* * * *

What is real meditation, but the turning off, of time-bound imagination, for a brief wander in eternity.

 

* * * *

Yet another generation, mindlessly swept up, in the clawing avarice, and blinding confines of time.

 

* * * *

The limits of perception are obvious, the doors of perception, immeasurable.

 

* * * *

The other cannot fill the void; nothing can.

 

* * * *

For every birth, a death; for every creation, a destruction; zero-sum at its finest.

 

* * * *

Consciousness is the source of all disparity; in the quantum indivisibility, there are none.

 

* * * *

Ponder anything however You will, words are but tonic to emptiness, through which they echo to and fro.

 

* * * *

No matter how small or huge it might be, it is every moment just as huge or small.

 

* * * *

You see what You are, You see what You are not, so it goes, no worries.

 

* * * *

When You use the word God, do You mean everything, including You?

 

* * * *

Imagination is just imagination is just imagination.

 

* * * *

What does a rock perceive, what does it do, and how in quantum is it any different from You?

 

* * * *

What it is, is what it is not, same thing, same thingless.

 

* * * *

Intelligence is a quantum program, encoded by natural selection, witnessed by awareness.

 

* * * *

Curiosity is an insatiable beast, to which a serene mind, is final answer.

 

* * * *

Dreaming itself immortal, consciousness is indelibly linked, to the finite creation of quantum design.

 

* * * *

If there is such a thing as a perfect body, rest assured, it does not long stay that way.

 

* * * *

The many sounds, forged into every variety of concept, are but clouds in the clear sky of awareness.

 

* * * *

Without a witness, there is no history.

 

* * * *

It is a perfect world, a perfect cosmos, but not perfect enough, for many, if not most.

 

* * * *

Why would your beingness, be any more, or less, than any other beingness, supreme or otherwise?

 

* * * *

How can You be sure of anything, really?

 

* * * *

You did whatever You did in this brief existence; own it, let go of it, find peace, cultivate contentment.

 

* * * *

Growing older is about different choices, many, if not most of them, not made by You.

 

* * * *

There You go again, rushing madly toward a time, that will arrive and disappear, before You know it.

* * * *

Perfection is at the stardust level; in the mundane zone, not so much.

 

* * * *

There is history everywhere in this world; only a relatively small scratch of it recorded.

 

* * * *

Creation and creator, how can they possibly be separate, but through imagination’s endless confabulation?

 

* * * *

We are all on our own.

 

* * * *

All of eternity, is but one moment, one instant; it takes imagination a little bit longer to catch up.

 

* * * *

“How much more over the top can it get?” he wondered, and not for the first time that day.

 

* * * *

Pretending there is precision in words, h ow absurdly wearing, just be.

 

* * * *

A little Kafkaesque Q&A, has a tendency, to transport one, to the edginess of no more tomorrows.

* * * *

Envy is the sidekick, the shadow, the minion, of all things covetous.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how would You be, if there were no other, always telling You different?

 

* * * *

How immaculate the moment You are; only in imagination are You tainted.

 

* * * *

Who art thou? What art thou? Where art thou? When art thou? Why art thou? How art thou?

 

* * * *

No game is just a game; it is all a game.

 

* * * *

Where are birth and death, once all the passions, born of desire and fear, have consumed themselves?

 

* * * *

Is there anyone who does not play differently, to different audiences?

 

* * * *

There is life, there is no-life; imagination on, imagination off; nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

That which knows all, knows nothing; that which knows nothing, knows all.

 

* * * *

We each get our own little bubble of time, an adventure to which each alone is privy.

 

* * * *

Those who are unborn, those who have died, are prior to and beyond the pretense of existence.

 

* * * *

So it goes, so it went, so it will go.

 

* * * *

And why is all that knowledge – so much of it, meaningless trivia – so important?

 

* * * *

Death is the endgame of every existence; no need for hope nor faith nor any creed.

 

* * * *

The mind incessantly seeks the equilibrium, the comfort zone, to which it is most attached.

 

* * * *

Truth cannot be taught, nor can it be unlearned; it can, however, be soundly ignored, even forgotten.

 

* * * *

Do You ever appreciate something, as much, as when it is gone?

 

* * * *

You cannot long placate the pitiless, stand too close to a flame, You will be burned.

 

* * * *

Dissolve both within and without; discern the space that is neither-nor.

 

* * * *

Who-what- where-when-why-how would You be, but for Mother Nature, and all her machinations.

 

* * * *

Might may make right, but it does not refute equal.

 

* * * *

Do right and wrong, good and evil, life and death, really matter for more than a brief mortal while?

 

* * * *

The past is only reference; the future, only hope; only now is real.

 

* * * *

As any cockroach instinctively realizes, existence is a marathon, not a sprint.

 

* * * *

The three vanities – power, fame, fortune – all boil down to an insatiable greed for more.

 

* * * *

Peace is a noteworthy gift to your existence; all You need to do is stop torturing your Self.

 

* * * *

Only in awareness will the observer discern the truth of all things.

 

* * * *

A discerner of truth, can impart thousands of talks, and say essentially the same thing, thousands of ways.

 

* * * *

No black box stands long, against the eye of the discerning.

 

* * * *

So many things lost, so many things changed, with the advent of any new generation.

 

* * * *

Ugh, the things we do for the politics of acquaintanceship.

 

* * * *

The body is but a part, a fraction; You are whole, You are one, You are all, and none.

 

* * * *

Are You here now? Are You there now? Or are You everywhere and nowhere now?

 

* * * *

Through the part, the whole is discerned; through the whole, all possibilities are known.

 

* * * *

You are this, You are not this.

 

* * * *

To be born into existence, is to live in the realm of ecstasy and agony, from which the only exit is death.

 

* * * *

Feigning interest when You are not at all interested, ugh.

 

* * * *

The mind-body dream to which You are so attached, is nothing more than a, from-the-get-go, fabrication.

 

* * * *

In the struggle between imagination and awareness, is there a victor, or simply the serenity of cessation?

 

* * * *

You are the timeless awareness, still the imaginary mind, be here, be now.

 

* * * *

In conflict, there are no winners. only process, in which the king of the hill is ever-changing.

 

* * * *

What is popular may not be correct; what is correct may not be popular.

 

* * * *

What makes trivial pursuit so much more valued, than a mind, that runs silent, runs deep?

 

* * * *

What proposition could ever even begin to remotely please every mind?

 

* * * *

Me, my Self, and I; You, your Self, and You; we are very much the same; there is no other.

 

* * * *

The emotionally needy have an unfailing tendency, to suffocate all who attempt to placate their anguish.

 

* * * *

How meaningless all speculation – ‘tis but the chatter of a busy mind.

 

* * * *

Cause and effect: What difference, really, truly, when each is, every moment, becoming the other.

 

* * * *

What cannot adapt, what cannot abide, diminishes or perishes.

 

* * * *

Might may make right, but it does not refute equal.

 

* * * *

Everything has its little slice of now, which it must enjoy or endure, or perish in the attempt.

 

* * * *

When the Humpty-Dumpty of humankind falls, what will become, of whatever pieces remain?

 

* * * *

You are as well or ill, as You allow yourself to be; attitude is all.

 

* * * *

Nothing that anyone believes about it, truly matters.

 

* * * *

Delve into the aloneness, You truly are, have always been, will ever be, in the prior to mind.

 

* * * *

Victory and defeat, success and failure, right and wrong, good and bad, same thing, different daze.

 

* * * *

Imagination, has always believed itself, more real than it can ever be.

 

* * * *

Paying close attention to the cosmos without, leads to an equally sharper vision, of the awareness within.

 

* * * *

Drive to survive, and all arrive.

 

* * * *

You can take the monkey out of the jungle, but You cannot take the jungle out of the monkey.

 

* * * *

Like water that flows with the call of gravity, supply, will always seek a way, to meet demand.

 

* * * *

Melding with truth cannot be forced; effortlessness is the way to the Way.

 

* * * *

The predator’s fang and claw, the prey’s swiftness, and the untamed, brutish, Darwinian wild between.

 

* * * *

What is normal? What is not normal?

 

* * * *

Contentment is the final challenge of existence, and gratitude, the vehicle to that ethereal conclusion.

 

* * * *

It is all the same grist, grinding away in the same mill.

 

* * * *

No, that new technology is not going to save us; only further postpone the Malthusian inevitability.

 

* * * *

What need for the sanction of any other, once You discern the mystery, You truly are.

 

* * * *

How can a collection of self-replicating molecules – chemical reactions, organized matter – be called life?

 

* * * *

In consciousness, You are a human becoming; in awareness, You are a human being.

* * * *

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?

 

* * * *

All these voices telling You to be this or that; what is a Soul to do but put everything in its place.

 

* * * *

With so many deceits, truth has a rough time getting much attention.

 

* * * *

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.

 

 

 

Breadcrumbs

 

 

Have absolutely no problem being ignored by the future past, I will neither witness nor endure.

Far easier to unobtrusively, anonymously, serenely evaporate back into the unknown,

Than it is to continue grappling with the absurdity, the insanity, the horror,

Imagination has so thoroughly wrought upon this pale blue dot.

My work has been to discern it, and scribe all this.

Yours, to discover it, read it, discern it.

And perchance pass it on.

Do, or do not,

It matters not to me.

 

* * * *

Survived myself again.

 

* * * *

Do You listen to your own advice?

 

* * * *

My work has been to discern it, and scribe all this.

Yours, to discover it, read it, discern it.

And perchance pass it on.

Do, or do not,

It matters not to me.

 

* * * *

Profound high jinks.

 

* * * *

Hard to let go, but not impossible.

 

* * * *

Odds are, chances are, it is likely, it is probable, you can expect, you can wager,

That my rejoinder to almost any question, is in here somewhere.

Keyword searches of the pdf’s are your best bet.

 

* * * *

Is it arrogant to discern it thus, or arrogant not to?

 

* * * *

My only pedestal,

My only podium,

My only stage,

My only stand,

My only platform,

My only dais,

My only pulpit,

My only lectern,

My only plinth,

My only support,

My only base,

My only perch,

My only foot,

My only roost,

My only foundation,

My only understructure,

Is a MacBook Pro keyboard.

 

* * * *

Used to be able to do so many things, but the body has moved on, declined on.

 

* * * *

Another project underway.

 

* * * *

This opus wrote itself, one ditty at a time, using me as its scribe, its tool, its foil.

 

* * * *

There is no subscription, there is no paywall, everything is free and clear.

 

 

 

Possible Last Words & Epitaphs

 

 

In the dream, but not of it.

 

 

 

 The Standard Ripostes

 

 

In the dream, but not of it.

 

* * * *

Win some, lose some, maybe win more later.

 

* * * *

Survived myself again.

 

* * * *

Moi: What's going on?

Whoever: Not much, how about you?

Moi: Less I hope.

 

* * * *

Do You listen to your own advice?

 

 

 

The Corollaries of Yaj Ekim

 

 

 

 

Titles, Titles & More Titles

 

 

The Grand Matrix of Oblivion

 

* * * *

The Amber of Imagination

 

* * * *

Wisdom: The Coin of Eternity

 

* * * *

Win Some, Lose Some, Maybe Win More Later

 

* * * *

Survived Yourself Again

 

* * * *

In the Dream, but Not of It

 

* * * *

Profound High Jinks

 

* * * *

The Timeless Transient

 

* * * *

Do You Listen to Your Own Advice?

 

* * * *

Visions of the Modern World

 

* * * *

The Undistractible Mind

 

* * * *

The Hater Syndrome

 

* * * *

The Dusty Widget

 

* * * *

The Eye of Mystery

 

 

 

Michael’s Rabbit Hole

 

 

On Being Acclaimed or Ignored by the Future Past

 

Have absolutely no problem being ignored by the future past, I will neither witness nor endure.

Far easier to unobtrusively, anonymously, serenely evaporate back into the unknown,

Than it is to continue grappling with the absurdity, the insanity, the horror,

Imagination has so thoroughly wrought upon this pale blue dot.

My work has been to discern it, and scribe all this.

Yours, to discover it, read it, discern it.

And perchance pass it on.

Do, or do not,

It matters not to me.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

That Which Requires No Description

 

So many words,

So many works,

So many teachings,

To describe over and over,

That which requires no description.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Nature of the Automaton

 

Without doubt,

Without skepticism,

Without critical thinking,

What is there but an automaton,

Mimicking, reciting, echoing, spewing.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Surest Means

 

Meditation and contemplation are the surest means to discerning this great truth.

To wallow in the dogmas and idolatries, so many consider religion,

Is to entirely miss the mark, of the all, You truly are.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Likely in Here Somewhere

 

Odds are, chances are, it is likely, it is probable, you can expect, you can wager,

That my rejoinder to almost any question, is in here somewhere.

Keyword searches of the pdf’s are your best bet.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Nature of Death

 

What is death, what is demise, what is passing, what is ruin,

But dissolution, annihilation, expiration, extermination, extinction.

A world, a cosmos, a quantum mirage of space-time, undone,

Of everything the body's sensory-mind has imagined.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Every Moment but a Memory

 

How quickly everything becomes its memory,

In the streaming, the kaleidoscoping, of imagination.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Rest Assured It Can Happen

 

If it has happened anywhere across the world,

In any moment the eternal continuum brandishes,

Rest assured it can happen in your neck of the woods.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

You Are the Mystery of Eternity

 

You are the mystery of eternity.

Sit back, and serenely witness the illusion,

Playing out before the given senses of the mind-body,

In which You dwell for a relatively brief window of dreamtime.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The End to All Naming

 

Anyone who – labels, brands, regards, describes, portrays – themselves anything,

Is well on the way to pretty much missing the entire raison d'être,

Of everything that these writings have pointed to.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Maelstrom of Vanity and Greed

 

What a huge burden, what a huge bother,

To be caught up in the vanity-greed maelstrom,

Of power and/or fortune and/or renown.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Embrace the Given Moment

 

Embrace the given moment.

It is as close to eternity,

As close to your Self,

As You can ever be.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Real Work of Awakening

 

Much easier, to follow, to worship, some idolatrous trope,

Than it is to put in the real work, and awaken to your Self.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Black and White v. Shades of Gray

 

Alas for the many who deeply yearn, deeply long, for a black and white dream,

That the ineffable mystery is permeated with the shades of gray of irony and paradox.

The subtleties, the nuances, the intricacies, the restraints, the fetters – of the ultimate reality,

Are not for the un-doubters, the sheeples, the true believers, sprinting down the road more traveled.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Naught but Ephemeral Imagination

 

Call it consciousness,

Call it memory,

Call it knowledge,

Call it reflection,

Call it belief,

Call it opinion,

Call it conception,

Call it thought,

Call it cogitation,

Call it sketch,

Call it estimation,

Call it outlook,

Call it view,

Call it perception,

Call it scheme,

Call it hypothesis,

Call it impression,

Call it model,

Call it plot,

Call it blueprint,

Call it idea,

Call it meditation,

Call it contemplation,

Call it idolatry,

Call it theory,

Call it cognizance,

Call it deliberation,

Call it plan,

Call it rumination,

Call it introspection,

Call it design,

Call it notion,

Call it reminiscence,

Call it musing,

Call it recollection,

Call it …

Call it …

Call it …

Call it …

Call it …

Call it anything You please,

It is all naught but ephemeral imagination.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

And in All These Truths, so Are You

 

I am mystery.

I am totality.

I am That I Am.

I am Self.

I am God.

I am awareness.

I am timeless.

I am eternal.

I am spaceless.

I am moment.

I am infinite.

I am infinitesimal.

I am complete.

I am nothing.

I am everything.

I am ineffable.

I am indivisible.

I am indelible.

I am unfathomable.

I am creation.

I am preservation.

I am destruction.

I am unborn.

I am undying.

I am omnipresent.

I am omniscient.

I am omnipotent.

I am eternity.

I am mystery.

 

And in all these truths, so are You.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

In Every Mind Wandered

 

In every mind, in which You have ever wandered,

In every mind, that has ever witnessed your presence,

You have performed very different, very impromptu parts,

As assigned by the frames of reference of the given beholders.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Highest State

 

You have your own dreamtime.

He has his own, and she, hers, and others, theirs.

None, ever even close to being alike, and judgment, what is the point?

Being true to your Self, and allowing others to do the same,

Is the highest state, in this ineffable mystery.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Mitigating the Suffering

 

The sweet.

The sour.

The bitter.

The good.

The bad.

The ugly.

Taking things as they are,

Mitigates the suffering of existence.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Limits of Mind

 

Science has limits.

Mathematics has limits.

Language has limits.

History has limits.

 

All things imagined have limits.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Of Duality and Nonduality

 

Duality, is a deity, a God, out there, watching you.

And nonduality, the drop of God, the drop of mystery,

The drop of eternal awareness, You are, looking out.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Both the First and the Last

 

When imagination is set aside, and eternal awareness takes the helm,

Each and every moment, is, simultaneously, both the first and the last.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Illusion of Delusion

 

Your cosmos will do everything it can, to drag You back,

Into whatever illusion your dreamtime delusion inspires.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

No Free Passes

 

Existence is suffering; no one get a free pass.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Re: The Big Questions

 

Of the big questions, You know so pathetically little,

That it is truly absurd to assume You know anything.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The Unknowable Moment

 

Eternity is right here, right now, this very moment.

 

It cannot be seen.

It cannot be touched.

It cannot be tasted.

It cannot be smelled.

It cannot be heard.

 

It cannot be known by any creation, ever fashioned in its clear awareness.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

To in Any Way Imagine Your Self Separate

 

To in any way imagine your mind-body, your Self, in any way separate

– from this moment, from this right-here-right-now, from this one and only eternity –

How irrational, how ludicrous, how absurd, how meaningless, how insane, how stupid, is that?

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Answering the Beast

 

Curiosity is an insatiable beast, to which a serene mind, is final answer.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

A Rock and You

 

What does a rock perceive,

What does it do,

And how in quantum,

Is it any different from You?

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

So Many! So Many!

 

So many words,

So many works,

So many teachings,

To describe over and over,

That which requires no description.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Perhaps the Greatest Challenge

 

Is forgetting everything perhaps the greatest challenge?

The imaginary mind-body has a great deal of difficulty,

Surrendering its imaginary self to the eternal moment.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Awakening the Eye in All Who Would See

 

My work has been to discern it, and scribe all this.

Yours, to discover it, read it, discern it.

And perchance pass it on.

Do, or do not,

It matters not to me.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

The False Gods of Duality

 

Duality is a deity, a God, out there somewhere, watching you.

And nonduality, the droplet of God, the droplet of mystery,

The droplet of eternal awareness, You are, peering out.

One is founded on the delusions of vanity and greed.

The other is without any foundation, whatsoever.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

On the Nature of Time

 

Who can say, whether or not,

The entirety of all creation, has simultaneously happened,

This very instant.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Re: The Expanding Universe

 

Knowledge appears to make the universe expand further and further,

But how can You expand that, which never existed in the first place?

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Quantum Programming

 

Intelligence is a quantum program, encoded by natural selection, witnessed by awareness.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Imagined Answers

 

Imagination only has – answers, solutions, explanations – to questions that never needed asking.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

A Goldilocks Balancing Act

 

Caring too much.

Caring too little.

Caring just enough.

Too hot, too cold, just right.

A Goldilocks balancing act for all.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Avoid the Martyr Thing

 

Try not to get beaten up and/or crucified.

Martyrdom is neither pretty, nor necessary.

Time enough to become a garden statue.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

What More? What More?

 

You are the one and only mystery.

What more do You need to know?

What more do You need to see?

What more do You need to hear?

What more do You need to taste?

What more do You need to smell?

What more do You need to touch?

What more do You need to become?

You are the one and only mystery.

What more do You need to be?

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

Only Eighteen Thousand?

 

Below is the Google AI answer to the query: A list of all the things human beings have worshipped throughout human history

 

Throughout human history, anthropologists estimate that at least 18,000 different deities, animals, or objects have been worshipped. These can be categorized into several distinct types of entities and physical items.

 

Entities and Spirits

 

Supreme Deities: Many civilizations centered worship on a single or chief creator god, such as Yahweh (Abrahamic), Allah (Islam), Brahman (Hinduism), Zeus (Greek), or Amaterasu (Shinto).

 

Nature Spirits and Animism: Early humans often attributed divine intelligence to the natural world. This included spirits of mountains, rivers, trees, and valleys. Specific examples include Nymphs (nature spirits) and Naiads (water spirits) in Greek culture.

 

Ancestors and Deified Humans: Ancestor worship is common in many cultures, where the spirits of the dead are appeased or venerated. Historical figures have also been deified, such as Roman Emperors or the Pharaohs of Egypt.

 

Zoomorphic Deities: Many cultures worshipped gods with animal forms or features, such as the ancient Egyptian gods Anubis (jackal-headed) and Horus (falcon-headed).

 

Natural Phenomena and Celestial Bodies

 

The Sun and Moon: Solar deities like Ra (Egypt) or Inti (Inca) and lunar deities like Artemis (Greece) or Mama Quilla (Inca) were central to many ancient pantheons.

 

Elemental Forces: Humans have worshipped the personification of thunder (Thor, Perun), fire (Hephaestus), and water (Poseidon).

 

Abstract Concepts: Worship was often directed toward personified concepts like Love (Aphrodite), War (Ares, Mars), Wisdom (Athena), and Peace (Eirene).

 

Physical Objects and Artifacts

 

Sacred Stones and Landscapes: Notable examples include the Black Stone of Mecca in the Kaaba and meteorites or upright stones (menhirs).

 

Relics and Human Remains: Devotees have worshipped physical remains of holy figures, such as fragments of the True Cross, the Shroud of Turin, and the bones or "relics" of saints.

 

Votive Figurines: Prehistoric artifacts like Venus figurines (depicting female figures) are believed to have been related to fertility or goddess worship.

 

Statues and Icons: Physical representations of the divine, such as the Parthenon's statue of Athena or Hindu murtis, serve as focal points for worship where the deity is believed to reside.

 

Sacred Texts: In some traditions, the physical scriptures themselves are objects of veneration, such as the Torah scrolls in Judaism or the Guru Granth Sahib in Sikhism.

 

Breadcrumbs 2025

 

 

 * * * *

 * * * *

 * * * *

 

 

Breadcrumbs 2015 Leftovers

(Major Edit - Untitled)

 

 

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 deterioration one graph at a time;

Kind of like an already abysmal poker hand that only draws worse.

The good news is we will be leaving behind a prodigious assortment of videos and such,

For the extraterrestrials to check out, when they finally show up, maybe.

 

* * * *

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,

And every other life form, all across this mystery, the center of theirs.

 

* * * *

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 inviolability is the most genuine faith.

No idolatry or glass cathedrals required.

 

* * * *

Sophistication in any field of endeavor,

Is a matter of how the given capacities and limitations,

Double-double-toil-and-troubling their way into conscious awareness.

Who are the most skillful, but the few-and-far-between, allotting 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, measuring.

Ever exploring everything, in every way imaginable.

True science transcends all frames, all boundaries.

The profound challenge is to keep it harmless.

 

* * * *

Your only constriction, is being locked up in the temporal body.

The indivisible youness, You truly are, knows no bounds.

Only imagination binds itself to its 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 sentient life form 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 egotistic 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 relatively capable of anything imagination can conceive, and quantum 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.

In 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 cosmos, 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 kaleidoscoping eternal theater.

 

* * * *

Is the moi, You think You know, the moi, 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 deity,

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 of 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.

 

* * * *

A word of warning to the young: Avoid doing really dumbass things whenever possible.

If what You are undertaking is akin to walking eyes-closed across a busy freeway,

Then it might be best to do some checking in with your common-sense meter.

That is assuming, of course, that You want to arrive at some ripe old age,

In a reasonably healthy body, with a reasonably functioning mind.

And rest assured, this is a ‘do what I say, not what I did’ suggestion.

Life is longer than You realize in the early years, and blunders cannot be undone.

Believe me when I say, that I was probably as foolish as You, and have paid many penalties.

Our kind is hard-wired for narcissism and hedonism, and moderation is a tack requiring great discipline.

 

* * * *

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 very 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 or another, to catch the drift?

 

* * * *

Who contemplates?

Who perceives?

Who knows?

Who cares?

Who feels?

Who loves?

Who hates?

Who hopes?

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.

The same unfathomable, indivisible, ineffaceable, ineffable mystery.

 

* * * *

Assuming any survive the dystopian now daily unfolding,

They will be walking in the ruins of self-absorption and greed,

Unlike any time, the world and all its critters, has ever seen.

 

* * * *

Ultimately, the final stage, 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 silently 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 in your inexplicable walkabout,

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 are but a mortal fabrication of memory cells, of neuron trails.

The nothing more, nothing less, of quantum vapor, playing the indivisible real.

 

* * * *

So many sermonizing from some pulpit in their mind: ‘Don’t do this, don’t do that.’

All based on utterly absurd, often contradictory notions, written thousands 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 blocker.

There is not any dogma, any on-high authority, that means squat to those bent on Self-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 a curious thing, how flesh can in one instance be so enticing,

And in another, be only just a few clicks well past 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 some point of no return.

 

* * * *

Human beings are absolutely no different,

Than any other biological creatures 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 space and time.

 

* * * *

So many interesting things to do in any 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 miasma of their mind,

Is the most inexplicable mystery they could ever hope to discern.

 

* * * *

Time travel?

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 instigator for the greatest vanity possible,

And even get You dangled on a cross, or molded into a garden statue.

 

* * * *

Those furry things that swing from branch to branch; yes, You are very much related.

What is a few million years of evolution, when You really should be talking,

About the many 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 your destiny ordains.

 

* * * *

Words, numbers, notes, lines,

And other such conceptual intrigues,

Are the limitless playground of imagination.

They cavort through nothing to their mind’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 perpetual monopoly games,

Striving for vanity and greed’s supremacy in the Game of Mammon.

Which we must all participate – like it or no – to some degree.

 

* * * *

What is called goodness, is consciousness without ulterior motive.

What is called 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 might be played beyond that, only the mystery knows.

 

* * * *

Rest as easy as the abrasive traces of the mind-body allow,

In all the traumas 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,

Until extinction snuffs it out.

 

* * * *

Best not to declare most anything impossible in the human paradigm,

For there always seems to be some mind, in one cubicle, one garage or another,

Looking to find one way or another, 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,” bickered yet another.

And on and on and on and on … all the rights, all the wrongs,

All the ethical dilemmas, of all who juggle such notions.

 

* * * *

Religious fervor ebbs and flows, rises and falls, in the bell curves of space-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 perceive.

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 perception.

 

* * * *

Even the intelligent, the honorable, the healthy, the beautiful, the loving,

Earn the undivided attention of maggots and other dignitaries 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, your 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 negate the solitude, 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 cuisine for one indifferent beast or another.

 

* * * *

Best to introspect your own cabaret before judging another’s.

We are all cousins of the same mysterious puddle,

And we all live in glass houses.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the immortal connection,

That indivisibly transcends all creations small to great,

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 un-care, to be.

 

* * * *

Even the sharpest, most strident blade, cannot pierce the awareness unborn, undying.

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 world 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 sustains 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 whatever means accessible.

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 obtuse notions,

To which a completely imagined self is so attached.

 

* * * *

The best learning 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 garden,

Can withstand the onslaught of so many billions,

In just a few 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 prior 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 very 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 ineffable ethereal of all things,

There is naught 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 small to great,

And only those who surrender to its beingness,

Are free of imagination’s constraints.

 

* * * *

It can be more than a little challenging, looking into 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 hardest parts about growing old,

Is recalling that You were once 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, rational, un-aligned mind,

Has a hypothesis to spare, and inclination for observation within and without:

Are all the passions of consciousness enhanced by oxygen deprivation,

Born of the many stresses and strains fashioned by suffering?

Is something so simple, root cause of so much angst?

Root cause, to all that has fashioned the human paradigm?

 

* * * *

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 last time, the only time.

Discerning that clearly, freely, absolutely, 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 still water,

And the boat and its wake, are the imaginary pretense of existence.

 

* * * *

Your cosmos disappears and reappears every kaleidoscoping moment,

In the ever-bubbling 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 it is evil.

Far more simple, to live in truth, than it is to promote lie after.

 

* * * *

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 imagine the perception of past or future,

Is 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 advocates.

We all have detractors.

It is 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 frames, no boundaries, no limits.

 

* * * *

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 its own design.

 

* * * *

All creation stories are but theatrics 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 all humankind could clearly discern the ultimate.

How different might this whirling garden dust ball really be?

 

* * * *

Of the five elements: earth, water, fire, wind, and ether,

You are the flawless singularity within and without all.

 

* * * *

 You, too, shall one day be a carcass on one ground or another.

Be not proud.

 

* * * *

Nothing before, nothing during, nothing after.

How much more simply can this mystery be seen?

 

* * * *

Steer your paradigm back toward its source.

Move prior to all egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric-heliocentric 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 genetic lottery’s 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 so challenging for so many to grasp, to fathom,

That they are simultaneously, both creator and created?

 

* * * *

Will the first day really be any different than the last?

Or any different, than they were every day between?

 

* * * *

When one deity or many are imagined,

There is inevitably doctrine, idolatry, fraud,

And every vain gradation of absurdity imaginable.

 

* * * *

So many people, places, things,

You might have done so differently, or not at all,

But then where would You be, but somewhere else, exactly the same.

 

* * * *

Life: sometimes a gift, sometimes a curse.

Attitude is all, and oftentimes, it sucks greatly.

 

* * * *

A long cultural tradition means little, if You have gleaned nothing more from it,

Than a handful of obtuse egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric-heliocentric 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 dust ball.

So it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

 

* * * *

So many commemorate after someone departs,

But who was there while they were supposedly alive,

But an unfathomable bubble of unborn-undying awareness.

 

* * * *

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 the awareness prior to all notions of consciousness.

You are in the mind-body, but not of it.

Be here now.

 

* * * *

There is no need to believe in 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, ofttimes, 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 imagination 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 cosmos You are, is the only master,

And all its faces and forms, your myriad teachers.

 

* * * *

Words create, words preserve, words destroy.

Use them wisely as all your attachments allow.

 

* * * *

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 mind and body 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.

And even that is patterned.

 

* * * *

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 names.

Different faces.

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 a tinge of reality; other times, fantasy.

Whatever works in imagination’s 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 barely 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 an 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, too bad, so sorry, oh well, 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 perpetual challenge for humankind seems less about what to believe,

Than it is to examine, to query, the seemingly instinctual drive to believe itself.

 

* * * *

The young, by their nature, can never appreciate,

What they have, or what they had, until it is gone.

 

* * * *

What is one to do when vain 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 amusing 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 aspects.

 

* * * *

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 good news, or bad news,

You are that which is mystery, that which is quantum,

That which is matchless, 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 deities 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 space-time born of imagination.

 

* * * *

Consciousness battles a never-ending war, over uncountable differences,

That have never really mattered at all, in any way, in any shape, in any form.

 

* * * *

Why care about any of it? Why not care for all of it?

So many contrary choices in the momentary mist of dreamtime.

All real, all unreal, in the perception of any given mind.

 

* * * *

What is any so-called life, but a streaming of vague impressions,

To which nearly all, become so resolutely, irrevocably, 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.

 

* * * *

Rather than call it God, call it quantum.

And You are it, and it is You.

There is no other.

 

* * * *

An 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 beacon is bright,

Are often ignored or 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 worshippers 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 not choose,

For this reverie must conclude as all things manifest do,

Whether by your own hand or some other design.

 

* * * *

There will always be some order in the orchestration of civility.

Humankind does not long tolerate chaos.

It is a monkey thing.

 

* * * *

Existence is suffering.

No one get a free pass.

 

* * * *

The intelligent and well-intentioned, are generally always rather a pleasure,

Unless they are annoyingly self-absorbed and arrogant in their waggishness.

 

* * * *

God and Satan, heaven and hell, have always been dogmatic absurdities.

Naught but collusions of human imagination, none 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 and 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 ineffable ‘out there,’

That You will discern true and lasting peace,

Or serenity or tranquility or happiness or contentment,

Or that quixotic state called 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 space or time,

Without the indelible presence of awareness,

Within which to imagine every imaginable difference.

 

* * * *

Unconditional acceptance of this grand dreamtime 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 is a Soul to do but put everything in its place.

 

* * * *

With so many deceits,

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 cherry-pick so much conflict and horror,

Over the simplicity of peace and 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 are life forms on other worlds,

When we are so bent on destroying so many fellow earthlings 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 is the matter, You deaf?

 

* * * *

Everyone and everything, and everything between and betwixt, the same awareness,

Waking up to whatever dreamtime, 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 whatever 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 espouse Middle Eastern lore,

The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost,

Are all within and without You.

The Holy Quantum Trinity:

Creating, Preserving Destroying.

 

* * * *

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, tribalism, ethnicity, groupthink,

And all the traditions,

All the norms, in which they wallow.

 

* * * *

What becomes of anything born of this quantum mystery, is lost and gone forever,

Unless some witness manages to etch it in the ever-shifting sands,

Of their relatively 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 to fight the tide, that is the question.

 

* * * *

Hang around a bunch of old folks in their 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 an exceedingly teensy-weensy, itsy-bitsy, particle of dust,

In the grand quantum dust storm we call a universe.

 

* * * *

Every group should always assign a Devil’s Advocate function on a rotating basis.

Someone who questions all the assumptions, all the conclusions,

So often rendered by the collective mind.

 

* * * *

The great challenge is to be content with your own life.

To cease worrying about what 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-body-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 regrets, 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 presides over the passions.

Awareness is tranquility, serenity, through and through.

 

* * * *

Accumulating a great deal of power or fame or fortune,

Is to deal with any number of monkey-minds who want a taste,

And some who would without hesitation or remorse,

Happily swindle it, in any way possible.

 

* * * *

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.

 

* * * *

To call the United States of America, either a democracy or a republic,

To call it anything but a mammon-worshipping corporate oligarchy,

Is to blindly, absurdly, gloss over the bitterly harsh, often cruel reality,

That it has become little more than a greed-serving, dystopian war machine,

Raining destruction down upon innocents and enemies alike, all across the planet.

 

* * * *

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 some deity,

Do not in the same breath, wonder where that deity on-high came from?

 

* * * *

Think You are ready for the dark world that is coming?

You will, hopefully, not have to be around 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 noggin 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 much less about what anyone thinks, than what You think they think.

The challenge is not to fabricate undo turmoil 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 authenticity, 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 is no doubt God created this infinite cosmos,

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.

And time travel? forget about it.

 

* * * *

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 mind-body?

 

* * * *

To disconnect 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 garden worlds 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?

Or give up the ghost before the haunt begins?

 

* * * *

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 cannot hear these words,

Them that cannot look past one conviction or another,

Well, give 'em an ample chunk of gnat dung to chew on until it sprouts wings,

And carries them to the greater heights of the absurdity and horror, in which they in deep sleep dwell.

 

* * * *

Depending how many siblings there are,

You are probably one of the most expensive nights,

Your parents, bless their hearts, 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 great 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, and have ever been, and will ever be,

In this inexplicably singular mystery.

 

* * * *

More of the same old indelibly, pathetically wearisome, human bullshit.

Some may be able to act it out 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 dance, do the whatever,

They all double-double-toil-and-trouble, down to the same eternal emptiness.

The least common denominator, of the ever-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 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 merely 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 a while for the seed You call You to develop,

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, simply not pretending anything, You know You do not.

 

* * * *

Damned if You do, damned if You do not.

Heavened if You do, heavened if You do not.

 

* * * *

Nothing forward, nothing behind, nothing when, nothing where,

The wake of space-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 fate wills.

 

* * * *

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 fear and fallacy 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 guffaw 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 mystery 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 never even – a point, a line, a plane, an object – between.

The imagination, born of consciousness, is the origin of all genesis.

 

* * * *

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, small to great, still wander in this Garden of Eden world.

We are the ones who departed, the ones who stopped seeing it.

We did not get kicked out by some vain deity.

 

* * * *

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, it 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 out.

 

* * * *

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 cosmos 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 needs doing,

To depart without too many regrets in that 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 someone unsatisfied,

How can a monkey-mind ever but bemoan its deep-seated 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 industrious efforts.

 

* * * *

In the ever-streaming course of human events,

Time tends to do more things with a lifetime of creation,

Than 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 small to great,

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 small to great 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 quantum theater.

 

* * * *

Sometimes great genius is noted in its own moment, sometime later, often not at all.

The whimsy of consciousness is unending in the passage of the space-time born of mind.

 

* * * *

What is birth but the beginning of a dream of time, 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 – clocks, watches, calendars –

Stream toward their inevitable expiration.

The 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 full attention to the moment, called eternal life by some.

That which is prior to the mind-body, and the dream to which it is so attached.

 

* * * *

Every existence will at some point, be entirely extinguished,

And all the while, the quantum 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 best used 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 much of what is 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 eternal serenity of your mother’s womb,

You big-banged into your ever-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 dubious war created by chicken hawks and agencies out of control,

And a foreign policy that blows chaotically in the 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 tolerably well,

And sometimes they do not.

So it goes.

 

* * * *

Any so-called – spiritual, sacred, transcendent – experience,

No matter how comforting, how reassuring, does not for indelible truth make.

It is but another moment, so very quickly come and gone,

In the grand abyss of eternity.

 

* * * *

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, in every cranny.

Vanity’s many-colored rainbow, casts a net far and wide and deep.

 

* * * *

All the handsome boys and beautiful girls, always touting their good fortune,

Until they, too, inevitably join those much less favored by the genetic 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, will ever be, for the dream of consciousness to sort out, however it imagines.

 

* * * *

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 small to great,

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 steep their youth with an excess of entitlement.

Discipline and grit and gumption,

Are handy out there in the real world, such as it is.

 

* * * *

No deity on high is going to resurrect your absurd little identity,

And its ever-changing, very mortal meat machine.

You are condemned 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,

In any way, in any shape, in any form.

 

* * * *

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 doubt true.

 

* * * *

The many memes of groupthink are cementing consciousness,

Into an eclectic range of extraordinarily contorted assumptions,

Baseball caps, cowboy hats, chewing tobacco, not excluded.

 

* * * *

You cannot save anybody, much less everybody.

The dreamtime 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 the translation of your cosmos.

 

* * * *

You compose your own chronicle every day.

Wretched or sublime, it is ultimately the same.

 

* * * *

Is civilization really any more than an all but utterly futile attempt by men,

To help women feel secure, stay as clean as possible, 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 algorithm, 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 ever applies.

 

* * * *

What is a sail but a compass to the wind.

What is the mind but a cosmos 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 is 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 extremely harmful.

 

* * * *

So many devices we have invented to dispatch ourselves,

And every unfortunate 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 beingness 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 in a while.

 

* * * *

Be that totality, that vastness, that solitude, that quietude,

Where there is no within, where there is no without.

Where there is no where-when, but here-now.

 

* * * *

There is an innocence to any first-time experience, that cannot be repeated,

No matter how unblemished the mind, no matter how unsullied the inner eye.

 

* * * *

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 cosmos,

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 cultish belief system,

Really any more than contrived philosophical babble,

Double-double-toiled-and-troubled-fire-burned-and-cauldron-bubbled?

 

* * * *

If everyone stayed the dogma of their ever-wagging tongues,

We would all be much more 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.

Oh well, 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 its twaddle?

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 is set by the quantum mechanics regulating the groundwork.

 

* * * *

We each discern clarity in our own unique way.

No point looking back once You are born again.

 

* * * *

Live and let live, live and let die, die and let live, die and let die.

All choices You may well decide a time or three in any given day.

 

* * * *

The world, the cosmos, 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, of fame, of 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, indiscernible small.

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 elusive rumor,

That You were perchance brought up in the same dwelling.

 

* * * *

The limits of the mortal container are not the limits,

Of the eternal 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 disinterested relativity of the all-things-human paradigm,

There are very, very 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 probable amount of pain and suffering,

Between the occasional snippets of pleasure.

 

* * * *

Pretty amazing, how much can quickly transpire,

To those so ill-fated, as to exist in interesting times.

 

* * * *

What You imagine You are, is but quantum stardust.

What You really are, is far older, is far younger,

Than anything that can ever be conceived,

As anything more, as anything less,

Than everything, and nothing.

 

* * * *

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 cosmos, exist only if You give the mind,

Over to the sensory feed, and the myriad 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.

 

* * * *

Challenging enough to transcend your own dogma,

Much less tolerate the constriction of everyone else’s.

 

* * * *

The joy of youth, is innocent ignorance, of all the agonies and ecstasies,

That lurk in the shadows, on the long and winding road ahead.

You never know what You had, until it is gone.

 

* * * *

Sometimes You do, sometimes You do not.

Such is the nature of the weather, too.

 

* * * *

Everyone pooping their vanity,

For everyone to see and hear and feel and 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, You have never been, You will never be,

What any word, what any concept, what any sound, what any vibration, implies.

 

* * * *

Most anyone can bring a child into the world,

But are all capable, are all worthy, of parenthood?

Is really the only question, the only answer, that matters.

 

* * * *

The play of the mind-body,

Is but a three-dimensional dream, for You to alone witness.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

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 awakened 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 space and time,

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.

Take a walk, stare at a wall.

 

* * * *

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 may well do whatever it takes,

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 an 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 spontaneously 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 electromagnetic spectrum 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 that which is God, then what is good, what is evil,

But an illusory dance between consciousness and its Self.

And You, the source, the witness,

Just pop in – whoever, whatever, wherever, whenever, whyever, however – 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 arrangements,

That which is prior to all the divisions, all the contrasts, all the dualities, 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 climate, the geographical features,

The myriad fellow creatures from small to great, all played 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 quantum, 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 in creative and troubled minds, 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 they, in turn, whiz, and their whiz merges with your whiz, down to the sea.

And in the sea, all the 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 the whizz is drawn up into the heights, high above.

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 sleets and hails and snows, down to the ground far 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 Darwin-esque saga.

 

* * * *

Explore your world, your cosmos, 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 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, the rabbit hole be dark.

The rabbit hole be in every which way, long and winding.

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 spaceless, timeless, prior-to-consciousness state,

Is a tranquil sea, attached to nothing.

 

* * * *

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 unatonable error of its way.

And even then, how many will call it God’s will, and pray for salvation,

Or denunciate 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 ecstasy and agony.

Nor can You more than speculate, any other’s version of their world, their universe.

We are all, as alone together, as ships passing, in some nebulous, moonless night.

Only as knowable, 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 tussle, 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 truly know about anything, really,

But the fabrications of mind, devising 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 species 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 and scratch and plumb and ponder.

All any mind can ever really do, is be it, is do it,

As the dreamtime moment allows.

 

* * * *

The rare few who begin to earnestly look within and without, prior and beyond,

At the cosmos 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.

 

* * * *

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 into which they link,

Are wormholes to their conditional, to their arbitrary, to their temporal, rendering of a cosmos.

You daily travel space, You daily travel time, 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 small or too large for any question.

Some things that must remain forever unknown to the ceaseless conjectures of imagination.

So it goes, too bad, so sorry, oh well, 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 cosmos 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 ecstasies and agonies,

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 imaginary persona,

Destined to be quickly sidelined, 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 sorrowful allure of loneliness,

And clearly discerning the unfathomability of 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,

To the ineffable, eternal source, its Self.

 

* * * *

The senses invoke the make-believe of space and time, but without them where would You be?

What happens to a mind evolved in time, when locked completely alone, in a dark, soundless chamber?

What mind-body 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 perchance share, the given innocence.

It is always there, it is always within, if You will the time to discern it.

 

* * * *

Everything of consequence is bell-curving, in an ever-accelerating, up-and-up-and-up exponential.

How far toward the indifferent star above, will the human paradigm soar,

Before wings melt, and x’s and y’s, stall and fall?

 

* * * *

Any innocent only knows whatever they are told.

And if they are told an untruth, then that untruth becomes their truth.

And will remain so, until they perchance develop the wit, the insight, to question all things.

To meander out of their cave of origin, and perchance discern the greatest vision.

And perchance one day, if is their destiny, even set themselves free.

It is, without doubt, a long, rocky, solitary, 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.

It has been 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.

Space and time 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 truly 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 cosmos 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 that there truly is no other, that You are, in reality, all alone,

Is an insight few have the wit, the strength, the focus, 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, charms, talismans, amulets,

Is to realize, to fathom, they are in You, they are You.

For it is You, who are the many-faced god.

You who are the unborn-undying quantum matrix,

Ever illusory, ever nameless, ever dancing, for all eternity.

 

* * * *

How fiercely many a mind does slash and tear and scratch and gnaw its imaginary self.

Conquering the cosmos, building great empires, saving any and all,

Are much simpler than taming 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, to act out, the only character You could have played?

It all seemed so unknowable, so unpredictable, so challenging, so indelible, every moment,

But has that mind-body You call your own, ever really been anything more, than a genomic algorithm?

The mystery of awareness, the mystery of You, witnessing the mortal program it was bestowed?

Were choices, that were made all along the long winding trail, ever really choices at all?

 

* * * *

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 Hondas and Chevys and Fords.

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 mystery … 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 he would-could-should be?

What will You do then, Faithful Pilgrim? Keep waiting, keep praying, keep hoping?

Or perchance, awaken to the reality, 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, all things dreamtime,

And that all heavens, all hells, are but 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 contrivance, 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 and subjective and arbitrary and capricious from the get-go,

And the price of admission is death, a payable-on-demand exit,

Back to that oblivion, 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 cosmos, playing real, in the muddle 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 organism 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, of a riddle, of a brainteaser, of a koan,

But to sharpen, to whittle, to sculpt, the wit, for whatever undertakings may come.

It is the playing ground, the schooling ground, the training ground, the doubting ground,

Of the critical thinker, the pessimist, the skeptic, the cynic, the seeker of truth.

 

* * * *

From nothingness to something, from something to nothingness, nothingness all the while.

All things emerging, all things forming, all things disappearing, all things dissolving.

The source, ever tranquil, ever indivisible, ever unfathomable, ever absolute.

The many shapes, the many patterns, nothing more than appearances.

Sands shifting, rocks falling, currents flowing, winds blowing.

Attributes, elements, qualities, quantum vibration, all.

Primal chaos, creating-preserving-destroying,

In the vast 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 in 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 preserve, to sustain, 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 anything, is but a false security, to which most minds cling.

To be as a child, alone and free; to be the tabula rasa of this instant; to be unborn, undying;

Is to be the mind, realigned with the ever-present eternal moment, and its inherent, indelible insecurity.

 

* * * *

The challenge is to get back to the timeless garden, the eternal Eden,

Of which no other creature 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, whatever idolatry comes to mind.

What is the point of all the 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 small to great, simply play out their given nature as the moment calls.

Only we hapless two-leggeds, are lost in time-bound labyrinths of self-imagery,

And all the ecstasies and agonies they endlessly weave.

 

* * * *

How did all this world’s life forms evolve from the dynamic of origin,

But through an extraordinarily laborious, haphazard selection process,

In which countless unknowable universes were created and destroyed,

Before humankind’s little twinkling 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 fiefdoms.

 

* * * *

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 anything 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 predictable 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 fickle 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 seemingly different eye,

Wired into different central processing units, programed with different frames of reference,

Wandering – all alone, together – in different dreams born of imagination.

We call it life, we call it 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 your 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.

Where in nature, is even one number?

Even one perfect circle?

 

* * * *

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 scrutinize anything that distracts them from their calling?

 

* * * *

Words, numbers, notes, and other symbols, are all equally unable,

To do more than describe, to point out, the mystery that spawns them.

 

* * * *

An itsy-bitsy bit of nothingness, becomes and itsy-bitsy quantum,

Becomes an itsy-bitsy molecule, becomes an itsy-bitsy form, becomes an itsy-bitsy life form,

Becomes an itsy-bitsy consciousness, becomes an itsy-bitsy imagination,

That one day fathoms the unborn-undying awareness,

It is, has ever been, will ever be.

 

* * * *

It is perchance time, for those rare few, who are truly done with the dream 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 ecstasies, the agonies, the comedies, the tragedies,

That You play out upon your Self, are unending and beyond all pales.

 

* * * *

What will this world, this cosmos, this unfathomable creation, be like in one year?

In one hundred years? In one thousand years? In one million years? In one billion years?

In one trillion years? In one quadrillion years? In one quintillion years? In one gazillion years?

As if a year, one single whirl around our puny little star, really happened in the first place.

 

* * * *

Nature is process, an artistic force,

Each and every moment creating, preserving, destroying.

Absolutely indifferent, to all beginnings, to all endings, to all goals, to all outcomes.

 

* * * *

What is this ineffable mystery, but pure awareness, but pure intelligence,

Playing out every potential, every possibility, that it might aspire to manifest.

To dream, in whatever fashion, in whatever dimension, its infinite dynamic ordains.

 

* * * *

It is not about belief, it not about dogma, it not about idolatry, it is not about groupthink.

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 an instant stays the same,

In the quantum matrix of this ineffable mystery.

 

* * * *

You are not the You, that identifies with this corporeal body,

Or this life, or this world, or this cosmos, 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?

 

* * * *

Setting aside the fixation, the obsession, the passion, of any given delusion,

Requires a steadfast detachment, that relatively few can easily, 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.

 

* * * *

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 perpetually struggle 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 cosmos, 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.

 

* * * *

Many have a very challenging time facing the fact,

That this three-dimensional existence, is but a touchy-feely dreamtime,

That absolutely nothing is permanent, that forever, is nothing more than an absurd concept,

A sound, whose only reality, is but an insignificant vibration in the indivisible,

That has no binds to time, no commitment to form, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

Any and all seeds are but one-time blueprints,

Which may, or may not, manage to reproduce,

And cast their given patternings a bit further,

In the kaleidoscoping 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 cosmos, 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 timeless unborn-enduring-undying awareness,

Solitary witness, that 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, enforcer, executioner, as needed.

 

* * * *

What You discern, what You glean, from your world, from your cosmos,

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 exits 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 this ever-changing epoch, and all its technologies, have in every way usurped.

We are all suffering in many ways; we are all struggling, to find our way.

 

* * * *

What is always ironically absurd, is how 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 massive 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 perhaps, they already are here, watching us play out our narcissistic game.

 

* * * *

Best 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 beneath the wheels.

 

* * * *

Are You really any more than an imaginary notion,

Inspired by the dreamtime, 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 ecstasy and agony,

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 very long list of ever-changing imaginary assumptions.

 

* * * *

Consciousness is really nothing more,

Than 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 heads around in the scribbling of their behind-the-eight-ball code.

 

* * * *

Awareness is dimensionless, 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 the human paradigm has any real meaning,

It is in the transcendent, creative mind, in which intelligence 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 space, no matter the time.

 

* * * *

History as it is unfolding in day-to-day current events,

Is less about scholarship, than it is reaction to the given moment.

It is only as the gaze broadens, distills, to a larger context, that perspective,

Begins the slow, long and winding process of detached 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.

 

* * * *

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, determines.

 

* * * *

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 interwoven continuum of space and 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.

 

* * * *

All 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, through 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 ecstasy and agony, 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 space and time are not, have 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 cosmos, 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 to the awareness prior to consciousness, and, poof,

The world disappears in the stillness 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 dreamtime allows.

 

* * * *

Nothing mattered before the beginning, and nothing will matter after the end.

And what is everything between, but a stream of every variety 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 matrix.

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 growing mound of false gold.

 

* * * *

Any personal deity 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 spaceless, 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 majestically convoluted depictions of heavens and hells and purgatories between,

Is really little more, than an intricate way, of declaring how clueless so many 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 corporeal existence but a timeless, unborn, undying dream.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how are You,

But empty 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 to some well-established mindset,

It is ever your interpretation.

 

* * * *

Using the tools of rhetoric to enhance empty agendas,

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 any way 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 the given moment 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, 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 cosmos 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 cosmos, a world, an existence, You had no say in creating.

 

* * * *

The mystic does not conquer or 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 your own face, You have never seen your own body.

How could your frame of reference, ever be the same as anyone else’s?

 

* * * *

Maybe You have got it, maybe 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, Tao, 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 all 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, beyond-the-pale balderdash, of 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 cosmos,

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 cosmos,

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 our own very unique, very subjective, very alone, version of a cosmos.

A timeless conundrum, an inexplicable mystery, an immeasurable dream,

From all beginnings, through all middles, to all endings.

None of us have ever seen our own face, and none ever will,

Because there is not, has never been, and will never be, one to see.

 

* * * *

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 reverie 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? 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 is 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 small as You are large, 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 egoistic reality.

 

* * * *

Your illusory cosmos is your teacher; it is your frame of reference.

It is an interminable streaming of faces and places and every variety of form.

It is all the creatures from small to large, it is galaxies beyond what any eye can see.

It is words and numbers and sounds and symbols, and whatever else consciousness colludes.

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 ever-present, 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 many animals share.

 

* * * *

All this time, all this effort, all this angst, all this absurdity,

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 ineffable 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 flowing 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 naught 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 cosmos, 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 themselves 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 serenity, that You.

 

* * * *

Everyone would do well to challenge, to confront, their imaginary deities,

Their superstitions, their fallacies, their delusions, and whatever other dreads,

At least once in a while, to discern 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, electricity, and our beyond-the-pale, tool-making capacity, all fueled, by insatiable greed.

There is no happy ending, no over the rainbow, to the horror story daily unfolding.

Economic and environmental shit-hits-the-fan is inevitable.

How and when, the only question.

 

* * * *

Consciousness concocts every imaginable speculation,

To grapple with this inexplicable quantum mystery,

But its ultimate reality, 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 thought and done, is founded upon the conditioning,

Of space and 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 gray-matter pigeonholes, 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.

Red pill, blue pill, was there ever really a choice?

 

* * * *

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

What does it matter, they are both illusions.

 

* * * *

If You give your self over to Self,

Things just seem take care of themselves,

In a way only You, very much alone, can witness.

No need to pray to some idol, no need to worship some deity.

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, pestilence.

To name a few.

 

* * * *

The awareness You are, is within all life, from the smallest to greatest, all across creation.

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 very 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 inventions of a species, that has yet to come to terms,

With the reality, that it is but the very temporal consequence 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 a 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 cosmos,

Witnessed 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 ether of this illusory 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 deity’s name, would anyone ever need to kill anyone else,

Simply because they do not see this unfathomable mystery the same way?

How absurd must absurd be, before absurd wakes up to its absurdity?

 

* * * *

All speculations aside, whether coincidences are anything more or less,

Than the mystery creaking dispassionately away, in its synergistic fashion,

Is well beyond the pay grade of we mere mortals, playing out the mortal game.

 

* * * *

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.

Never give your autonomy over to another.

 

* * * *

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, one into the next, each and every streaming holograph moment.

It is just all too frigging boggling, for consciousness, to ever wrap its wee little mind around.

 

* * * *

You cannot feel that which cannot be felt.

You cannot see that which cannot be seen.

You cannot hear that which cannot be heard.

You cannot taste that which cannot be tasted.

You cannot smell that which cannot be smelt.

You cannot know that which cannot be known.

 

* * * *

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 and all deities,

What are individuals or groups really doing,

But bowing and scraping to every variety of absurdity?

 

* * * *

You must be very courageous, very determined, very stoic,

To undo all that has been done, to tackle the unknown.

It is a long and winding yellow-brick-road journey,

From which You will not arrive, 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.

 

* * * *

Quantum fact that it is, to state this ethereal kaleidoscoping dreamtime is all one,

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 need 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 greatest friend, our favorite companion, our treasured beloved,

And to 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, one-step-after another journey,

Towards the brass ring, the salvation, of 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 believe 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 those who plumb the farthest shores of doubt,

Must every moment, deal with the given mind.

 

* * * *

Telescopes and microscopes, and all the technologies,

Have conveyed humanity to every conceivable small and large,

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 hanging on a cross,

And playing statue in some 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, of Self.

There are no disciples, no believers, no devotees, no partisans, no adherents.

Only friends and acquaintances, and perhaps annoying adversaries,

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 exited 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 do not say it now, if You do not do it now, whatever it is needs doing, will not get done.

Now is the one and only moment, now is the one and only space-time, now is 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 is not said now, if it is not done now, how else will consciousness play out its imaginary dream?

 

* * * *

Life and death are intertwined.

One is not without the other,

Each and every moment,

In this ineffable dream,

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 will not, either.

Each and every existence is a one-time show, courtesy of the given seed,

And the ever-kaleidoscoping 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 That 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 imagination,

Separating itself from reality.

 

* * * *

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 a 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 conceptions, are given more import,

Than the spaceless-timeless awareness, offered in each and every kaleidoscoping moment.

 

* * * *

From whence comes the ever-present voice, that You are within and without,

Is your portal to the awareness, that 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 may 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 space and time allows, yet what are You in the reality,

Before all beginnings, after all endings, and within every play of light between,

But an indivisible handful of spaceless, timeless, unborn, undying, stardust?

 

* * * *

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 rightward conclusion?

 

* * * *

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 just 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 devised, by any fear-based belief system, fabricated of the human mind.

 

* * * *

Does the dream 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 andgreed-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 shorter than that of the universe.

What is it that entices You, to believe this worldly theater, this cosmic playhouse, 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,

Forming together, into a new cosmos 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 see, must in timeless awareness, mindfully 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 serene 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, strangers;

Be it Star Wars Legos or a Lamborghini;

Are footnotes 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 expositions 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 the 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 genuine 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, nor 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 the 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 cosmos.

Its innocence is transparent, its mind unblemished, its heart untarnished,

By the untold 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 mind and body,

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 short no matter how long, and long no matter how short.

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.

 

* * * *

Despite all assertions to the contrary, humankind is not the be-all-end-all of this manifest mystery theater.

We have certainly played out a remarkable reverie in our trifling fragment of space-time,

One perhaps not replicated anywhere else across the starry-starry cosmos,

But our egocentric, ethnocentric, geocentric hullabaloo,

From whatever prelude to whatever finale,

Has never really been more,

Than vanity-vanity-all-is-vanity on steroids.

At best a negligible undulation 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 dread,

No family, no friends, no adversaries, 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, meandering the pale blue dot, 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 mystery, has the opportunity,

To view 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 eternal 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, the 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 many words, and realizing it true,

And You, solitary, unfathomable witness, to your mortal 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 ensnared in the oblivion of awareness.

 

* * * *

What is the main reason 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.

 

* * * *

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 paradigm,

Is that half-baked solutions, to problems in the ever-here-now,

Always seem to evolve into fully-baked problems,

In a endless then after 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 invention of the conceptual mind.

It was not a 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 undeniable 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 different tack from what would otherwise have been.

Embrace it or not, it is likely, many times 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, trying to domesticate them,

None of which the genetic coding will likely ever sanction.

 

* * * *

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 scar tissue beneath.

 

* * * *

Human consciousness is but one lineage,

Of the of the naturally-selected mysteries of quantum 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 win them over with a bludgeon.

 

* * * *

Try to forget the little self, the fictitious identity, at least once in a while.

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 theoretical,

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 eternal sense that 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 unfathomability.

 

* * * *

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 relationships with the other.

Other imaginary selves, with whom your imaginary self synergizes, in so many ways.

We are all the same monkey-mind, destined to the ecstasies and agonies, 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 to 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 wander to and fro, no matter where we rest our weary heads,

Getting through any given moment, 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 universes, 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 grant 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 cosmos,

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 churning quantum 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.

 

* * * *

Why 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 to 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 nothing more than imagination,

Playing out a sensory dream in the abyss 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 mechanism, the calendar, just numbers on paper.

Only You care what time it is, and what makes You so sure of the answer?

 

* * * *

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 countless creations, is doomed to annihilation,

Because there is nothing that can be saved, there is nothing that can be saved preserved.

Attachment to attributes, attachment to illusion, binds You to illusory 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.

 

* * * *

Ever since the human species evolved in the jungles of long ago,

Every two-legged, each with its own exclusive rendition of a monkey-mind,

Plays out a completely different, matchless, individual aspect, of the same consciousness,

Entirely based on the draw in the genetic lottery, and the winds of space-time, into which the seed is cast.

We are all witnesses, to completely unique quantum universes, all 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 view their little part objectively,

Only You, even begin to fathom the whole truth, of your imaginary realm.

 

* * * *

Always a good idea to bring along layers of clothing.

Fine to hope for the best, but always prepare for the worst, as well.

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, and it, 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 whimsies of the moment incline.

 

* * * *

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,

All born of the same monkey-mind.

 

* * * *

Every once in a while, 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 hades 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 humankind-made concoctions.

Even the deities on high 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 ineffable 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 more.

That is 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 truly believing your identity real,

But You being attached to your mind, your body, your cosmos,

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, nor the strongest, who survive,

But the most adaptable, to the ever-changeless, timeless now.

 

* * * *

No place to go, nothing to become, yet You,

Ever the same, ever here now, wandering this way or that,

For the 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 timeless 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 capricious 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, with 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 swine 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 small to great.

Some contrive what will become dogma, others wander serenely alone.

The mystery, in which all equally reside, lends 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 seed lines, 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 is 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 life-creating star, in its death throes, engulfs whatever is left,

And the vast cosmos kaleidoscopes 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 only-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 given senses,

What the mind-body, born of the quantum essence, has engineered.

Always one thing or another, to see, to hear, to touch, to taste, to smell,

Yet ever the eternal nothingness, the eternal abyss, 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 deigns.

 

* * * *

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 cosmos 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 narrative, any history,

Once all trace, all recollection, of it has vanished inyo the abyss of eternity.

Ask the forest tree, fallen, decaying, unwitnessed, unheard.

 

* * * *

Observe the mind and its many thoughts.

What are they, but a muddle of conditioned patterning,

Established upon whatever perceptions, whatever frame of reference,

Imagination has – subjectively, arbitrarily, randomly – devised,

In the streaming 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 triumph can there ever be, in a tie,

A standoff, a stalemate, an impasse, a deadlock,

A draw, 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 likely, ultimately screwed,

Why not set the course, in whatever way, or ways, call out to You?

Family, friends, acquaintances, enemies, 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 may well believe 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 long stood 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 is 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 no-mind, steadfast in awareness, that can meander 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 being 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 render 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 can be known of the immeasurable,

But the deceptive, unreal, shimmering, illusory attributes,

That imagination adjudges real and true, in the vagaries of space and time.

 

* * * *

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 is 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 but temporal recordings of consciousness.

Each and every one of us, playing out one vain 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, is the same indivisible awareness.

What is to argue about, what is to kill for?

 

* * * *

And why would not, so-called God, be so infinite as to include You, in its creative process?

How absurd, to believe your imaginary self, separate in any way, in any shape, in 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 deity, any obsession, in what way are they different?

 

* * * *

Is it a space and time continuum, that passes before the sensory mind-body?

Or is it awareness, through which a quantum dream appears to travel,

Ever steadfast, ever true, ever one, ever unborn, ever undying.

 

* * * *

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 realize the gifts tendered.

 

* * * *

Is it day? Is it night? Is it any space? 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, minds 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 becoming more and more bothersome.

All that narcissism, all that hedonism,  all that vanity-vanity, greedy-greedy,

Gradually returning to the unborn-undying dust of eternity.

 

* * * *

What is death, but the end of space, the end of time.

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 will 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 the 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, beyond-all-pales enigma?

 

* * * *

Awareness is naught but awareness.

Neither far nor near, 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, a cult, of idolatry?

Whether it be a persona, a boulder, a figurine, a set of writings, or merely a conception,

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,

All are, have ever been, will ever be.

 

* * * *

Just too frigging annoying sometimes, the price life requires,

The unceasingly heavy toll, consciousness so often metes out.

 

* * * *

The only objectivity resides and abides, in the indiscriminate awareness.

All quantum creation is arbitrary, from whatever beginning to whatever end.

 

* * * *

So many worrying about tomorrow  and yesterday,

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 its 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 contortion, any exhortation, of consciousness.

 

* * * *

One of the many disturbing realizations, in this vanity-vanity-all-is vanity existence,

Is that You are very likely, not near 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 the indelible, unfathomable, indivisible, 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 futile, and narcissistic hope for something more, nothing but idle speculation.

So it goes, too bad, so sorry, oh well, deal with it, get over it, move on.

 

* * * *

No matter how small or huge it might be,

It is every moment just as huge or small.

 

* * * *

What cannot survive us, perishes; what can survive us, thrives or abides.

In the declaration of Roman commander, 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 prior to 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, or lack of, 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 streaming 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 packs, 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 asserting that they are the chosen people,

Is nothing more than yet another ethnocentric tribal 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 fleeting fiction of imagination, absolutely 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 everlasting awareness.

The perceptive 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 undying dies,

Or is it, the undying is born, and unborn dies?

Oblivion and creation, are ever and 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 really even remotely possible?

 

* * * *

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.

 

* * * *

A most certain thing about human history, across all times, across all geographies,

Is that once narcissism relegates any fellow human being, to any so-called lesser kingdom,

Any and every variety of abuse or enslavement or extermination or interminable horror, 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 happenchance-happenstance 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 and ventures, You will never complete,

Intrigues and 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 tapestry,

The imaginary matrix of the passionate mind-body.

 

* * * *

History will write what it writes, and time will erase it all.

Who is the who, who cares, or not, 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 relentlessly.

It is a god-eat-god eternal cosmos,

No matter how any mind might measure it.

 

* * * *

Whether called Baal, Tao, Brahman, Buddha, Allah, God, or any other name mind might devise,

No conception imagined 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 foe.

It is indifferent to all imaginary notions, indifferent to all secular attributes.

What attachment, can that which creates and preserves and destroys,

Without motive, without remorse, have to anything, to anyone?

 

* * * *

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 marks –

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, however You pass it,

The moment will always come and go the same.

The continuum we call space-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 ever-kaleidoscoping beginning of another.

 

* * * *

What it is, is what it is not.

Same thing, same thingless.

 

* * * *

Being cultivated, being trained, being domesticated, to be a human being,

Does not make You any closer to mystery, 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 paradigm, is nothing more than a collusion of imagination,

Made possible by the evolutionary happenstance of an resourceful, group-oriented mind,

Two arms, two legs, a larynx, opposable thumbs, and high-capacity lungs.

No critter ever born into this mystery ever stood 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, timelessly, 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? To deduce the mystery, is the awareness, You ever are.

 

* * * *

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 passions,

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 timeline 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 or more deities?

 

* * * *

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 have never 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 sensations, all those thoughts, all those things,

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 biology ceaselessly finds,

To torture the mind-bodies, in every which 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.

 

* * * *

Too many unanswerable questions in this dreamtime mystery.

Always springing up here and there, like zombies in graveyards.

 

* * * *

What can any human being, no matter the time, no matter the geography, ever really experience,

But their own unique egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric-heliocentric 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 undying dies.

Die to it all, now, now, 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 mind?

 

* * * *

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 its 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 for the masses, far too well.

 

* * * *

The same genetic force, the same patterning,

That draws women into their worlds, draws men into theirs.

Ergo, Venus and Mars, and all the many worldviews,

Playing out like ocean waves, 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 an incalculable number of adventures.

Sometimes You have to just stand in line and wait your turn.

Try to remain reasonable 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 quantum illusion, 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 ideals, 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, cannot, 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 every moment,

Everything You see, You hear, You smell, You touch, You taste,

Augments the frame of reference, from which this mystery, is eternally witnessed.

 

* * * *

Even the ethereal beings 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 executives, the legislatives, the judicials, the corporates, the medias, the bureaucratics,

Are whatever they please, do whatever they please, take whatever 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, demand.

 

* * * *

You need not have any answers,

To the enigmas of this indelible mystery,

To yield to the essence of its indivisible awareness,

You are, have ever been, will ever be.

 

* * * *

Outside the last box, mind might contrive,

Is the ineffable 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,

Do some folks not understand?

 

* * * *

We are all just screengrazers here, with our own devices.

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, that 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, too, but variations of the vanity-vanity,

The usual suspect steeping in, 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 perchance undo, mind’s 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 salvation, is merging into the indivisibly, the aloneness, free of attributes.

Giving the world no thought: some call it madness, some call it heaven.

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 playhouse,

Is never more real, than any dream.

The awareness You are, is never not the witness.

The only question, is whether or not, You are mindful 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 wacko 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 graybowing shades of the same monkey-mind.

Imagination, wandering to and fro, in every guise.

 

* * * *

The discernment of the truth, in the human mind, in the human paradigm,

Has really always been, very much the same, across the world, throughout time.

But all those who see it, are bound by the filters of their conditioning: bound by culture;

Bound by creed; bound by language; bound by ego; bound by the thirst for power, fame, fortune;

Bound by the seven deadly intoxications: pride, envy, gluttony, lust, wrath, greed, sloth;

Bound by the perpetual tango of desire and fear, in the quest for security.

Is it any wonder that these modern times are so chaotic,

So confused, so conflicted, so contrary,

That only the rare, are willing and able to see past,

The incalculable differences, entirely created by imagination.

 

* * * *

Of course, there is, what many, by one name, by one concept, by one dogma or another, call God.

But the fundamental reality, is that it is a timeless, indivisible, unattainable mystery,

That cannot be bound, by any form, by any circumstance, by any creed.

It is not some dualistic invention, like a Zeus, a Jupiter, a Shiva, or a Santa Claus.

It is not a deity, a divine being, a celestial being, a goddess, a divinity, an immortal, or an avatar.

It is not an idol, a graven image, an icon, a totem, a talisman, a fetish, or a juju.

Of course, there is a God, and it includes the essence, You truly are.

Do not confuse any fabrications of consciousness,

With the reality of the awareness,

Permeating all.

 

* * * *

In truth, You have no past, You have no future.

You are but a subjective dream of consciousness, of imagination.

There is only now, there is only awareness, there is only quantum, there is only eternity,

Timelessly witnessing an indivisible, kaleidoscoping, sensory play.

 

* * * *

Your world, your cosmos, your dream, is an imaginary fiction,

Founded upon the sensory input, as interpreted by your patterned mind.

However You see anything unfolding, is what it is, always was, and will ever be.

Whatever You imagine others think, they think; whatever You imagine others do, they do.

You are perceiver, witness, observer, viewer, watcher, eyewitness, onlooker, bystander, ogler, spectator.

You are the one and only awareness, acting out a programmed, conditioned, habituated persona.

Immortally absolute, indelibly sovereign, timelessly unconditional, eternally indivisible,

And unutterably, irrefutably alone, in your center stage of Self-consciousness.

 

* * * *

To discern your true Self, to discern the awareness that is source,

Is to discern all possibilities, upon which imagination might draw.

 

* * * *

Trust your Self.

Trust your own mind.

Trust your own awareness.

Trust your own perception.

Trust your own intuition.

Find your own way,

You, scientist.

 

* * * *

You are the one and only observer, beholding You.

All the deities, all the angels, all the demons, all the avatars,

All the santa clauses, tooth fairies, and other mythological creatures,

Are nothing more than figments of imagination in mind’s eye.

You, the solitary aloneness, are the one and only witness.

 

* * * *

What is each and every imagination-born existence, but a brief window of history.

A brief flickering of light and shadow, playing out in the dreamtime of mind.

A brief span, in which awareness witnesses a timeless creation, born of consciousness.

A kaleidoscoping quantum theater, playing itself real, over and over, in every conceivable way.

 

* * * *

The challenge is to imbibe each fleeting moment,

As completely, as purely, as gracefully, as contentedly,

As the sensory mind, bound to space and time, fitfully allows.

 

* * * *

You who give the mind over to its inexplicable foundation,

Will likely never be appreciated unconditionally by the human paradigm.

Thought and emotion, are but evolutionary by-products, of ductless glands and viscera.

It is not possible to gain the full acceptance of any meme, any group, any followers, any true believers,

Any brainwashed, conditioned, indoctrinated collusion, to which consciousness is so attached,

For the capricious mix, is incapable of comprehending, that which is cradle to all.

You must, in awareness, stand very much alone, flawlessly absolute.

 

* * * *

Without the thought, the idea, the notion,

The brainwave, the inspiration, the theory, the belief,

The concept, the opinion, the plan, the conception, the philosophy,

How would the imaginary identity, You delude your awareness into pretending,

Play out its meme-bound, who-what-where-when-why-how collusion?

 

* * * *

No geography is immune to the money-in-a-wheelbarrow moment,

If the one-percenters and their minions, play their game too greedy.

 

* * * *

There appear to be many others, of every imaginable variety,

But it is all really truly the awareness, You very much alone are,

Translating the sensory play, as the ever-present now unfolds.

The solitary You, chattering away to your Self, so to speak.

 

* * * *

There is nothing in this manifest dreamtime, to which You can ultimately cling.

You are awash in imaginary notion, and if that gradually dissipates,

Where can You ever be, but the given right-here-right-now,

As infinitely, as infinitesimally immeasurable,

As the mystery of awareness ever is.

 

* * * *

When the mind is still,

When the mind is but awareness,

Who-what-where-when-why-how, can You exist?

 

* * * *

Every mind has its rhyme and reason, its raison d'être,

And whether or not others become interested in the trove of its wanders.

Is a matter only history, in one future-past or another, will tell.

 

* * * *

The entire human spectacle, with all its histories, whether written and unwritten,

Is nothing more than collusion, founded upon the capricious spark of imagination.

 

* * * *

That which You imagine You are, is replete with every variety of passion and pain and regret.

That mystery which You truly are, that which is prior to consciousness, is indivisibly immaculate.

The mind is a collection of perceptions, to which unmitigated detachment, is the only salvation.

 

* * * *

Whether or not, there are other dream worlds,

Other Gaias, out in the immensity of the indifferent universe,

We will likely never know, because we have not valued our own world enough,

To ensure our survival, for more than a relatively few minutes, in the space-time continuum.

The clock is tick-tick-ticking, and we are rushing madly towards extinction,

Or certainly, a very harsh, very downsized, paradigm shift.

 

* * * *

There may be nothing new under this sun or any other,

But it is all new to You, so drive on, Brave Knight, drive on.

 

* * * *

Creation takes time, creation takes space.

There is no ‘suddenly appeared.’

There is only never-beginning-never-ending process,

A quantum holograph, in which humankind is but a smidgeon of a shard.

 

* * * *

There is nothing more to be,

Than what You already are, have ever been, will ever be.

Vanity is not more.

 

* * * *

Dreaming itself immortal,

Consciousness is indelibly linked,

To the finite creation of quantum design.

 

* * * *

We are all the same oneness playing out the parts, the same oneness playing out the many.

We are all a kaleidoscoping hologram of inestimable, immeasurable, infinite proportion.

A quantum matrix, emanating a dream of time, in the timeless indivisibility of eternity.

 

* * * *

To be vulnerable, is the challenge of complete surrender to the moment.

To be totally open, without the psychic walls of the me-myself-and-I,

To the ego, that is nothing more, than a castle built of imagination.

 

* * * *

We have witnessed history play the same record, over and over and over again.

The players change, the technologies change, the universe changes,

But the monkey-mind, is ever a Shakespearian collage.

 

* * * *

Pull out that phone, that tablet,

That notebook, that laptop, that screen,

That security blanket, of these our modern times.

What will You do, if/when the day it is forever gone, comes?

Will You be ready, when Old School rises again?

 

* * * *

Your imaginary personality, is how your awareness adapted,

To the winds of the nature-nurture, into which You were cast.

It is but a temporary temporal thing, best not get too attached.

 

* * * *

In this manifest dreamtime world, history has countless times proven that might makes right.

As Vegetius put it in De Re Militari: si vis pacem, para bellum, if You want peace, prepare for war.

Anonymity is the first line of defense, the second is to be a chameleon, to avoid becoming a target.

From then on – care You to abide, care You to survive – whatever level of readiness is required.

 

* * * *

It is only in imagination that all players are fashioned.

The grand holograph is seamless; there is no other.

The inscrutable indivisible is without partition.

All withouts are within, all withins, without.

 

* * * *

Complete, unconditional, unadorned vulnerability, is the means to nirvana.

To give your self over to Self, to set the body-mind adrift in awareness,

Is the discerning tap of the Ruby Slippers, that will get You home.

Eternity is now, there is no other, nothingness is as apparent as it gets.

 

* * * *

If there is such a thing as a perfect body,

Rest assured, it does not long stay that way.

 

* * * *

Me and myself and I:

My body, my mind, my sex, my color, my race, my language, my culture,

My family, my friends, my school, my class, my college, my house, my land, my pets,

My workplace, my business, my club, my bar, my coffee shop, my store, my money, my things,

My town, my county, my state, my country, my world, my sun, my universe,

My religion, my church, my god, my heaven, my hell …

Me, me, me, forever and ever me.

 

* * * *

The roles all life play out in the grand web,

Are nothing more than the blueprint,

The patterning of the given seed.

All are the same inexplicable essence.

 

* * * *

Is it the quantum universe that creates the quantum mind?

Or is it the quantum mind that creates the quantum universe?

Or are they the same quantum creating each other,

This very much the same moment?

Yet another dreamy day,

Same old chicken or egg conundrum.

 

* * * *

You are really only important to You,

And perhaps a collection of family and friends,

And soon You, and they, will all be quite dead, quite gone.

And therein rests the salvation to all that egotism:

Do not worry, be happy; perchance content.

 

* * * *

There is a space, a stillness, an awareness,

Where entire universes disappear,

And the unknown reigns.

 

* * * *

The mind's hunger for more-more-more, is an insatiable, ever-consuming beast.

Only in the wisdom of age, does it only just maybe-perhaps, become less a burden.

 

* * * *

Truth, neither rational nor irrational,

Is as indefinable as the moment,

Because it is the moment,

And the moment is unknown.

 

* * * *

The ever-motionless awareness of the eternal mind,

Is prior to all movement of consciousness,

And the myriad attachments therein.

 

* * * *

Is there an outside the box that is not yet another box?

And then another, and another, and another.

Boxes and boxes ad infinitum,

Until all of a sudden, only You remain.

 

* * * *

Relinquish, surrender, abandon, renounce, resign,

Give up, hand over, bow out, turn down, let go by, let pass,

And just be.

 

* * * *

Why would You want to follow anyone?

Why would You want anyone to follow You?

Both are but the endless narcissism of vain notion,

The imaginary saga of the self-absorbed mind.

 

* * * *

Any teacher only plays a significant part of any life,

Until whatever it is they offer, is learned, is owned.

 

* * * *

Once upon a timeless, in a very, very, very long ago, an ancestor sat on a jungle branch, all alone,

When another ancestor nearby, uttered a sound, that s/he thought s/he understood.

Thus fell the metaphorical fruit of knowledge, of good and evil,

And the solitude of the garden dreamscape,

Was, for as long as the human species continues, undone.

The garden is still here, we just stopped seeing it, respecting it, protecting it.

 

* * * *

It is a perfect world, a perfect universe,

But not perfect enough, for many, if not most.

 

* * * *

To be caught in the matrix of time,

Is to play out the death born of imagination.

Only in the tranquil timelessness of eternal awareness,

Can this existence be as real as the quantum dreamtime allows.

 

* * * *

With rare exception, the most avaricious wacko,

Has always been the most motivated,

To be the king of any hill.

 

* * * *

The good news is You need not hate or kill another,

Just because they will never see it the way You do.

 

* * * *

In truth, we expatriated ourselves from the garden of origin.

All mythologies regarding this fact are figurative at best.

All are but metaphors inspired by the usual suspects,

The unending self-absorption of vanity and greed.

 

* * * *

How can there not be more and more suffering,

With more and more battling for less and less.

The strong thrive, and the weak endure or die.

 

* * * *

Stars and planets stream silently about the heavens, oblivious to your vain existence,

And all the passions, that play out the ceaseless dramas, in your hollow imagination.

 

* * * *

The moment, the instant, the second, the minute,

The jiffy, the flash, the tick, the twinkling, the trice,

What are they but concept after concept after concept.

Consciousness ever trifling the timelessness of awareness.

 

* * * *

Of hubris and humility, arrogance and modesty,

When have the gods and demons ever punished anyone,

Who has not, first and foremost, punished themselves far more?

 

* * * *

What an isolating thing, the groupthink of any tradition.

All attempts of consciousness, to bring together,

Only further and ever further splinter.

 

* * * *

In any given twinkling, it does not matter how You play out your reverie of time.

It does not matter whether You were good or not, smart or not, happy or not, earnest or not,

Passionate or not. productive or not, powerful or not, wealthy or not, famous or not, beautiful or not.

The timeless awareness does not care one scintilla about You, or anyone or anything else.

We are all but temporal quantum forms, in the grand nothingness of eternity.

 

* * * *

Your ego, your vanity, wants to matter so much , but in reality, it doe s not, never did, never will.

You are a brief dream of awareness – nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

Find harbor in the futility, the uselessness, the pointlessness,

The worthlessness, the fruitlessness, of it all.

 

* * * *

Everything about the dreamtime of human consciousness,

Is generated from two primal forces: sustenance and procreation.

All the vanities, all quests for power and fame and fortune,

Are marinated in those two interwoven hungers.

 

* * * *

The sweet, the sour, the bitter, the good, the bad, the ugly.

Taking things as they are, mitigates the suffering of existence.

 

* * * *

It is only imagination, that feels happy or sorry or anything else, for its imaginary self.

Imagination, ever-translating the ever-streaming sensory perceptions,

Into endless shades of emotional gratification.

How can the timeless awareness prior to consciousness,

Feel anything for the still emptiness, from which it springs eternal?

 

* * * *

Caring too much, caring too little, caring just enough.

Too hot, too cold, just right, a Goldilocks balancing act for all.

 

* * * *

The tug of the group mind is strong in all humankind.

To break away from the herd, to stand alone,

Is to live a life laced with insecurity.

 

* * * *

Mammon is an insatiable beast, unsatisfied even by gluttony.

Even the moderate path, can leave the reins jerking for more.

 

* * * *

You are nature.

Behave your Self.

 

* * * *

When You can do anything You want,

But have run out of things You really want to do,

Contemplation, meditation, suicide – are the final antidotes.

 

* * * *

Every imaginable bread-and-circus interruption and diversion and agitation,

Has made its way into conscious design, and daily, more, more, more.

What superficial, pathetic creatures, human beings, truly are.

 

* * * *

So much time already passed, so much history already written,

How much more can be left in this dream of human consciousness?

 

* * * *

Around and around and around, the thought loop, You go.

Again and again and again, the same old thoughts,

Sow and sow, go and go, flow and flow.

 

* * * *

All self-imagery is nothing more than attachment to a mind-body,

And the given cultural blend, the given groupthink, into which it is conditioned.

A fusion of nature-nurture, nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

There is no arrival, because there is no place to arrive.

There is only the beingness of ever-present awareness,

And it does not give a rat’s ass, whether You arrive or not.

 

* * * *

How could anyone ever be as infatuated, as self-absorbed with You, as You are yourself?

Even your loving mother, was likely more than a little weary of You, times beyond counting.

 

* * * *

The hatred that gives so many lives meaning,

Is but a finite mortal dream from beginning to end.

And what is hate but the fear, the dread, of all things different.

 

* * * *

How long will You recall things that do not matter?

How long will You cling to things that were never important?

How long will You abide the infliction of illusion upon your awareness?

This is your brief dream to live, or not live, as your courage to stand alone allows.

 

* * * *

Existence is ever a back-and-forth pendulum.

As irrational and vulnerable as You might feel today,

May well, full swing, to rational and invulnerable tomorrow.

And who knows, who-what-where-when-why-how, in any given next?

 

* * * *

When You were very young, there was not a care in the world.

But, now, now nothing but a litany of bothers strewn across it.

 

* * * *

At what point do You wake up and realize,

You are very, very alone, in a very, very large field,

Surrounded by many, many, very, very large piles of bullshit.

 

* * * *

Your cosmos is really nothing more than neurological sensations, electrical-chemical reactions,

And the many perceptions, the voluntary-involuntary responses and reactions,

Filtered by the attachment of consciousness to them.

Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.

 

* * * *

If those who advocate rationalism are earnestly rational, earnestly scientific, earnestly detached,

They will not approach any investigation with assumption or emotion or arrogance.

In other words, they will not be as irrational, as illogical, as passionate,

As those they so often astutely and smugly and vainly judge.

Otherwise, it is just the same old monkey-mind,

On yet another rose-colored day.

 

* * * *

Sometimes angel, sometimes demon, what matter either way, really.

Gods are but the contrivance of the dread of imagination,

And an insistent hope for what can never be.

 

* * * *

Gumption |ˈɡəmpSH(ə)n| noun … is defined as

Informal shrewd or spirited initiative and resourcefulness.

Grit |ɡrit| noun … is defined as courage and resolve; strength of character.

How will your life play out, what will You accomplish,

If You do not cultivate them?

 

* * * *

Why would your beingness, be any more, or less,

Than any other beingness, supreme or otherwise?

 

* * * *

Let go the passion toward all your competitors, your adversaries, your antagonists,

Your opponents, your challengers, your rivals, your foes, your enemies.

They are but distractions, that pull You back into a cosmos,

That in the ultimate quantum reality, only superficially beckons.

 

* * * *

Will anyone really miss You when You are dead and gone?

Perhaps a few, but not for long, and when they too have departed, none at all.

You will at last resume the anonymity, the obscurity, the extinction, the oblivion, the nothingness,

All histories, all chronicles, all narratives, all annals, all accounts, all sagas, have in store.

 

* * * *

You did whatever You did in this brief existence.

Own it, let go of it, find peace, cultivate contentment.

 

* * * *

You are the mystery, You are the enigma, You are the unknown,

And there is absolutely, unequivocally, nothing irrational about it.

Nor, for that matter, is there anything at all rational about it, either.

 

* * * *

Truth is not an idea, it is not tangible.

It is the intrinsic, indivisible, inviolable thread,

Within the stillness of each and every timeless moment,

Prior to any and every quantum dimension.

And those rare few who discern it,

Live life eternal.

 

* * * *

The masses do not fathom their fleeting context in history.

Their prevailing disquiet is the existence they must daily endure.

And thus, unfolding events careen misinterpreted to and fro about them.

* * * *

In the ultimate mind, the universal mind, the god mind,

The who, the what, the where, the when, the why, the how, are no longer relevant.

Awareness is all, all is awareness.

 

* * * *

What a burden, the responsibility of materialism.

Anytime You own something, You must maintain it, clean it, protect it,

Insure it, give it away, lose it, throw it away, break it, repair it, consume it, et cetera ad infinitum.

Whatever the case, in the grand scheme of all things quantum-matrix indivisible,

You and it are but dust-to-dust creations intertwined for all time,

And before and after that brief stage play, as well.

 

* * * *

Call it Darwinism, call it evolutionary theory, call it whatever,

The life forms that have managed to survive since life’s creation,

Carry in their genetic coding an amalgamation of adaptive qualities,

Which may or may not include intelligence and strength and flexibility.

But what they likely have most in common in their lineage,

Is a fair amount of the luck of the happenstance.

 

* * * *

What to do when neither creation nor preservation nor destruction draw You anymore.

What to do when even the indivisible, has lost the verve of point and purpose and meaning.

 

* * * *

Time is as imaginary, as ethereal, as intangible, as vaporous, as fictional,

As illusory, as the given mind, from which it, like cotton candy, springs.

 

* * * *

You have imagined who.

You have imagined what. You have imagined where.

You have imagined when. You have imagined why. You have imagined how.

You have imagined everything the quantum mirage has allowed.

Now imagine the naught, from which all sally forth.

 

* * * *

Discern the primordial awareness prior to consciousness.

Stay with that timeless moment, that stillness,

And know the serenity of eternity.

 

* * * *

How absurd to believe anyone is watching You.

How absurd to believe no one is watching You.

 

* * * *

Something else, and something more, always distracting,

Always agitating, always disordering, always disturbing, always confusing,

Always tugging the mind ever forth, in the dream of time.

 

* * * *

There You go again, rushing madly toward a time,

That will arrive and disappear, before You know it.

* * * *

Nirvana is just giving your mind,

Over to the timeless mystery of awareness.

Dissolving back into the eternal now You ever truly are.

 

* * * *

All we think we know, is but a grain of sand in an infinity of unknowable unknowingness,

And in reality, all our invention, is nothing more than the happenstance,

Of our own genetically habituated imagination.

It is all a mystery.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

Growing older is about different choices,

Many, if not most of them, not made by You.

 

* * * *

Many a label is designated to undermine the power of the thing itself.

It is the grappling of consciousness, with its ever-kaleidoscoping,

Ever unyielding, wheel of creation-preservation-destruction.

 

* * * *

Buddha has already been played.

So have Jesus and Rumi and Nietzsche, and all the other greats.

It is your turn, now, to whirl your way in dreamtime.

No need to follow or imitate anyone else.

 

* * * *

Where are within and without,

When all barriers are but the illusion,

Of the sensory mind-body born of imagination.

The indivisibility of the quantum scale knows no bounds.

 

* * * *

If You believe, You can go into any conflict, into any war,

And not destroy and maim innocence – mothers, children, elderly –

You are only kidding yourself in a very, very un-haha way.

 

* * * *

Who are You or I? Who is he or she? Who is we or they?

So many dualistic distinctions born of consciousness,

And its myriad delusions born of sensory illusion.

 

* * * *

The You, You imagine your Self to be,

Is but the barest sliver of a sliver of a sliver,

Of that which is, and is not, totality.

 

* * * *

To comprehend reincarnation, re-embodiment, rebirth, re-creation, reawakening,

You must discern what it is, and what it is not, that is born anew.

That the same essence in one, permeates all,

And that all are but the one, in every guise imaginable.

 

* * * *

The human paradigm is immersed in the stew of its own self-made knowledge.

The mind’s voracious, insatiable, craving-to-know nature blinds itself.

The screens, the veils, the shrouds, the divisions of knowledge,

No matter how scholarly, no matter how insightful,

Are the source, the creator of all delusion.

The space-time matrix, as tangibly real as it seems,

Is but the invention of an imagination-laced quantum dream.

 

* * * *

A still mind is a still universe, and a still universe is no universe at all.

And in that essential state, in that awareness, in that nothingness, You are.

 

* * * *

All creation, all universes, have come and gone in the same everlasting, undying, unending,

Perpetual, endless, ceaseless, timeless, interminable, infinite, immortal,

Never-ending, transient, temporary, eternal instant.

 

* * * *

You need not allow the world into your eternal sovereignty,

Unless You feel like being mesmerized by the quantum illusion,

And all the habituated conditioning, it has in the given mind, stirred.

 

* * * *

Take away your family, your friends, your acquaintances, your adversaries, your enemies,

Your work, your hobbies, your things, your pets, your memories, your reveries.

Take away all the parts and pieces, all the trappings of your existence,

And what remains, but an indescribably ephemeral awareness,

To which no thought, no appendage, can ever attach.

 

* * * *

Call it what You will, the mystery is bound to, or by, no name,

No matter the subtlety, the dexterity, of the namer’s meaning.

 

* * * *

Perfection is at the stardust level.

In the mundane zone, not so much.

 

* * * *

The goal of the one-percenters and their minions,

Has been to keep as many littlefolk as possible distracted,

With every bread and circus modern technology so astutely offers.

What would Louis and Marie have done with their heads,

Had they been so mindful of such Roman insight?

 

* * * *

Technology has always shaped the human mind: for example, the analog clock.

Did time exist before them hands started spinning all them numbers in our heads?

 

* * * *

Still searching for meaning and purpose?

Cannot You hear them giggling and twittering,

As they scamper through the passages of your mind?

 

* * * *

The mind is an ever-stirring brew of erstwhile knowing; of knowing this, of knowing that.

But until it truly discerns, that it knows nothing, but its own imaginary concoctions,

It can never be free, of its endless self-delusions, its endless self-deceptions.

It can never rediscover the child mind, that perceives the given moment ever anew.

 

* * * *

What is love, but a very agreeable congregation of painkilling endorphins.

The entire human paradigm, from its jungle origin on, can likely be boiled down,

To an every-moment quest, for the pleasure they radiate, in any given mind.

 

* * * *

Cheerleaders for delusion live in a bubble of unreality.

It is completely wacko to think there is any possibility,

That there is some sort of happy ending to this fiasco.

 

* * * *

No one but You can possibly care as much as You,

About your version of the mystery,

And if You do not,

Well, that is another story.

 

* * * *

Like a hamster running madly, getting nowhere in its spinning wheel,

The mind is ever questing security in its dream of temporal persuasion.

 

* * * *

If not for vision, your sensory universe would seem much, much smaller,

But then, it might seem just as large, just as infinite, just as true,

If You had been blind from birth, and knew no different.

Awareness is the great equalizer in all creation.

 

* * * *

At best You might do something,

That might slightly spin history some new direction,

But what is history, but imaginary notion,

Given credence by every spin.

 

* * * *

You never know, what cause will beget what effect,

Will beget what cause, will beget what effect … et cetera, et cetera …

In the what-is-good-what-is-bad, of all things creation.

 

* * * *

There is history everywhere in this world;

Only a relatively small scratch of it recorded.

 

* * * *

When it comes to dealing with the aloneness of the ultimate reality,

Those who awaken can run, but they can never hide,

From the witness they ever are.

 

* * * *

What ever-present instant, is not of eternity?

Only the countless dualistic notions of consciousness,

With all its delusions born of desire and fear,

Would have You believe otherwise.

 

* * * *

Is enough really ever enough?

Is too much of a good thing, really ever too much?

Is the plate really ever too full?

Well, duh, yes.

 

* * * *

Dualistic notion is but a fabrication of imagination.

All opposites are equally true, equally false,

Equally everything, equally nothing.

 

* * * *

Is your inner default setting, consciousness, or awareness?

Are You the imaginary figment, the mortal You?

Or are You the eternal, immortal You?

 

* * * *

What perception has ever been real?

What perception has ever been more than an imaginary notion,

Combining with other notions, to make a sizable collage of arbitrary notions, in each and every mind.

The synergy of which, compounds into a very much unrehearsed human paradigm.

All history, is nothing more, than the perpetual vanity of imagination,

Playing its make-believe game of space and time real.

 

* * * *

What is best? What is worst?

What is most? What is least?

Which is more? What is less?

Which is true? What is false?

 

* * * *

If You are practicing some sort of idolatry, then You, my friend, are stuck.

If You have a conclusion founded on some sort of mythology,

Some sort of fairy tale, some sort of fantasy, some sort of mind gorp,

Then your doubt has stalled, and You are as stuck as imagination can enable.

The only question, is whether You can rekindle the skepticism, and carry on the quest.

 

* * * *

Modern psychology considers so many behaviors to be disorders,

That it is a wonder anyone can get past the prescribed self-loathing,

And treat themselves with a reasonable dollop of care and respect.

 

* * * *

Your ancestors include monkeys and other jungle-born primates.

And before that, worms, and before that, yes, slimy goo.

And let us not forget that it all became possible,

Because of the mystery of stardust.

 

* * * *

Eternal life, eternal awareness,

Is ever-present, undying, unending, timeless process .

The sage gazes at a rock, and sees the rock anew, each and every eternal moment.

* * * *

A moment is only wasted,

If You fail to give it full attention, free of recollection.

History is written by the living dead.

Eternal life is now.

 

* * * *

So many things You will never know,

So many things known, that You will inevitably forget,

The only thing to keep in focus, is the awareness, the mystery, You truly are.

* * * *

The persona is the harbor of attachment,

Ever-changing, throughout the rumored existence,

All obliterated with the last wheezing breath,

Never more than imagination allows.

 

* * * *

Science and politics are mutually-exclusive dynamics.

To politicize scientific method, is absolute, beyond-all-pales absurdity,

Foisted by blatant obfuscation of its point and purpose.

 

* * * *

To empty your mind,

You may well have to first fill it to overflowing,

Perhaps several times.

 

* * * *

Time rises and falls in every mind,

And is but a biological mutation in the evolution of humankind.

It does not truly exist, as anything more than the mind-made, imaginary notion of consciousness.

There is only this now … and now this now … and now this now … and now this now …

An immeasurable quantum matrix, ever-kaleidoscoping, eternally indivisible.

 

* * * *

Curious how the apostates, the absconders, the true believers,

Always judge everyone else, of that which they are most guilty.

 

* * * *

As enlightened as any human being may be,

There is always a bowl needs cleaning,

A chamber pot needs dumping.

 

* * * *

Ultimately, as complex, as intricate as humankind may be,

We two-leggeds are ever nothing more than a genomic configuration,

Set in motion in the quantum stardust, chemical reactions, of the long, long ago.

We are fabricated of nature, and every moment reside in its fold,

No matter how hard we try to disconnect ourselves,

No matter how hard we try to be more.

 

* * * *

To exist in clear, timeless awareness, is the natural state,

The state of immaculate being available to any and all,

Who earnestly pursue, that which is absolute within.

 

* * * *

Dissolve both within and without.

Discern the space that is neither-nor.

 

* * * *

There is no You; there is no me-myself-and-I.

There is only awareness, confined in a corporeal configuration,

And imagination, creating everything under the sun.

 

* * * *

To believe You can change anything,

In the patterning running this merry show,

Is absurdly laughable to the nth degree.

 

* * * *

A frame of reference, is an ever-expanding rolodex of any given universe,

From which insight freely draws, whenever the busy-busy mind,

Wanders into contemplation of any rhyme and reason.

 

* * * *

You may be brilliant, with every sort of meaningless trivia,

But unless You can coherently connect the many dots,

Your intelligence is not consummated in reality.

 

* * * *

You can bet that a fair share of religious zealots, who make it to any given heaven,

Will ooh and aah, and praise their almighty deity and the horde of angels, the first week,

And be complaining and offering suggestions, how it could be better, by the second.

 

* * * *

What is any world, any universe,

But an illusory dream constructed by the senses.

Naught but a neural veil, a sensory shroud, a quantum vibration,

Of imagination, creating much ado about nothing.

 

* * * *

Creation and creator,

How can they possibly be separate,

But through imagination’s endless confabulation?

 

* * * *

It is imagination, not awareness, that identifies with the mind-body.

Consciousness creates a world, a cosmos, to which awareness is but witness.

Absolutely – detached, separate, apart, disconnected, isolated – in every which way.

 

* * * *

There are many, many instants in any given existence.

They go both very quickly and very slowly,

In mind’s fleeting theater.

 

* * * *

Here we are, staring into our many screens,

Passively questing every imaginable distraction.

What did paltry Rome know of bread and circuses?

 

* * * *

Just because You like coffee or alcohol or cigars,

Does not mean You are going to like working,

In a coffee shop or saloon or smoke shop.

 

* * * *

No, You are not going to change the world.

It got along as well, before your predestined arrival,

As it will, long after your inescapable departure.

 

* * * *

Unless You are a major player in the lofty regions of the game,

The world spins the same, whether You know of it or not.

Spend your existence in a cave, or scurrying about,

It makes absolutely no difference, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

In every yes, a no; in every no, a yes.

In every truth, a lie; in every lie, a truth.

In every good; a bad; in every bad; a good.

In every vague, an exact; in every exact, a vague.

In every blessing, a curse; in every curse, a blessing.

In every unknown, a known; in every known, an unknown.

In every intangible, a tangible; in every tangible, an intangible.

In every abundance, a shortage; in every shortage, an abundance.

In every superiority, an inferiority; in every inferiority, a superiority.

In every inexplicable, an explicable; in every explicable, an inexplicable.

In every immeasurable, a measurable; in every measurable, an immeasurable.

In every intelligible, an inscrutable; in every inscrutable, an intelligible.

In every open hand, a closed fist; in every closed fist, an open hand.

In every creation, a destruction; in every destruction, a creation.

In every brilliance, a dullness; in every dullness, a brilliance.

In every positive, a negative; in every negative, a positive.

In every logic, an absurdity; in every absurdity, a logic.

In every infinite, a finite; in every finite, an infinite.

In every deep, a shallow; in every shallow, a deep.

In every right, a wrong; in every wrong, a right.

In every large, a small; in every small, a large.

In every whole, a part; in every part, a whole.

In every plus, a minus; in every minus, a plus.

In every savant, a fool; in every fool, a savant.

In every gray, a gray; in every gray, more gray.

 

* * * *

You are playing the script of space-time's patterning,

But You are not the script, You are not the part,

You are not the body, You are not the mind.

It is all nothing more than a quantum dream.

 

* * * *

Of awareness it can be said: This is it, this is all there is.

Everything else is imagination born of sensory illusion.

* * * *

How could any man-made concoction,

Ever have any ultimate, accurate, truthful answers to anything?

Only in the stillness of awareness, is the one and only conclusion discerned, and it is serenity.

And it is the end to all uncertainty, to all speculation, all concern,

Over what is knowable, and what is not.

 

* * * *

Just because some scientist, some mathematician, some engineer,

Has not figured out a way to measure something,

Does not mean it is not there.

 

* * * *

Science is a meticulous, disciplined means,

To examine anything and everything very closely.

It is not a religion, it is not an authority, it is not absolute.

 

* * * *

Would Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Krishna, Mohammed,

And all the other mythological religious titans of ancient worlds,

Be Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Krishna, Mohammed, and whoever else enough,

For all the tradition-bound ivory towers, they have spawned?

 

* * * *

Without the mind-body and its sensory payload,

Without the world, without the universe,

What can You be but nothingness.

* * * *

Gazing out into the schoolyards and parks and malls full of youth,

One wonders at the unfolding world all those innocents,

All those teenagers and children and infants,

Will in the not too far distant future,

Be forced by their own window of time to endure.

 

* * * *

You need not meditate with others for consciousness,

To merge back into the awareness, which You ever alone are.

The within and without, the without and within, that are, and are not.

 

* * * *

… Me … Myself … I …

… I am this … I am not this …

… I am that … I am not that …

… I am … I am not …

… am … am not …

… … …

 

* * * *

The endless attempts by the consciousness born of mind,

To mold reality into static concepts, will ever soundly fail.

 

* * * *

Regarding it as only a dream, requires the end,

Of the who-what-where-when-why-how,

Upon which imagination anchors.

 

* * * *

The sciences have a sizable array of tools to explore the mystery,

But ultimately are only as discerning as the mind,

In which the data is pondered.

 

* * * *

The details, the details.

The nuances, the nuances.

The minutiae, the minutiae.

The particulars, the particulars.

The elements, the elements.

The niceties, the niceties.

The facets, the facets.

The facts, the facts.

The parts, the parts.

The aspects, the aspects.

The specifics, the specifics.

The finer points, the finer points.

The infinity of hells that havoc the mind.

 

* * * *

Likely the best way to counter a surprise attack,

Is to always assume that one might be on its way,

And to have in place a variety of counter surprises,

Orchestrated to improvise, to adapt, to overcome.

 

* * * *

The primate mind, the simian mind,

The ape mind, the lemur mind, the gorilla mind,

The monkey-mind, the orangutan-mind, the chimpanzee-mind,

The whatever-any-might-call-it mind, are but descendants of a different pelt.

The evolutionary permutations of every conceivable happenchance.

Far distant genetic lineages, only in the denials of mind.

 

* * * *

It is a brave new world, indeed, indeed.

Soma everywhere, in so many forms, in so many ways.

Unplug, forbid access, at least occasionally, if You are savage enough.

 

* * * *

“How much more over the top can it get?”

He wondered, and not for the first time that day.

 

* * * *

All differences, whether cultural, ethnic, gender,

Religious, political, economic, linguistic, and on and on and on,

Belie the indivisible, synchronistic, undying quantum mystery, orchestrating all.

 

* * * *

All histories are ever forgotten or misconstrued or revised,

As they were never more than make-believe from the get-go.

 

* * * *

Pretending there is precision in words,

H ow absurdly wearing.

J ust be.

 

* * * *

 Eternity, the mystery that is prior to consciousness, is immaculate, unblemished, spotless,

Unsullied, undefiled, untarnished, perfect, flawless, faultless, pure, pristine,

Impeccable, stainless, pure, virtuous, incorrupt, above reproach.

The so-called Original Sin is really about separation,

About being born into the dream of time,

About being born into mind.

And given that there is no choice in the matter,

Given that no creature has ever had any voice in its being born,

What sin, what wickedness, what offense, what estrangement, can there truly be?

To be timelessly present, is to erase all notions that inspire the insipidity of creeds across the world.

 

* * * *

A little Kafkaesque Q&A,

Has a tendency, to transport one,

To the edginess of no more tomorrows.

* * * *

This incredible, boggling quantum matrix, that we call a universe,

Is playing out in indivisible, inviolable, indiscriminate perfection.

* * * *

No one wins a fight.

The so-called loser is a lump on the ground,

And the ‘winner,’ likely has skinned knuckles, and achy toes and knees.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how would You be,

If there were no other, always telling You different?

 

* * * *

Who is the who, who who’s?

What is the what, what what’s?

Where is the where, where where’s?

When is the when, when when’s?

Why is the why, why why’s?

How is the how, how how’s?

 

* * * *

The timeless awareness of eternity, is unconcerned what You do with your dream of time.

Only human vanity – egocentric, ethnocentric, geocentric, heliocentric – believes otherwise.

 

* * * *

From the upwelling, round many bends,

The river of the human paradigm,

The stream of consciousness,

Is rushing back to the sea of oblivion.

 

* * * *

How immaculate the moment You are.

Only in imagination are You tainted.

 

* * * *

Gumption, grit, discipline, initiative, resourcefulness, resolve,

Perseverance, courage, pluck, practicality, common sense, street smarts.

Without these, even the greatest intelligence is all but useless.

 

* * * *

Ahh, for those beautiful moments,

When mind loses all purpose and meaning,

And being is more than enough.

 

* * * *

Who art thou?

What art thou?

Where art thou?

When art thou?

Why art thou?

How art thou?

 

* * * *

What need for insatiable consumption, once mind’s hunger has subsided,

Once habitual thinking, has melted back into the awareness of all origins.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how: Unending questions,

That only madden the mind in the rabbit holes of time.

 

* * * *

Imagination, from whence all stories arise, into which all stories recede.

A statistical ripple, as indivisibly predictable, as any other quantum creation.

 

* * * *

What is, is.

What was, was.

What will be, will be.

Time is illusion.

Now is all.

 

* * * *

All politics, all economics, all religions, all collective systems,

Are cultural happenstances, mind-made phenomena,

Haphazard and capricious, whimsical,

From any given get-go.

 

* * * *

No game is just a game.

It is all a game.

 

* * * *

Where are birth and death, once all the passions,

Born of desire and fear, have consumed themselves?

 

* * * *

Any creature that regularly bleeds and survives, maybe even thrives,

Should be treated with great caution, perchance even a smidgen of respect.

 

* * * *

Once You have clearly discerned that it is all You,

Who is the giver, who is the taker? Who is born, who lives, who dies?

Who is the creator, who is the preserver, who is the destroyer?

It is but vain notion, that subscribes to any distinctions.

 

* * * *

A story.

Another story.

And yet another story.

Story after story after story.

Mine, yours, his, hers, theirs, ours.

All equally imaginary from any beginning.

 

* * * *

Through all that has been, all that will be,

This now, this essential state of awareness,

Is what You have always been, will ever be.

 

* * * *

Explore every vanity,

And all the pleasures of the mind-body,

Until all their shades and flavors,

Become dry and tasteless.

 

* * * *

That which knows all, knows nothing.

That which knows nothing, knows all.

 

* * * *

We each get our own little bubble of time,

An adventure to which each alone is privy.

 

* * * *

Those who are unborn, those who have died,

Are prior to and beyond the pretense of existence.

 

* * * *

Mountains erode, oceans evaporate, all things die, everything is ever-changing.

Only the indivisible quantum, and the awareness it permeates, remains the same.

 

* * * *

Why on earth would it matter even one iota,

Whether or not, You are awakened to some other’s satisfaction?

This is your cosmos, to witness however You will.

There is no prescribed construct.

There is no other.

 

* * * *

The mind incessantly seeks the equilibrium,

The comfort zone, to which it is most attached.

 

* * * *

Forget who You think You are, and all You think You know.

Be the awareness prior to consciousness, with none of the bothers,

About who and what and where and when and why and how,

And all the illusional designs, to which mind subscribes.

 

* * * *

Just because You choose not to do something,

Does not mean You do not have the potential.

We are all wired with the same monkey-mind.

 

* * * *

Sure, nothing is new under the sun.

It has all been said and written before.

That is the nature of the truth in all.

 

* * * *

Partake whatever You will, the hunger for more, more, more,

Remains the insatiable constant of human consciousness.

Satisfaction and serenity are the realm of awareness.

 

* * * *

Truth cannot be taught, nor can it be unlearned.

It can, however, be soundly ignored, even forgotten.

 

* * * *

All histories, all stories, all accounts, all chronicles, all parables, all narratives,

All folklores, all legends, all myths, all sagas, all fables, all fairytales,

All tall tales, all fish stories, all jokes, all puns, all yarns,

All anecdotes, all witticisms, all descriptions,

Are imaginary from any get-go.

 

* * * *

What to create today?

What to preserve today?

What to destroy today?

Hmmmmmmm …

 

* * * *

No, You will not be back.

It is a one-time cabaret for each and every player.

Different strands of DNA, all witnessed by the same unborn-undying awareness.

Nothing personal about it, despite all notions to the contrary.

 

* * * *

Who goest thou?

What goest thou?

Where goest thou?

When goest thou?

Why goest thou?

How goest thou?

 

* * * *

The indivisibility, the inviolability,

Of creation and preservation and destruction,

Is clearly seen only through total surrender to awareness.

 

* * * *

Who-what- where-when-why-how would You be,

But for Mother Nature, and all her quantum machinations.

 

* * * *

The day You die, will be a day just like today.

You might be sleeping, and have a stroke.

You might be bicycling, and have a heart attack.

You might touch an appliance, and electrocute yourself.

You might be swimming, and a gulp of water cause You to drown.

You might be cruising down a freeway, and a truck crash across the midway.

You might be wandering some downtown, and a mugger pull out a knife.

You might be sitting in a theater, and a shooter enter a side entrance.

You might be immobile in a hospital, and wheeze your last breath.

All beginnings, all endings, all betweens, are ever the same now.

 

* * * *

Do right and wrong, good and evil, life and death,

Really matter for more than a brief mortal while?

 

* * * *

It may or may not have been Charles Darwin who penned,

“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives.

It is the one that is the most adaptable to change,”

But it is true, nonetheless.

 

* * * *

The great are not great, nor are they insignificant.

The known is not known, nor is it unknowable.

The wise are not wise, nor are they foolish.

The moment is not real, nor is it unreal.

 

* * * *

You are not a noun: a person, a place, a thing.

Nor are You a verb: an action, a state, an occurrence.

You are, and You have always been, and You will always be,

The stillness of eternal, immortal, absolute awareness,

Witnessing the ever-kaleidoscoping quantum play.

 

* * * *

All heavens, all hells, all purgatories between, pass ever the same.

All others are but sensory ghosts of consciousness’s imaginary design.

 

* * * *

The stillness, the eternal life of the awareness prior to consciousness,

What more could You possibly be than the supreme virtue of the eternal unicity?

Will there come, a moment, when You never again subscribe to the manifest quantum matrix?

Will there come, a moment, when the mind born of time, no longer calls You?

 

* * * *

Every instant exactly the same: neither good nor bad,

Right nor wrong, happy nor sad, bright nor dark,

Fresh nor stale, rain nor shine, war nor peace.

 

* * * *

You have been brainwashed, hypnotized, conditioned, programmed,

Indoctrinated, molded, convinced, mesmerized, trained, habituated, spellbound, inured, compelled,

Into believing this world and all its creations are real and important.

Think again.

 

* * * *

The sensory mind-body evolved in DNA’s quest to continue,

To survive the creation, to abide the quantum field.

The vehicle You occupy is the result of that ever-present eternal dance,

And whether or not, You pass on your seed line to the future, is a decision only time will tell.

 

* * * *

What is any universe but a sensory play,

Founded on the traits of the given life form’s patterning,

In humans there are the five senses – sight, sound, smell, taste, feeling –

But is your cosmos any more or less tangible, than any other creature’s genomic blueprint?

 

* * * *

The creations of physics and chemistry and biology,

Have again and again conspired to shape You, to pattern You,

Into a false identity, that You might again and again, awaken to your Self.

Is the quantum matrix any more than deception, more than subterfuge,

For the mystery to experience dreamtime, in every way imaginable?

 

* * * *

The many sounds, forged into every variety of concept,

Are but streaming clouds in the clear sky of awareness.

 

* * * *

As good as You might feel today,

May well be as awful as You feel tomorrow.

Existence is a pendulum of extremes for many, if not most.

Count your Self to have extremely good fortune,

If the swings hold fast to moderation.

 

* * * *

To the very young in playpens and play yards,

And classrooms and halls and coffee shop and bars,

The world in which You are now so innocent, so guileless,

Will likely be so very different in future cycles of sun and moon.

It is through the stoical adaptability of gumption and grit,

That You will best endure whatever comes to pass.

 

* * * *

The past is only reference.

The future, only hope.

Only now is real.

 

* * * *

The hands of time spin the fate of humankind into an abyss of its own making.

Human consciousness cannot forever maintain the raging pace that its insatiable nature ordains.

As any cockroach instinctively realizes, existence is a marathon, not a sprint.

 

* * * *

To pretend an identity, does not mean You are obligated to believe it.

You are the creator of your dreamtime world, your psychic prison,

And only reside there because desire and fear anchor your mind,

And draw You back, again and again, into the clutches of illusion.

 

* * * *

So it goes.

So it went.

So it will go.

 

* * * *

Call it God, call it Jehovah, call Yahweh, call it Allah, call it Buddha, call it Tao, call it Brahmin,

Call it whatever resonating sound, your nimble mind and lucid tongue might concoct,

When were You and yours, and absolutely everyone and everything else,

Not this most-assuredly-exactly-the-same-across-the-board,

Whodunit, whatdunit, wheredunit, whendunit, whydunit, howdunit?

 

* * * *

The mind is a morass, a pit of quicksand,

Which will pull You again and again into ceaseless bother,

If your blade of discernment is not well-honed.

 

* * * *

Is there really just one enlightening moment, or thousands beyond counting?

Is liberation anything more than the fleeting aftershocks of the first earthquake?

 

* * * *

Though in appearance, many masks and many minds,

Those who discern truth, are all harbor to the one mind.

 

* * * *

A koan is a question, a riddle, a puzzle, an enigma,

A conundrum, a quandary, a brainteaser, a challenge,

With no definitive answer, or paradoxes beyond counting,

Depending on the state, the quality, of the awakening no-mind.

 

* * * *

The three vanities – power, fame, fortune – all boil down to an insatiable greed for more.

And how we do crave to bask in the presence of those who have achieved them.

Envy is the sidekick, the shadow, the minion, of all things covetous.

 

* * * *

Awareness of the awareness cannot be taught,

Nor can it be persuaded nor forced, in any way or any shape or any form.

There is nothing to learn, everything to forget, to unlearn.

And few hear the call, much less respond.

 

* * * *

Of all the lonely people,

Who talk to their dogs and cats,

What can be said, what can be done?

Wacko is, as wacko does.

 

* * * *

More, more, more … more power … more fame … more fortune …

More food … more sex … more castles … more things … more everything …

Enough is never enough, for the many whose consciousness, ever shines its light outward.

 

* * * *

Humankind is the only species across all space-time,

To have caused so much insufferable havoc,

Across this world’s crusty exterior.

Truly, Darwin unleashed.

 

* * * *

Why is death anything more to fear than falling asleep?

The only difference, is no more dreaming,

And never again waking up.

No big deal.

 

* * * *

If humankind and other mammalian life forms do manage to survive,

It will be in a far different world, from which these thoughts were written.

 

* * * *

Moderation …

Moderation … moderation …

Moderation … moderation … moderation …

Moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation …

Moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation …

Moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation …

Moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation …

Moderation … moderation … moderation … moderation …

Moderation … moderation … moderation …

Moderation … moderation …

Moderation …

 

* * * *

What is any world, any cosmos, any hologram, any matrix,

But a kaleidoscoping dream, inspired by a sensory quantum feed.

A light and sound show, vibrating away, in the given mind’s neural trail.

 

* * * *

In the no-mind, there is no history, there is no buddha, there is no You.

There is merely the eternal awareness, the ever-present, indivisible now.

 

* * * *

The flames of its own creation,

Are lapping at the feet of the human paradigm.

It will not be long now, before falling dominos, turn into a bonfire.

 

* * * *

What is there to do, once the mind is no longer hungry for its world, its cosmos?

Breath in, breath out, bask in the sun, rest in the hammock,

Fill the given time, however You will.

 

* * * *

Extinction is an inherent, intractable fact of life.

Most of what You once remembered is long-forgotten.

Granted, it may still be locked somewhere in the neuron trail,

But for all practical purpose, access denied, is the same as forgotten.

It was never more than vague, imaginary perception anyway,

So, oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

 

* * * *

So many women wonder why men no longer pursue them as they age,

But what do they do with the withered flowers on their dining room table?

 

* * * *

Boredom inspires inordinate hungers,

That only fatten mind and body and spirit.

Moderation is the path to keenness and leanness.

 

* * * *

What is sorrow but the mind’s longing for it all to be real.

For it to be more than a kaleidoscoping, ungraspable dream.

A dream that it is, that it has ever been, that it will ever be.

 

* * * *

Is your mortal vessel, your companion? Is your mortal vessel, your nemesis?

Is it to be embraced, or to be cast off? And will You feel the same tomorrow?

 

* * * *

Peace is a noteworthy gift to your existence.

All You need to do is stop torturing your Self.

 

* * * *

The quantum divide is but the separation of the sensory mind-body,

Deluding its Self, imagining, that it is the indivisibility, that is unreal.

Nothing more than the neuron trail, asserting it alone, reigns supreme.

 

* * * *

To think critically is to accept nothing at face value.

It is a scientific mindset, that examines anything and everything,

To whatever degree, insight and aptitude and technology and nuance allow.

 

* * * *

Regarding the every-moment consumption,

Of the space-time continuum playing out in your head,

Best to discern and moderate your hungers.

 

* * * *

Each and every seed has its own epic journey, a one-time play in the space-time matrix.

A concoction of heaven and hell, in an imaginary backdrop, real and unreal all the while.

 

* * * *

A discerner of truth, can impart thousands of talks,

And say essentially the same thing, thousands of ways.

 

* * * *

Does a dog have Buddha nature? Is a dog any less Brahman than You?

Maybe dogs are born awakened, and are hanging out patiently, for us to figure it out.

Is the bouncy, tail-wagging, barky little puppy, gazing happily up at You,

Really just wondering, when the fuck You are going to zen up?

 

* * * *

It is the existence led after so-called enlightenment,

That daily proves the realization, the awakening, was the easy part,

And liberation, well prior and beyond all assertions.

 

* * * *

Without the mind-body,

What is hot, what is cold?

What is sweet, what is bitter?

What is pleasure, what is pain?

 

* * * *

Nothing to be, nothing to do.

Nothing to see, to hear, to taste, to smell, to feel.

And yet, being, doing, seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, feeling, all the while.

Such is the awareness, the cosmos of the quantum mind.

Nothing at all, all-ing all over.

 

* * * *

There is no who.

There is no what.

There is no where.

There is no when.

There is no why.

There is no how.

 

* * * *

You are not the body-mind identity.

You are not consciousness.

You are not the world.

You are not the universe.

You are not the quantum stardust.

You are that which is prior to all creation.

You are the spaceless-timeless eternal moment.

You are the awareness, You are the indivisible unicity.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

Yet another anthropological event, another meme,

To be gotten through, to be enjoyed or endured,

As is every other indivisibly timeless moment.

 

* * * *

There is no need to dread what You do not believe, what You do not distinguish real and true.

Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and monsters in dark forests, are but cultural memes for children,

As is everything rendered for adults, adrift in the muddle of uncritical, gullible, credulous minds.

 

* * * *

Going through things, experiencing them, embracing them fully, hands on, full throttle,

Is the most definitive way to grasp their truth, to clearly see though them.

No black box stands long, against the eye of the discerning.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how, is That I Am?

Who-what-where-when-why-how, is that which those who quest truth,

Are ever seeking within, are ever seeking without; sailors, sailing across an ocean without shore.

Why is that, which is everything and nothing; why is that, which is nothing and everything;

So trying, for the smoke of consciousness, of imagination, to discern and embrace?

 

* * * *

The body issues forth,

From the indelible quantum mystery,

From the bonding of the seeds of male and female.

The brain gradually interprets the senses, to engineer the mind of self.

The mind that is molded, sculpted, conditioned; the mind that ever bends to its given nurture;

To its environment, to its window of time; all fostered by the play of imagination.

An ever-expanding universe of consciousness, burst into being.

An indelible quantum mystery all the while.

 

* * * *

So much more knowledge,

With each and every passing moment.

To let go, to forget, is the never-ending challenge,

Of the mind that would be eternal.

 

* * * *

To quantify the quantum mystery as infinite or infinitesimal, is all but absurd,

Once it is without doubt realized, that the enigma of awareness is immeasurable.

 

* * * *

Death is the endgame of every existence.

No need for hope nor faith nor any creed.

 

* * * *

The ceaseless quest for knowledge will continue to multiply in every possible way,

In accelerating exponential fashion, until its zenith is one day reached.

Until Incarus and his wings of wax, soar too near the sun,

And the inevitable dystopian reality, comes to pass.

And much that was, will be forever lost, forever forgotten.

 

* * * *

The mirror-mirror-on-the-wall, belies the fountain of youth within.

What choices are there, but to either be the fool, or play the gray?

 

* * * *

The body is but a part, a fraction.

You are whole, You are one,

You are all, and none.

 

* * * *

We are all just actors here; players, thespians.

Automatically, spontaneously, extemporaneously,

Playing out the perceived, imaginary, temporal roles,

Nature-nurture has patterned us to believe, real and true.

But really no more real, than any man in the moon.

 

* * * *

Beginning becomes end; end becomes beginning.

Wax becomes wane; wane becomes wax.

Rise becomes fall; fall become rise.

Flow becomes ebb; ebb becomes flow.

Cause becomes effect; effect becomes cause.

The dream of time, is the play of waves ever roiling.

 

* * * *

The Fates: Clotho (Spinner), Lachesis (Allotter), and Atropos (Inflexible),

Will transport You wherever, however, whenever they will,

No matter your otherwise fruitless efforts,

To vainly change the given course, this way or that.

 

* * * *

The rational man, the irrational man.

The brilliant man, the obtuse man.

The kind man, the unkind man.

The wise man, the daft man.

The good man, the bad man.

The strong man, the weak man.

The pliable man, the stubborn man.

All end up in the same dusty graveyard.

No one matters near as much as they think.

And if You must think, must ponder, think well.

 

* * * *

Are You here now? Are You there now?

Or are You everywhere and nowhere now?

 

* * * *

Perfection in consciousness, is but an ideal.

There are pluses and minuses, to practically everything,

Unless You are Mary Poppins, or some other imaginary fabrication.

Only in the indivisible nothingness of eternal awareness, can perfection be realized.

 

* * * *

Through the part, the whole is discerned.

Through the whole, all possibilities are known.

 

* * * *

It is the mind-body’s instinctual patterning, to always seek the illusion of security,

That gradually morphs it, into so many variations of fear and loathing.

To stand aloof from the herd, to stand free and clear of all,

Is not a state, a quality of mind easily attained.

 

* * * *

There is life, there is no-life.

Consciousness on, consciousness off.

It is nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

This eternal moment, equally free to all who give it attention,

Cannot be bought or sold, nor owned in any way, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

One Jesus was enough.

One Buddha was enough.

One Mohammed was enough.

One Shankara was enough.

One Lao Tzu was enough.

One You is enough, too.

 

* * * *

Consciousness is a function of awareness,

But it is up to You, and You alone, to discern the implication,

Of that far-reaching, life-changing realization.

 

* * * *

The mind-body is about the consumption of its quantum dreamtime, in every way imaginable:

Food, drink, sex, power, fame, fortune, spirituality, materialism, et cetera, et cetera.

An unremitting quagmire, and ultimately all much ado about nothing.

As William Shakespeare puts it in Macbeth’s soliloquy:

 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing.

 

* * * *

No looking backward, no looking forward.

Only now, indivisibly emanating each and every moment.

How fucking amazing is that? And the essential You, its inexplicable source.

 

* * * *

Every human culture across space, across time,

Requires a great assumption, a great lie, at its foundation.

From that center, every tribe renders all decisions.

 

* * * *

To be born into manifest existence,

Is to live in the realm of ecstasy and agony,

From which the only exit is death.

 

* * * *

The danger with any weapon, any arsenal, is the temptation, the longing to use it.

Rattle that saber long enough, and sooner or later someone’s going to pull theirs out.

 

* * * *

Anger, annoyance, irritation, antagonism, resentment, rage – eats away at the mind-body,

In ways that make liberation from its passion, more and more unlikely.

Forgiveness, challenging as it is, is the healing,

The grace that leads to the unbearable lightness of being.

 

* * * *

The mind-body dream to which You are so attached,

Is nothing more than a, from-the-get-go, fabrication.

 

* * * *

You are as well or ill,

As You allow yourself to be.

Attitude is all.

 

* * * *

Abandon the mind-body, and all its many thoughts of identity and personality and character.

All the histories, all the narrations, all the time-bound concoctions, You imagine so real.

Be the awareness, the stillness, the emptiness, the nothingness, You timelessly are.

 

* * * *

With its inexorable capacity for tool-making,

The human paradigm draws ever closer to its demise.

Ask not for who the bell tolls, for it tolls for we.

 

* * * *

Why would the truth of all things, ever require meaning and purpose,

When it already is and is not, has ever and never been, will ever and never be,

All the meaning and purpose, consciousness through imagination, might ever prescribe.

 

* * * *

Feigning interest when You are not at all interested.

Ugh, the things we do for the politics of acquaintanceship.

 

* * * *

The confines of the mind can grow very small, or very large,

Depending upon the awareness, and the dreamtime it inspires.

 

* * * *

Wealth is not the only realm of the one-percenters.

Every medium has its winners and losers, its rulers and subjects,

And only the most steadfast, only the most determined,

Are allowed entry into the given fraternity.

 

* * * *

In the struggle between consciousness and awareness,

Is there a victor, or simply the serenity of cessation?

 

* * * *

What use does a woman have for a man, who does not yield to all her persuasions?

What use does a man have for a woman, when his phallus no longer rules his mind?

 

* * * *

In every blink of any given eye,

One cosmos destroyed, a new one created.

How many blinks to create a deity, or a throng of them?

* * * *

Why should You, would You, ever blindly believe, what You cannot discern for your Self?

Why accept another’s assertion, if no convincing, tangible evidence, is available?

 You, scientist, have the right, the obligation, to explore any hypothesis,

Without unwarranted pressure from any individual or group.

 

* * * *

In conflict, there are no winners. only process,

In which the king of the hill is ever-changing.

 

* * * *

And why is all that knowledge – so much of it, meaningless trivia – so important?

What makes trivial pursuit so much more valued, than a mind, that runs silent, runs deep?

 

* * * *

The exciting moment, the monotonous moment;

The pleasurable moment, the painful moment;

All witnessed by the same timeless awareness.

 

* * * *

The mind-body devours through the eyes, the ears, the tongue, the nose, the flesh.

What is it, but imagination’s craving for a permanence, it can never attain,

For it is but an intangible dream of the indivisible quantum matrix.

 

* * * *

What is the first thing the mind-body does many a morning,

But run its checklist for all of yesterday’s chronic afflictions.

 

* * * *

You are that which is totality.

Why venerate any deities, any idols, any middlemen?

Why kowtow to your Self?

 

* * * *

Human beings across the world, across time, spend much of their existence,

Filling their conditioned minds with this and that, and that and this.

Ultimately, any story of awakening, is about letting it all go.

 

* * * *

The awareness is without face, without body, without mind, without identity,

Without family, without tribe, without country, without world, without universe.

It is timelessly alone, sovereign and true, no allegiance known, all in one, one in all.

 

* * * *

No matter what happens,

The script goes on and on and on,

In a seems-almost-like-forever kind of way.

 

* * * *

What You feed today, will likely be back for more tomorrow.

What You feed today, may well breed in one tomorrow or another.

The children of those You feed today, may cry out for the same tomorrow.

 

* * * *

Nobody does anything well without practice,

And practice takes motivation and discipline, gumption and grit.

Without these qualities, nothing is easily accomplished.

 

* * * *

No, You are not going to change the ever-changing world.

This garden orb will spin on and on, the same as it always has.

Your brief window of time, will be just another vain, hollow flurry,

In a seemingly endless emanation of vain, hollow flurries.

Our vain, hollow drama is not near as critical as we,

For whatever reason, always seem to believe.

 

* * * *

How challenging when You are young and vibrant,

To imagine the mortal frame someday old and feeble.

 

* * * *

It is only flesh and bones, with a long tube running from mouth to anus.

A winding tube that slowly converts food and drink into shit and piss.

Essentially, the same alimentary canal that runs through any worm,

Which is, by the way, a distant relative, only a bit further back,

Than the monkey returning your stare at some nearby zoo.

 

* * * *

There can only be one source,

It is an indelible mystery unto its Self,

And You are very much it, and it is very much You.

 

* * * *

Your personality, all You imagine yourself to be, and not be, is born of desire and fear.

To be free, to reclaim the vulnerably of awareness, You must still all thought,

Silence the psyche, and merge back into the timelessness of eternity.

To do so, is to be born again, into the indelible indivisibility.

Into the absoluteness, into the eternal mystery, that is prior to consciousness.

 

* * * *

Self-imagery is nothing more than imagination’s rainbow,

A panorama of every conceivable color, or every shade of gray.

It is the awareness in which You are every moment truly born anew.

 

* * * *

No, there is truly nowhere else to be.

Here and now, in the eye of the beholder,

Is all there is, and there ain’t no more.

 

* * * *

The awareness, the stillness, the nothingness, the absoluteness,

The aloneness, that You truly are, and are not, is as fused to reality, as You can get.

Residing in the timelessness of here now, You are free of the senses,

Free of the churnings, of mass, of vectors, of velocity,

Free of the light cavorting the darkness,

Free of the identity You are not,

That You have never been, will never be.

 

* * * *

Everyone’s gotta be from somewhere.

Everyone’s gotta live and die somewhere.

All just different aspects of the same mystery.

 

* * * *

You are this.

You are not this.

 

* * * *

Waking up from the dream of mind is a rare feat.

One that is not without many trips and falls,

And every variety of distracting detour.

 

* * * *

Existence is about adaption.

In the face of the five elements – earth, wind, water, fire, ether –

Rigidity is not an enduring strategy.

 

* * * *

You cannot long placate the pitiless.

Stand too close to a flame,

You will be burned.

 

* * * *

What is space-time – but the assumption, the illusion, the delusion – of memory,

Nothing more than the evolutionary happenstance, of the brain’s neuron matrix.

 

* * * *

The emotionally needy have an unfailing tendency,

To suffocate all who attempt to placate their anguish.

 

* * * *

The conditioning is strong.

There is no way You can be free of it,

But through becoming very quiet, very present,

Very clear, of all imaginary traces of that which binds You.

 

* * * *

You play but a finite form in a finite field,

You only get to see, to hear, to taste, to smell, to feel,

A smidgeon of a minute scratch of the electromagnetic spectrum,

And that in its Self, is nothing of the totality You truly are.

 

* * * *

What is this very human tendency to identity with this or that?

What a thing to imagine your make-believe persona real and true.

 

* * * *

The real Youness, the Youness that is awareness, is prior to imagination.

Prior to all conditioning, prior to all sensory-driven perceptions.

To apprehend the unconditional, requires an abeyance,

Only full attention to the moment can give.

 

* * * *

You were born again many, many times,

Before imagination did a gradual sunrise in your mind,

And the rest is a history only You can know.

And everyone else the same.

 

* * * *

It is through scrutiny, through inference,

Through deduction, through induction, through intuition,

That You can even begin to grasp the subtlety of the mystery You most truly are.

And in all that, You discern, there is nothing to which You can cling.

You are but one eye, of the awareness witnessing all:

Omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent.

 

* * * *

What is any personality, any character, any ego, but the response, the reply, the answer,

The retort, the rejoinder, the comeback, the reaction, the survival mechanism,

That the winds of time in mind, shaped your imagination to play out;

To enjoy, to endure, the ecstasies and agonies of existence.

 

* * * *

The mundane, temporal world, is chock-full of mundane, temporal trials.

Meet them directly – unswervingly, openly, exactly, immediately –

And the sword of discernment, will grow sharper and sharper.

 

* * * *

You are the timeless awareness.

Still the imaginary mind.

Be here, be now.

 

* * * *

There is no saving anyone or anything in this temporal quantum theater.

There is only awakening, or not awakening, to the mystery,

And living out whatever destiny is in store.

 

* * * *

Happiness, serenity, delight, harmony, bliss, joy, ecstasy, call it what You will,

Mandates, that You first and foremost, rest easy in your own company.

That the awareness, You truly are, abides well in its aloneness.

 

* * * *

Take as little notice, of what others think of You, as possible,

For none of it truly matters, in any ultimate way, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

Me, my Self, and I.

 You, your Self, and You.

We are very much the same.

There is no other.

 

* * * *

Truth beckons those who have eyes to see and ears to hear.

Let the true believer believe, all the lies his blindness allows.

 

* * * *

Without the herd, without the other, You would not have the opportunity to stand quietly aloof.

To observe, to watch, to view, to scrutinize, to monitor, to study, to examine, to survey.

To witness a dream of consciousness, an imaginary theater, as only You can.

 

* * * *

What is popular may not be correct.

What is correct may not be popular.

 

* * * *

Mu is a concept of negation used in Zen Buddhism,

But explored in a variety of other traditions prior to that.

It is a term defined as ‘no’, ‘not’, ‘nothing’, or ‘without,’

As nothing, not, nothingness, un-, is not, has not, not any.

 

[1] Nonexistence; nonbeing; not having; a lack of, without.

[2] A negative.

[3] Caused to be nonexistent.

[4] Impossible; lacking reason or cause.

[5] Pure human awareness, prior to experience or knowledge.

[6] The 'original nonbeing' from which being is produced.

 

* * * *

There is no yoke to truth.

It is the conditioning of consciousness, of imagination,

That fabricates all encumbrance.

 

* * * *

What is the relationship between the awareness and the quantum indivisibility?

Are they one in the same, or is awareness prior to all creation, all preservation, all destruction?

What relationship can there possibly be, between the nothing, and the everything?

Between the awareness observing, and the energy field manifesting?

Once You discern You are not the manifestation,

What is there left to be, to do,

But whatever needs being, needs doing.

 

* * * *

It does not matter what You say or do,

Believe or do not believe, know or do not know,

The timeless awareness ever emanates exactly the same.

 

* * * *

Most human beings are quite unattractive; even unapproachably ugly.

Without clothing and accessories, and an inordinate amount of self-absorbed delusion,

We likely would have never made it out of the jungles of Africa,

Much less overpopulate the entire planet.

 

* * * *

It does not matter how You are.

It does not matter why You are .

It does not matter who You are .

It does not matter what You are.

It does not matter when You are.

It does not matter where You are.

You are all the same consciousness.

You are all the same awareness.

You are all the same dream.

You are all the same now.

You are all the same me.

You are all the same You.

You are all the same quantum.

Call it God, call it Buddha, call it Tao,

Call it Allah, call it Brahman, call it whatever,

You are all the same prior-to-consciousness mystery.

If truth does not bring You the harmony of peace, nothing will.

 

* * * *

We are but whims of the quantum matrix,

Players in a universe of differences,

That are but vibratory illusion.

 

* * * *

History is matrix woven of ecstasies and agonies, glories and horrors,

To which the indivisible, timeless awareness, has always been witness.

 

* * * *

The world spins and spins and spins.

The cosmos glimmers and glimmers and glimmers.

And You, unwavering witness through all eternity, through all eyes.

Naught but awareness – indivisible, immortal, immaculate.

 

* * * *

What a human-paradigm absurdity, to diligently, relentlessly strive, to be a historical footnote.

Even more so, to be the title to a chapter, a book, a movie, or a university course.

And wackiest-beyond-the-pale, of any and all, is to be the source-point,

To some obnoxious, overbearing, sanctimonious religion.

 

* * * *

The other cannot bring You happiness.

The other cannot bring You contentment.

You must discern them in the stillness within.

 

* * * *

Creation, Intelligent Design, Turtles All the Way Down, Big Bang,

Or whatever, whatever, whatever, et cetera, et cetera, et …

Here You are, faking whatever the best You can.

 

* * * *

On to the next moment: On Rudolf, on Dasher, on Dancer,

On Prancer, on Vixen, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donner, on Blitzen,

Charge on and on and on, always on, into the blizzard of history’s unfolding.

 

* * * *

In creation, be first your own audience.

If others appreciate it, applaud it, great; if not, why care?

Draw what You want to see, play what You want to hear. write what You want to read.

Bring into manifest reality, whatever it is You feel called to experience,

Whatever summons the attention of your eye.

Create for your Self.

 

* * * *

In every mind across the manifest board,

The ethereal winds of imagination, huff and puff helter-skelter,

In their own little singular, double-double-toil-and-trouble bubbles, of space and time.

The world, the cosmos, the unicity, is ever eternally unmoved, indifferent,

To all the self-absorbed dramas of the human paradigm.

 

* * * *

Slime and worms and monkeys, to which we are likely cousins in one form or another.

Slimes and worms and monkeys, through which quantum stardust,

Ever so inexorably, evolved into You.

 

* * * *

What will be said and done, after your departure from the theater, is not for You to know,

And what is knowing, anyway, but vague perception, given credence one way or another.

 

* * * *

It is impossible to go back into Plato's Cave, and see it the same.

Downsize as You might, there is always a larger cosmos in mind.

 

* * * *

Your body?

Your body!?

Your body!!?

Your body!!!?

Your body!!!!?

Your body!!!!!?

 

* * * *

Cannot say whether or not God is dead,

But Jesus most definitely is, and whoever he was, or was not,

He was not, in this mind’s eye, any more or less, that which is called God, than any You or I,

Or any other land or water or air critter, great or medium or small.

We are all equally born of the same quantum mystery.

Only the vanities pretend otherwise.

 

* * * *

Chicken or the egg, which came first?

Or was it some sort of simultaneous combustion,

Of a mitosis mutation, in a slimy puddle, of the ancient long ago?

 

* * * *

But for the mind caught in its own snare, its own vice, its own egocentric notion,

There is no sure, no clear, no particular way, anyone or anything must be.

The indelibly indivisible quantum mystery, this all is, this all is not,

Is without any principle or meaning or purpose, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

If You have turned to hope to solve a problem,

Then it is likely already well beyond too late.

 

* * * *

The many branches of science, whether natural or social,

Are all founded on the study of the nothingness of stardust.

 

* * * *

There are many consequences, to everything under any given sun,

And we have all likely done, so many things, so many ways.

And payback, well, she’s a raving-mad bitch on steroids.

 

* * * *

The moment is ever-fresh, ever-anew,

But are You clear enough, attentive enough,

To imbibe fully the eternal upwelling?

 

* * * *

How shallow and meaningless it is, to crave the attention of others.

What is the point of fame, of notoriety, if You do not embrace your Self?

 

* * * *

The mortal persona, that You imagine You are,

Is the all-seeing awareness of totality, gazing out,

Through the quantum senses, into a quantum matrix.

 

* * * *

Rationality decries and derides irrationality,

But what of the unknown prior to consciousness,

Where all rhetorical becomes absolutely meaningless.

 

* * * *

To die to the world, to die to the garden of temptation,

Is the most arduous challenge, You can ever un-imagine.

 

* * * *

What would this garden world become if humankind could just throw out all the memes –

Political, economic, religious, philosophical, cultural – and start all over again.

Can anyone even begin to envision what that mindset would be?

Would we, could we, truly create anything different?

Is it not obvious that the monkey-mind,

Is too embedded in all its emotional passions,

Is too established in all its ductless glands and viscera,

Is too bound to all its illusory urges, to be free of the jungle of origin.

The fate of humankind, of the world, of the cosmos, is etched in the sands of quantum.

 

* * * *

How meaningless all speculation.

‘Tis but the chatter of a busy mind.

 

* * * *

Food, alcohol, drugs, and other substances,

Are the oft-times wayward partners to alternative states of mind.

Sometimes happier, sometimes sadder, sometimes just distracted for a few gobbets of time.

 

* * * *

There is only one source, one creation, one soul, one quantum.

Only consciousness imagines its incalculable splinterings real.

 

* * * *

No matter how aware any, You in any human form, might be,

We are all caught up, in every variety of habituated thought and action.

When dealing with minds, going round and round, in dysfunctional, circular loops,

Well-intentioned advice and support, are generally futile and exhausting.

How many times any well-meaning Samaritan gives it a go,

Is always dependent on the level of sainthood,

To which s/he feels committed.

 

* * * *

Even the most enlightened, the most liberated, the most blissfully nirvanic,

Must endure the capacities and limitations of the given genome,

And the time and circumstance, into which it is cast.

 

* * * *

Humankind has always been about making into its own image, into its own imagination,

That which has no image, that which is eternally faceless, that which is eternally nameless.

 

* * * *

Very challenging to participate in the world, and not get drawn in believing it all real.

The conditioning, the habituation, is strong, and the mind weak, and easily distracted.

 

* * * *

Cause and effect: What difference, really, truly,

When each is, every moment, becoming the other.

 

* * * *

Are You required to contemplate the world, to reflect upon the human paradigm?

Or is it merely the repetitive groove, the arduous furrow, of an educated, cultivated,

Indoctrinated, habituated, programmed, conditioned, brainwashed, frame of reference?

 

* * * *

When, as a child, someone asked you,

What You wanted to do when You grew older,

Did they by any chance, ask what You did not want to do?

 

* * * *

You have never seen your own eyes, nor any body part out of their view.

You are the eternal mystery, peering out, from the unknowable unknown.

 

* * * *

Everything has its little slice of now,

Which it must enjoy or endure,

Or perish in the attempt.

 

* * * *

All creatures from small to great, have the same awareness as You.

It is only imagination, that endlessly counterfeits the notion of duality.

It is only imagination, that continually divides Youness, into me and them.

It is only imagination, that deludes itself separate from the indivisible.

 

* * * *

Without all those memories, without all that knowledge,

Without the collusion of all the myriad others around You,

Who-what-where-when-why-how, would You have ever been?

The quantum feast, is an indivisible handiwork, of intelligent design.

 

* * * *

The newborn knows nothing of space and time, knows nothing of any other,

And it is the longing to rediscover the timeless birthright, the no-mind of awareness,

That calls cosmic seekers, few and far between, to quest without and within,

Until they are reborn into the stillness of eternity’s quantum womb.

 

* * * *

Why be a true believer, in anything, or anyone?

Why allow the slaves of ignorance access to your mind and body?

Why trust any mass movement to take You anywhere, You cannot reach on your own?

Let the one-percenters and their minions wage their own wars.

Let the corporate empires fall on their own swords.

Let the creeds play out their dogmas.

Stand alone, sovereign.

 

* * * *

Everything You think You are, everything You believe the cosmos to be,

Is nothing more than a subjective, haphazard collection, of vague perceptions.

A neural algorithm, evolved, naturally-selected, since life’s unfathomable conception.

Organic fiber bundles, firing this way and that; lightning storms, thundering away inside skulls.

You are nothing more, than a figment of imagination; crunchy-chewy-gooey, playing out every illusion.

* * * *

Yes, there is a God, and, no, there is not a God,

And it is, and is not, whatever You,

Or anyone else thinks.

* * * *

Is it any wonder, so many across the board of human existence,

Mitigate their mundane existence, using whatever escapes are available?

Whether it be religion or sports or politics or drugs or soap operas or any whatever,

The suffering of consciousness, of sickness and injury and aging and dying,

Is an affliction, all humans equally share, no matter the given lot.

 

* * * *

It is the eye of awareness, that shines out upon the world, that shines out upon the cosmos,

But it is imagination that devises your version, your account, your interpretation,

Your translation, your rendition, your exploration, your understanding, your conclusion,

Of all the myriad experiences, that come and go, within the sensory perception of the given vessel.

 

* * * *

Wealth is a state of mind: What is too much? What is too little?

You never know, You might well be the richest soul in all creation.

Especially if you grasp, the greatest wealth, is in the eye of the beholder.

 

* * * *

When the Humpty-Dumpty of humankind falls,

What will become, of whatever pieces remain?

 

* * * *

Population contraception, either female or male versions, will never happen on a large scale,

Because the one-percenters and their minions always require new slaves to work the mines.

 

* * * *

Digital warriors fight glorious crusades in the wee dark hours,

But only rarely know one end of the hammer from the other,

During the bright of day, to which they only midday wake.

 

* * * *

Eternal awareness is the state,

Of those who have shed name and identity,

Of the rare few who bear no memory of that needing none.

 

* * * *

Many if not most, likely estimate themselves brighter-greater-higher, than they truly are,

In the many caste systems, in which all play out their brief flames of mind.

And it is only the insight of wisdom, that tempers the vanity.

 

* * * *

Many others might say and do many things, regarding the awakening within.

But there is ultimately no authority, there are no masters on high.

It is You, who must alone, compose your oeuvre.

 

* * * *

That is done, that is done, and that is done, too.

When nothing is done, nothing is ever left undone.

In the watermelon sugar, of time’s imaginary notions.

 

* * * *

Delve into the aloneness, You truly are,

Have always been, will ever be,

In the prior to mind.

 

* * * *

You know because You agree to know.

You esteem knowledge because your conditioning,

Has disciplined You to commit to memory minutiae unending.

It is the underpinning of all identity, and commotion and spectacle unending.

The human condition, the human paradigm, in a nutshell.

 

* * * *

All the faces, all the bodies,

All the shapes and sizes and seasons,

All the myriad difference of every genetic roll,

All the same essence, all the same origin.

 

* * * *

Fresh from the given womb, a filament of imagination, is cast into a windy dream of time,

Where sickness and injury and aging and demise, are but a relatively few breaths down the trail.

What is there to do, but to live it out, to enjoy, to endure, as best as the kaleidoscoping moment allows.

 

* * * *

The sons and daughters of modern men and women,

Are but the descendants, of slimy microbes and scampering critters,

In oceans and topographies, of the pale blue dot, that spun and spun, so long ago.

And all, right here, right now, in the very same eternal moment.

 

* * * *

Victory and defeat, success and failure,

Right and wrong, good and bad,

Same thing, different daze.

 

* * * *

What will come of minds raised by software born of mind?

What will come of minds immersed in digital algorithms,

In which nature is little more than a few lines of code?

 

* * * *

The entire human paradigm,

Is but a bare scratch of Earth’s history,

And far, far less, in the cosmic genesis before that.

And who can ever know, how many more creations before that.

Turtles all the way down, does not even remotely grasp,

The depthless depths, of this boggling mystery.

 

* * * *

Paying close attention to the cosmos without,

Leads to an equally sharper vision,

Of the awareness within.

 

* * * *

What is yours, what is not yours?

Is it your light that shines upon the world, or is it one light discerning all.

And where does the light go, when the curtain of darkness falls?

 

* * * *

The quest for truth, the quest for eternal nature,

May be less about discovering something else,

May be less about experiencing some greater state,

Than it is simply unchaining, from everything imaginable.

 

* * * *

You need not believe in anything, You need not believe in anyone.

The human drama is bursting with a ceaseless array of pointless assumptions,

Steeped in endless cravings for, and endless fears of, all things known and unknowable.

There is no respite, there is no serenity, for the willy-nilly, unbridled mind.

 

* * * *

While some prance about one great stage or another,

The fate of most seers is to reign alone, quietly unknown.

 

* * * *

The quest for the eternal, journeys a long and winding Yellow Brick Road,

In which there nothing is to be had, in which there is nothing to be un-had.

 

* * * *

Detachment does not require effort.

It is simply letting go, of what no longer matters.

Of merging back into the timeless now.

 

* * * *

You are the absolute nothingness of totality, playing out an imaginary fabrication,

A random, subjective, arbitrary, dreamy, touchy-feely, three-dimensional, dreamtime reality.

Boggling beyond all horizons, all conceivable pales, yes, but that is just the way it is.

 

* * * *

Truth is not exclusive to the human paradigm,

But being human, offers an opportunity to perceive it,

In a way no other creature, to the best of our knowledge, can.

But it is a mighty colossal cosmos, so the jury will be out for a while.

 

* * * *

Trust your Self, trust your intelligence, trust your intuition, trust your story.

Project confidence into whatever You say, into whatever You do.

Even if You do not know what the hell You are saying.

Or what the god-damned hell You are doing.

Fake it all the very best You can.

Everyone else is, too.

 

* * * *

It is a world of causes, it is a world of effects,

It is a world of ever-kaleidoscoping consequences,

And free will, most definitely a debatable assumption.

 

* * * *

The mind seeks solutions, clarifications, explanations, remedies, resolutions, results, antidotes, cures.

And many if not most minds, will create one answer or another, if one is not easily available.

Hence, the proclivity toward assumption, superstition, prejudice, stereotyping,

And all the myriad other varieties of illusional-delusional cogitation.

To be rational is to stand alone, aloof from the unyielding cloud of ignorance.

 

* * * *

You have got down all the right-sounding wordplay,

But is it just an assortment of neurons,

Or are they really firing?

 

* * * *

Thought is but the puff of quantum,

Which the awareness, You are, need not give weight,

If You cultivate the wit to pay attention.

 

* * * *

Beg forgiveness to who?

And for what? And why?

For being born? For enduring?

For playing out the given moment, as best You can?

Why crucify yourself, for something You did not ask for, in the first place?

 

* * * *

What is growing older, but the list of possibilities, growing daily shorter,

And the bag of capacities, the bag of faculties, the bag of tricks, daily lighter.

 

* * * *

A mind slathered in superstition, is a mind born of groundless, irrational, illogical dread.

The scientific mind, is a courageous mind, bent on rational investigation,

As far as the theater of quantum mind and body allow.

 

* * * *

History tends to forget all but the most key players,

But in every story ever written, in every story never written,

However grand a part, however trifling a part, each and every one,

Has been center stage, in their own version of the play.

 

* * * *

If You were completely on your own,

Would it have ever occurred to You, to imagine some deity?

If You had no other mythological influence, no other source other than your own eye,

Would it have ever occurred to You, that You were in any way separate,

From nature’s here now, playing out all about You?

 

* * * *

No one sees the world, the universe, the same,

For there are as many worlds, there are as many universes,

As there are senses to glean, and minds to discern.

 

* * * *

What does the human paradigm demonstrate again and again,

But that nothing is as truly important, as imagination ever seeks to deem it.

Even the so-called spiritual quest, is ultimately an à la mode absurdity.

 

* * * *

Truth is not an emotional heart state, nor is it an intellectual mind state.

The indivisible is indivisible, and the human paradigm,

Is not its rhyme and reason.

 

* * * *

Every hero endures a sunset.

And who a hero?

And who is not a hero?

Need we ask anyone to tell us these things?

 

* * * *

As enlightened, as liberated, as nirvanic, as You may or may not be,

Tomorrow, You will wake up from sleep's oblivion,

And begin anew, all over again.

 

* * * *

There are advocates and skeptics and fence-straddlers in every choice.

What proposition could ever even begin to remotely please every mind?

 

* * * *

The dreamscape of the dreamtime is constantly changing.

What cannot adapt, what cannot abide, diminishes or perishes.

 

* * * *

The human species is but one of an inestimable array of life forms,

Neither greater or lesser, but in its own vain confabulations.

Might may make right, but it does not refute equal.

 

* * * *

Are You kaleidoscoping through a dream?

Or is a dream kaleidoscoping through You?

Or is it neither-nor-both-one-in-the-same?

 

* * * *

What need to justify, to defend, your existence, when You had no choice, no say, in the matter?

Why should You ever have to bother, having to rationalize the inexplicableness, You ever are?

 

* * * *

All the views involving mind and heart are the tripe of busy minds.

Only in awareness will the observer discern the truth of all things.

 

* * * *

Hoping something so, makes nothing so.

One must get down and dirty in the muck of time,

For the H-word to glean, to attain, any reality.

Lots of other four-letter words, the same.

 

* * * *

Does anything fashioned of the human mind,

Matter anywhere near as much as so many vainly believe?

How can truth be attached to anything confabulated,

By the imaginary notions of consciousness?

 

* * * *

The splintery fence between awareness and consciousness is not easily straddled.

Sometimes You are awake, sometimes You are asleep, sometimes You are merely a tad drowsy.

In the ends of all beginnings, and the beginnings of all ends, it always boils down to,

So it goes, too bad, so sorry, oh well, deal with it, get over it, move on.

 

* * * *

These many contemplations mean to me, whatever they mean to You.

All translation is filtered through the frame of reference,

Of the given witness, the given perceiver.

We are all on our own.

 

* * * *

Who is there to become?

What is there to realize?

Where is there to arrive?

When is it going to happen?

Why is there no end to questions?

How will You ever be free?

 

* * * *

Hate is a mind-consuming, mind absorbing, mind -numbing, time-embracing distraction.

But, then again, is not everything?

 

* * * *

Notions, notions, notions, so many notions.

Questions, questions, questions, so many questions.

The pitter-patter-chitter-chatter of the busy mind is unending.

 

* * * *

Bright or dim, every living creature is center stage,

To a very different, very unique universe, born of its genetic coding,

Through which the same, omniscient-omnipresent-omnipotent awareness in all, peers out.

 

* * * *

How will You ever be free, if You cannot still your mind?

How will You ever be free, how will You ever stand alone,

If You cannot attend the eternal moment fully, spontaneously?

 

* * * *

You can take the monkey out of the jungle,

But You cannot take the jungle out of the monkey.

 

* * * *

There is only the ever-present moment,

There is only the timeless awareness prior to consciousness,

And there is no need to habitually encumber it, with every variety of imaginary notion,

Of what was, what is, and what might or might not be.

 

* * * *

Re: Tattoos:

Making beauty ugly, and ugly uglier,

One stroke of herd at a time,

On the fleshy canvas.

 

* * * *

What is history but a collection of ambiguous perceptions,

Superimposed as reality, oftentimes for ulterior purpose.

 

* * * *

There are plenty of thinkers of every sort across the world, across time,

But no matter how much they rationalize and moralize, how much they whine and moan,

The one-percenters and their minions, have always held the reins.

Might makes right, always has, always will.

 

* * * *

Consciousness is the game awareness is forced to play,

In order to survive and endure in this manifest dreamtime.

It serves no other rhyme or reason in the ultimate sense.

 

* * * *

How much of your life do You spend, trying to justify your existence,

To one imaginary other or another, wafting about in your neuron trail?

* * * *

What is time, but vague perceptions of memory cells,

Projected day-in-day-out into every conceivable imaginary whatever.

That, coupled with vocal chords, opposable thumbs, two legs, and a flair for tool-making,

And, voilà, a never-ending, dreamtime collusion of human scale.

 

* * * *

The world is chock-full of cruelty and greed.

Perhaps You will find it in your Self,

To be kind and generous.

 

* * * *

There will never be political, economic, or social resolution, to the human condition.

Consciousness itself would need to evolve, into making the paradigm shift,

And that is about as likely as flying pigs, or raining cats and dogs.

 

* * * *

Life is much easier to abide,

If You adapt to the given circumstances,

Rather than always expecting them to adjust to You.

 

* * * *

You have seen and done and thought many things, You have donned many hats.

And none of it would have happened without the corporeal mind-body.

None of it would have happened without the vehicle of creation.

But You are not the vehicle, You are not the medium.

You are the awareness, You are the witness.

You are the source of all creation,

In your temporal speck of a cosmos.

 

* * * *

The world is whatever You think it is.

The world is not whatever You think it is.

 

* * * *

Most human beings are absurdly happy, absurdly content,

With their given conditioning, their given frame of reference, their given idolatry.

To be a seer, critical thinking is required, and – doubt, disbelief, skepticism, cynicism – are rare attributes.

No point in trying to debate, to persuade, to convert, any true believer.

All must ultimately discern truth alone, in their own way.

In other words, mind your own awareness.

 

* * * *

Abandon all regrets, all sorrows, all doubts, all frustrations,

All qualms, all misgivings, all hesitation, all shame,

All guilt, all grief, all distress, all burdens,

They are but imagination’s torment.

 

* * * *

The seer’s existence is straddling the razor’s edge of mind-slash-no-mind.

Whichever happens to be casting the most binding, the most compelling, spell.

 

* * * *

Wisdom is the distillation of experience,

And critical thinking, doubt, skepticism, cynicism, are the ingredients,

That unveil and unbridle the discerning brew.

 

* * * *

Every life form has a story: some long, some short, some interesting, some mundane.

But all happening in the same timeless awareness, in which all narratives are written.

 

* * * *

It is the same babble all across the world.

The same desires, the same fears, the same passions.

The same relationships between people and activities and things.

Male and female, families, lovers, friends, acquaintances, strangers, enemies.

Home, food, work, politics, education, theater, art, sports, hobbies, et cetera ad infinitum.

There is only one monkey in the world; one monkey, with many faces.

 

* * * *

Holding together your cosmos,

Really takes no effort, whatsoever.

Whether You give it attention or not,

Whether You participate or not,

The sensory play happens.

Why so serious?

 

* * * *

Look left, look right, look up, look down, look all around.

Everything perceived, is mind-eye’s projection: arbitrary, capricious, whimsical.

Random, chance, unpredictable; casual, wanton, unmotivated, motiveless, unreasoned, unsupported. Irrational, illogical, groundless, unjustified, personal, discretionary, subjective.

The You, that You, in the inseparable moment, imagine You are,

Is nothing more than quantum-mind fabrication.

 

* * * *

You may well be the richest soul in all creation,

If You have the state of mind real wealth implies.

 

* * * *

In every mind,

A different world,

A different universe,

All very much the same.

 

* * * *

It is challenging enough waylaying your own arbitrary dogma,

Without being trodden upon daily by some groupthink version.

 

* * * *

What is the ultimate truth, but the ever-present, ethereal, timeless moment,

To which memory, is but many figments of imagination,

Carrying on, as if they were truly real.

 

* * * *

What is existence, but an ever-kaleidoscoping array of visuals, sounds, smells, tastes, sensations.

A touchy-feely, three-dimensional, kaleidoscoping, of mental and physical gymnastics,

In a corporeal assemblage of bones, flesh, slime, of crunchy-chewy-gooey,

To which the given mind becomes attached, in every way-shape-form imaginable.

 

* * * *

Speaking the truth, is generally much easier to remember,

Than the slew of confabulations, brewed with any deception.

 

* * * *

In every mind, a different world, a different cosmos.

Every one, created of the same timeless essence.

Every one, the same undying indivisibility.

All alone, together, there is no other.

 

* * * *

It is imagination that is born.

It is imagination that exists, that enjoys and endures.

It is imagination that attaches, imagination that ascribes and fastens, to this and that.

It is imagination that dies.

 

* * * *

A window of mind.

A window of space and time.

A window of eternity.

 

* * * *

What Me-Myself-and-I, can there possibly be,

When the ever-present, ever-churning quantum,

Stills for no creature, no form, under any sun.

 

* * * *

To not value learning, is to miss out on the dreamtime about You.

A sturdy, profound education – robust, strong, determined –

Is the key to discerning the truth, the reality of all things,

And how they make their way, in the continuum of space and time.

How they make their way, in the vast mystery of the electromagnetic spectrum.

 

* * * *

Nothing new under the sun.

Nothing old, either.

 

* * * *

You are that awareness, that space, that emptiness, that void.

That mystery of nothingness, through which quantum wanders.

 

* * * *

The tourist tours through airports, hotels, restaurants, theaters, and other idle cosmopolitan fare,

Shopping, shopping, shopping, searching for pleasure, for distraction, for completion,

Where there is naught but the pointlessness of never-ending consumption.

The solitary traveler, wanders with much less intention, much less hullabaloo.

 

* * * *

The more You want, the less You have.

The less You want, the more You have.

A simple existence, is the highest road.

 

* * * *s

Ultimately, everything is simultaneously happening at the indivisibly indelible quantum level.

Physics, chemistry, biology – are but the means, by which the manifest illusion,

Plays out every possible illusion, plays out every possible delusion.

 

* * * *

You may well be able, to do just about anything, with that finite cadaver,

But You cannot do anything, to any great degree, all the time,

Without the bite, of some inevitable consequence,

And more than likely, quite a few.

What fate, what destiny, are You crafting?

 

* * * *

The quantum mystery, creates You, and You, in return, perceive it,

In whatever way, the frame of reference of your consciousness ordains.

 

* * * *

In every mind,

A different world,

A different universe.

Every one Self-evident.

Every one imagined.

All alone, together.

 

* * * *

In every mind,

A different world,

A different universe,

A different everything,

All stitched of imagination.

All alone, together.

 

* * * *

In every mind, a different reality,

A different world, a different universe.

Every one imagined real and true.

All indivisibly alone, together.

 

* * * *

In every mind, a different reality,

A different world, a different universe.

Every one, completely real, completely true.

Every one, a fabrication of imagination.

Every one, entirely alone, together.

 

* * * *

Humankind has been playing out its pattern of dualistic self-absorption, for thousands of years.

And through most, it was possible, with relatively minimal consequence, to plunder nature in every way.

But those daze, are long over; consequences, are daily becoming more apparent, more amplified.

Clean air, clean water, clean ground, seemingly limitless resources, are all plumbed out.

There is a looming wall, fast-approaching – tick, tick, tick – time is running out.

 

* * * *

You can teach regurgitation,

But You cannot convey critical thinking.

You can teach knowledge, but You cannot transmit wisdom.

Skepticism is the rarest of commodities; it cannot be acquired by pick or shovel.

Far more precious than oil or gold or diamonds,

Its value is priceless.

 

* * * *

What does a rock perceive, what does it do,

And how in quantum, is it any different from You?

 

* * * *

The indivisible matrix will not even twitter a warble,

When the last hominoid one day dissolves,

Back into the quantum mist.

 

* * * *

Has any beast ever been, near as wearing, as our own kind?

Has any beast ever been, near as repulsive, as our own kind?

Has any beast ever been, near as frightening, as our own kind?

Has any beast ever been, near as wretched, as our own kind?

 

* * * *

The god mind, is the empty mind, the no-mind, of awareness.

As simple as it gets, the finale, of all quixotic misadventures.

 

* * * *

How can You perceive Self,

When there is no Self to apprehend?

The only proof You have, that You even exist,

Is provided by the same imagination collecting the data.

Awareness is all there is, and even it, is more than a little nebulous.

 

* * * *

Eating out of boredom is rarely a good idea.

Far better to take a walk, or better yet, a snooze.

Perhaps You will awaken a little more galvanized.

And if not, still no excuse to plunder the fridge.

 

* * * *

Fractured by imaginary ideas and impulses, of every possible tint and hue.

Heal thy Self if You have will and wit enough, to see it through and through.

 

* * * *

Dying to time, dying to memory, dying to identity, as simple as it is,

Is not an easy thing, for the ever-moving, ever consuming mind, to do.

 

* * * *

What is complete and utter detachment,

But a mind given over entirely to its natural state,

Given over to the awareness, the stillness prior to imagination.

 

* * * *

To those frequently asked questions:

What is the meaning of life?

What hours are You open?

Et cetera, et alii, ad infinitum.

Dialing zero will get You nowhere.

Please excuse me while I put You on hold.

 

* * * *

Those who fathom eternal life, abide artlessly in the ever-present moment.

To embrace the duality of space-time, and all the assumptions of identification,

Is but the living death, fashioned by the usurpation of awareness by consciousness.

 

* * * *

If You were a train engine running down the timeless track,

How many cars worth of memories would You be pulling?

 

* * * *

What is the best word to describe the passing of time?

Moving? Fleeting? Marching? Happening? Unfolding? Streaming?

Emanating? Projecting? Reflecting? Kaleidoscoping? Matrixing? Holographing?

The mystery that defies any and all description, would likely guffaw long and hard, had it a voice.

The indivisible, unfathomable, ineffable, ephemeral now, is all there is.

Space-time is but the creation of imagination.

 

* * * *

The limited mind, the parochial mind, the generic mind,

Is oblivious to the truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth,s

Indelibly obvious to the transcendent mind.

 

* * * *

The awareness You – and all that is dualistically perceived as otherness – timelessly are,

That which is prior to consciousness, that which is prior to the indivisibility,

Is without attributes, without blemish, and permeates all as one.

 

* * * *

What an ephemeral thing, this me, this my Self, this I,

This awareness, that has no bounds, no limits,

But those concocted by imagination.

 

* * * *

It is consciousness that imagines all divisions, all boundaries, all classes, all conflict.

The singularity, the awareness, from which all things emerge, is without attributes.

 

* * * *

Behind every set of eyes, an unfathomable awareness.

Peer out from that awareness, the awareness, You truly are.

 

* * * *

What You truly ever are, and are not, is prior to all assumptions,

Prior to all assertions, ‘I am this’ or ‘I am that,’

Prior even to the most austere conscious declaration: ‘I Am.’

The prior that, is the immaculate, indivisible awareness, permeating all creation.

 

* * * *

What if this incredible mystery, what if all of creation,

Was for nothing more, than to have a variety of others to babbleon to,

And see and hear and taste and smell and feel, a few interesting things along the way.

After all, the oblivion of nothingness, is a tad monotonous.

 

* * * *

Every mind born anew,

To wander the yellow brick road,

Offered by the sensory quantum holograph,

Timelessly emanating from the mystery of imagination.

 

* * * *

The human mind evolved to survive the savagery and hardship of its jungle origin.

To solve problems, to design tools, to fashion weapons, to politic with others in its domain.

And when it does not have families to raise, widgets to fabricate, fields to harvest, or battles to win.

There can be a tendency by drama-queen sorts, to summon insoluble difficulties out of thin air.

Ergo, an overpopulated world, overrun by monkey-consciousness, in near-constant flux.

Much of it, inordinately, indisputably, undeniably, beyond-the-pale meaningless.

 

* * * *

Discern it in the flurry of the world,

Discern it in the solitude of a hermitage,

Which is the greater challenge?

Does it matter, really?

Does anything?

 

* * * *

The awareness You are, discerns the body breathing in, breathing out.

The awareness You are, perceives the mind thinking this, thinking that.

The awareness You are, call it what You will: observer, watcher, witness.

Always ever-present, always motionless, always changeless, always ageless.

An eternal mystery, roaming dreams of time, in mortal patterns of every shade.

 

* * * *

We must surely be of the same source,

Else the duality, the plurality, the intangibility,

Would schism as beyond all reckoning,

As it is before all reckoning.

 

* * * *

Quantum is the building block, the source code,

And awareness, through consciousness, the designer,

Gradually awakening, through eons of creative evolution,

To the insoluble mystery of its inexplicable source.

 

* * * *

The awareness, You truly are, is not bound to any form or identity.

The ineffable mystery, which is indivisibly, irrevocably, undeniably, irrefutably, indelibly alone,

Gazes out through two eyes, listens through two ears, smells through two nostrils,

Tastes with one tongue, and feels through a maze of nerve endings.

The You, that You pretend to be, in this quantum play,

Is but a brief, temporal, sensory cosmos,

A dream born of imagination.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

Most hunger in the affluent geographies of the human paradigm,

Are about the tongue and the mind’s gluttony for more.

The eyes, the ears, the nose, the flesh, follow suit,

But have far less clout, on the ever-expanding waistline.

 

* * * *

The chronicles of human history, have as much chance of surviving as we do.

Do not assume the aliens will bother with writings and ruins,

Once the protein source has disappeared.

 

* * * *

The religions and cults, of this, or any other garden world,

Are fashioned, of the mind’s ceaseless yearning, for more, and still more,

And are, but inconsequential variations, of that, which is so much more, so much less,

Than anything, but pure awareness of the awareness, can ever attain.

 

* * * *

It is through one Self-absorption or another, that all things indivisible, are discerned.

There is no other way, that the boundless can be fathomed, but through manifest limitation.

 

* * * *

Are You a mind? Are You a body? Are You a soul?

A face? A brain? A heart? A lung? An arm? A leg? A foot?

Are You all of these mortal parts? Are You any of them?

 

* * * *

Eternal life is awareness of the awareness.

Enlightenment is awakening to the awareness.

Liberation is wandering the awareness.

Nirvana is being the awareness.

 

* * * *

For every up, there is a down; for every down, an up.

The passionate mind is a many-faced, intemperate beast.

In comparison which, the weather can seem somewhat tame. 

 

* * * *

What is the body-mind but a tool evolved to survive, to endure.

Happiness, is an occasional abundance of pain-relieving endorphins,

Between the pitiless waves of pain and suffering, on the road to extinction.

 

* * * *

Always best to look any gift horse in the mouth.

You never know what bothers, might be lying in wait.

 

* * * *

How can there be karma, if You are nothing more than the eternal moment?

Karma is but another illusory, another imaginary notion,

Playing in the smoke of the given mind.

 

* * * *

What is the soul? What is not the soul? Is there a soul?

And, if there is, is it anything that can ever be grasped?

Is it anything, that is, in any way, separate from eternity?

 

* * * *

That which is real, that which is true, at first calls, in many ways, from without,

But for those inquiring few, who have eyes to see and ears to hear,

Eventually makes Self timelessly apparent within.

 

* * * *

Like water that flows with the call of gravity,

Supply, will always seek a way, to meet demand.

 

* * * *

You are the same timeless mystery, that was before creation,

As You will be, after You timelessly dissolve back,

Into what You have ever and never been.

 

* * * *

Here You are this moment.

This moment is where You breathe in, breathe out.

This is where You sit, walk, run, eat, piss, shit, sleep; observing all the while.

Why are You thinking about yesterday, pondering about tomorrow?

They are not right here, right now; they do not exist.

 

* * * *

Divining the divine, discerning the mystery of all mysteries,

Can be a long and winding journey, replete with every agony, every ecstasy,

In which those few who earnestly quest it, eventually become it.

Some call it, God, by many names – Mystery is mine.

That which has no name, disregards all.

 

* * * *

Creation is the awareness, through quantum stardust, evolving from atoms into molecules,

Mutating into genes, into cells, into life forms, playing out consciousness,

In whatever way the patterning of the mystery allows.

And the one and only You, the real You, always the witness.

 

* * * *

Soul |sōl| noun … is defined as the spiritual or immaterial part,

Of a human being or animal, regarded as immortal.

Part? What part? How can it be a part?

Let us not confuse that which is indivisibly, eternal immortal,

With the imaginary personality, the trite character born of time-bound consciousness.

Let us not fall into the egocentric trap, that its ephemeral nature,

Is anything, that is in any way, exclusionary.

 

* * * *

To be that, which is prior to consciousness,

To be that, which is but unending awareness,

To be that, which is nada-nil-zilch nothingness,

To be that, is to be the eternal unicity in all:

Omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent.

 

* * * *

Conscience, scruples, principles, standards, values,

Ethics, ideals, virtues, integrity, morality, right and wrong.

Pillars of civilization, for those who have full belly and safe harbor.

 

* * * *

What if You knew today is your last,

But have no idea where or when or why or how it will happen.

How will You live it? Where will You go? What will You do? Who will You see? What will You say?

 

* * * *

Where would time be, without stars and sun and moon?

Without the tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock of clocks on walls?

Without ever-changing digital numbers, scribing silent screens?

What is time, but a mind-made collusion, pretending eternity is real?

 

* * * *

Never an easy task to re-condition, re-habituate, re-acclimate, re-orient,

Re-train an old dog, whether of the four-legged variety, or a mere two.

 

* * * *

Humankind is the alien species on this spinning world,

Acting out as terrifying a Twilight Zone screenplay,

As any science fiction writer could ever conceive.

Pity all the beasts who have suffered our rise.

 

* * * *

When You were young, time did not exist, because there was no history,

Against which to ruminate, to evaluate, to estimate, to duplicate, to reflect.

You were free of the weight of mind, of ego, and all the bother of self-imagery.

To discern that state of rejuvenation, to throw off the yoke of time, is the challenge.

 

* * * *

The unbearable lightness of being, is, well, unbearable,

In a topsy-turvy-inside-out-backwards-upside-down-right-side-up-convoluted,

Sort of way.

 

* * * *

What to do, when You quickly or slowly realize, that none of it really matters.

Albert Camus stated: There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.

Jiddu Krishnamurti’s answer, was a little less ominous: Do whatever amuses You.

 

* * * *

Meld, mix, merge, blend, fuse, combine, amalgamate,

Melt, mingle, disappear, dissolve, fade, vanish, evaporate, disappear, dissipate,

Mend, set, bond, join, restore, integrate, unite, heal,

Into the oneness You truly are.

 

* * * *

Be grateful to all the one-percenters and their minions for working so hard,

Building their castles, climbing their mountains, fighting their wars, counting their gold,

So that You can wander about their busy-busy world, in a state of mind, as infinite, as awareness allows,

Far more often than they, in all their mansions and jets and yachts and limousines.

 

* * * *

The tipping point of the human epoch is long past,

And all born from now on, must endure, must brave, must withstand, the ride ahead,

In whatever way the wagging winds of time blow.

 

* * * *

… awareness …

… awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness … awareness …

… awareness … awareness …

… awareness …

 

… Ad infinitum …

 

* * * *

In the tale ‘The Emperor's New Clothes,’ a tale of a vain king, swept up by a deceitful notion,

The young child, too young to understand the desirability of keeping up the pretense,

Cries out the truth no one else dared: "But he isn't wearing anything at all!"

And if You step back a bit, You will clearly see the human paradigm,

Is based entirely, on the vanity-vanity-all-is-vanity trickery, of consciousness,

An imaginary dreamtime reality, to which the eternal truth has no allegiance, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

Born of an intangible, indelible, ineffable, indivisible mystery,

Over which we have little or no say, little or no control, little or no anything.

We are all alone, together, playing out our whimsical little fates,

Which ultimately have no meaning, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

Most prefer one lie or another,

So, the question for anyone who would lead,

Is whether to feed them falsehoods, they willingly follow,

Or the truths, they will, without hesitation ignore.

 

* * * *

Why identify with anything or anyone? Why belong to any group?

Wander empty, wander anonymous, wander absolute, wander free.

 

* * * *

What makes anyone follow? What make anyone lead?

Is anyone really worth following? Is that leader really a leader?

Where is there to follow? Where is there to lead?

 

* * * *

Whether it is a rock, a statue, a painting, a concept, or flesh and blood;

Whether it is Persian, Greek, Roman, Taoist, Hindu, Buddhist, Celtic, Aztec, or any other;

Idolatry is idolatry is idolatry.

Just because it is your cultural construct,

Does not make it any less narrow or false or absurd.

 

* * * *

How can anyone look out at this overdone once-upon-a-garden world,

And think it progressing, simply because there are daily more human beings,

Daily more buildings and roads and technologies and unending clutter?

 

* * * *

Is there really a universe, a cosmos jam-packed with galaxies?

Or simply an indivisible matrix, an awareness,

Timelessly dreaming a universe?

 

* * * *

Every Rome, every empire, will fall one day or another; lucky, if it is not on You.

And if it does, so-it-goes-too-bad-so-sorry-oh-well-deal-with-it-get-over-it-move-on.

 

* * * *

If You can imagine anything, without needing to act everything out,

You will have an interesting, stimulating, easy-going existence,

With far fewer consequences to play out in the long run.

 

* * * *

The stream of consciousness is everything,

From shallow and wide, to deep and narrow,

From slow and tranquil, to swift and untamable,

And meanders every variety of tack, across all time.

 

* * * *

To give your imaginary self, completely over to the awareness,

Is to be free of all the conditioning, free of all the indoctrination, free of all the brainwashing.

Just play out the life sentence, just be witness to the dreamtime,

For which You never asked.

 

* * * *

What is the point? What is not the point? And why does there even need to be a point?

But for the obsessively driven, genetic predisposition, of the human mind,

There would never have even been, the meaningless conception,

That in all of creation, there was such a vain beast.

 

* * * *

We are all the same ineffable, indivisible, immortal, mystery of awareness.

It is consciousness, that envisions every imaginable difference.

There is, has never been, will never be, any other.

 

* * * *

So many regrets, so many things You would do differently, or likely not at all.

Would that there were more of a rewind button, than measly imagination.

But, then again, what regrets would there be, but for imagination?

 

* * * *

Is the space-time born of consciousness,

Anything more than the creation of desire and fear and dread,

Indelibly imprinted in the genetic code?

 

* * * *

Melding with truth cannot be forced.

Effortlessness is the way to the Way.

 

* * * *

You are awareness: nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

Everything else is but the endless confabulation of imagination.

 

* * * *

In the wrestling match between nature and human consciousness,

It is not all that arduous, to predict which will inevitably triumph.

Malthus was only off, by a relatively few cycles, of the given star.

 

* * * *

What a beast, deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA), in its mindless quest for immortality,

That it would relentlessly persevere in propagating consciousness,

Into so many hazardous, torturous circumstances:

Ailments, illnesses, infections, viruses, syndromes, diseases,

Maladies, disorders, accidents, disasters, misfortunes, catastrophes,

Mishaps, malaise, mayhem, turmoil, havoc, bedlam, anarchy, pandemonium,

Calamites, conflicts, and every other sort of indescribably painful whatever, ad infinitum.

 

* * * *

And the moral of the story of the human epoch,

And its imaginary stream of consciousness,

Through all its myriad mortal filters,

Is?

 

* * * *

The predator’s fang and claw, the prey’s swiftness,

And the untamed, brutish, Darwinian wild between.

 

* * * *

You might become excruciatingly aware of your conditioning,

Your indoctrination, your habituation, your domestication,

Your brainwashing, your programming, your encoding,

But whether or not You can fundamentally change it,

Is an experiment You must investigate very much alone.

 

* * * *

What is normal?

What is not normal?

 

* * * *

You imagine there is point to all this absurdity?

Well, no, there is not, there never was, there never will be.

It is simply an emanating, kaleidoscoping, hologram of pointlessness,

Seemingly destined to play out, until there is absolutely nothing left to play out.

 

* * * *

If not today, maybe tomorrow.

If not tomorrow, maybe the next day.

If not the next day, maybe the next, or the one after, or the one after that,

Or maybe never.

 

* * * *

The senses created the illusion of space and time,

And space and time created the mind.

A quantum circle jerk.

 

* * * *

What is desire, what is fear, what is dread,

But the projection of possibilities,

Given the weight of passion.

 

* * * *

Love and compassion, animosity and indifference, or some conduit between,

Or perhaps what equally, indifferently, permeates them all:

The equanimity of pure awareness.

 

* * * *

The nowness that You perceive, the nowness to which You cling,

The nowness that You every moment, spin into your dream of time,

Is already nothing more, than the ephemeral ash of imagination.

 

* * * *

Always curious, how humans rationalize any given scenario differently,

Depending on whether or not, it is their tribe, their team, their view, their anything.

Yet another monkey thing, playing out the given egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric-heliocentric;

The me-myself-and-I, around which the entire human paradigm ceaselessly orbits.

 

* * * *

Purpose and meaning, and all the passions of vanity, are overrated.

Only in unmitigated detachment, is there any resolution to the human absurdity.

Stop knowing, stop caring, stand alone, wander alone, absolute and free.

 

* * * *

Except for their physical presence,

Those who have died, are as much with You,

As they were when they were alive.

It is all the play of mind.

 

* * * *

Where are You, in the ever-present moment,

But the neural theater of consciousness, of imagination.

That play of mind that You believe, that You assume, real and true.

 

* * * *

Science can never measure, more than the kaleidoscoping veil, of the electromagnetic spectrum.

The immeasurable is immeasurable, no matter how intricate the veneer, technology might weave.

 

* * * *

Wear a ‘kick me’ sign, and give them a button to an electrical shocker, to push, as well.

Guaranteed more than a few, will get great joy, launching firm kicks, as they click away.

 

* * * *

You are as short as You are tall, as tall as You are short.

You are as small as You are large, as large as You are small.

You are as weak as You are strong, as strong as You are weak.

You are as ugly as You are beautiful, as beautiful as You are ugly.

You are as stupid as You are smart, as smart as You are stupid.

You are as foolish as You are wise, as wise as You are foolish.

You are as unreal as You are real, as real as You are unreal.

 

* * * *

How can You prepare for death,

But by living every timeless, eternal moment, as attentively as possible.

Death is in the living.

 

* * * *

Scientists are explorers of the mysterious unknown, of the perpetual enigma,

Using ever-evolving technology, to fathom beyond the limits of the sensory panorama,

Yet restricted all the while, by the conditioned mind, through which they perceive,

Through which they futilely measure, but a veil, of that which is immeasurable.

 

* * * *

How far is far? How close is close? How large is large? How small is small?

The elephant asked the mouse, who answered, “Even God does not know.”

 

* * * *

All speculation shall hereby cease. hereby desist,

And all well-meaning witnesses, shall, from here on, refrain,

From any further mentioning, any further hinting, any further pretending,

About anything of the esoteric, that they do not, cannot, know.

They shall be silent, and keep counsel to themselves,

That the thistles of the world might declaw,

And the age of humankind, carry on,

In a more agreeable manner.

 

Pfft, yeah, right, sure.

 

* * * *

Unify within and without, until within and without, dissolve into a stillness,

In which the boundaries, the movement of imagination, disappear.

And the harmony of the manifest, becomes Self apparent.

 

* * * *

Another day of the blissful nirvana,

Of shopping-shopping-and-still-more-shopping,

For more, of what likely, was never needed in the first place.

 

* * * *

Awareness, peers out from the emptiness, through the filters of consciousness,

Which tailors the world, the cosmos, to its own conditioned, self-absorbed design.

 

* * * *

In consciousness, You are a human becoming.

In awareness, You are a human being.

 

* * * *

What is death, but one day not waking up,

And the ripples of corporeal existence, ceasing to emanate,

Into whatever fragment of the cosmos, your given dreamtime played out.

Whether or not, You left any footprint after your departure, is not for You to ever perceive.

Only the omniscient-omnipresent-omnipotent, immortal mystery, witnesses all,

In the awareness, the nothingness, the oblivion, that is, and is not.

 

* * * *

Another moment, becoming yet another vague memory,

In the baggage train of mind, and all its inflated perceptions,

Of this so-called reality, and the collusion, in which it participates.

 

* * * *

To put behind You, all paradigms consciousness might concoct,

Is to expand into a state of sovereignty, no finite mind can grasp.

 

* * * *

Eternity whisks away every footstep, without thought, without remorse.

Only the sensory mind-body, bound to the dream of time,

Imagines any of it, ultimately real.

 

* * * *

Wisdom is the distillation, of all the ecstasies and agonies,

That have brought You to this point, in the eternity of mind.

 

* * * *

We all have many experiences that call us, many interests that draw us, down long and winding paths.

It could be family or friends or community or work or politics or religion or business or ivory tower.

Or creativity or nature or travel or cooking or shopping or sports or current events or heroic causes.

Or sex or gambling or drugs or lying or cheating or stealing or wreaking or blathering incoherently.

Or merely perching day after day, in front of televisions or computers, or in taverns or coffee shops.

We encounter many things in our given windows of time – the scroll is as long as imagination allows.

But as our dream moves on, and we steadily age, our diversions, our amusements, slowly whittle down.

And whatever it is, in the end, that drums most loudly in the mind’s eye, will be capstone to one’s destiny.

 

* * * *

Challenging as it may be to detach,

From the many pleasures, the many pains, mind and body tender,

The ultimate reality, is that nothing ever actually touches, the immortal You, that You truly are.

Imagination, has always believed itself, more real than it can ever be.

 

* * * *

When it comes down to the nuts and bolts of this whodunit,

It is what it is, nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

Nothing that anyone believes about it, truly matters.

It is all the same grist, grinding away in the same mill.

 

* * * *

Quibbling over evolution, quibbling over chromosomes, quibbling over anything,

Does not change the most essential, the most ineffaceable, the most indivisible reality,

That everything is connected, and that any origin, any means, will ever remain a mystery.

 

* * * *

All things are equally the creation of the entirety, none are more or less.

Even discerning it, does not bestow any more quantum standing.

To lay any claim upon it, is naught but hollow prattle.

 

* * * *

There is me, and there is Me.

There is the You, that is separate, that is different,

And there is the You, that is the same as Me.

One imaginary, the other, as real and true,

As any vat of nothingness, can ever be.

 

* * * *

The passions can be a heady mix of emotions, often impetuous, barely controllable.

From Wikipedia, a list of the A-to-W ways, it can play out in any of us: affection, anger,

Angst, anguish, annoyance, anticipation, anxiety, apathy, arousal, awe, boredom, confidence,

Contempt, contentment, courage, curiosity, depression, desire, despair, disappointment, disgust,

Distrust, ecstasy, embarrassment, empathy, envy, euphoria, fear, frustration, gratitude, grief,

Guilt, happiness, hatred, hope, horror, hostility, humiliation, interest, jealousy, joy,

Loneliness, love, lust, outrage, panic, passion, pity, pleasure, pride, rage, regret,

Remorse, resentment, sadness, saudade, schadenfreude, self-confidence,

Shame, shock, shyness, sorrow, suffering, surprise, trust, wonder,

Worry, and who knows how many honorable mentions,

In the hard-wiring, of the jungles of long ago.

We are the Planet of the Apes, indeed.

 

* * * *

… breathe in nothingness …

… breathe out nothingness … breathe out nothingness …

… breathe out nothingness … breathe out nothingness … breathe out nothingness …

… breathe out nothingness … breathe out nothingness …

… breathe in nothingness …

 

* * * *

Is the human paradigm, really any different, than any petri dish lab experiment?

Any different, than any microorganism overrunning its given geography,

As it instinctively propagates, toward its inexorable extinction.

The biological imperative, will out and out, again and again, forever again.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the baseline of all consciousness,

No matter the manifestation, no matter the dimension.

Prior to that eternal stillness, that timeless now,

It is naught but an unfathomable mystery.

 

* * * *

A world of causes, ever-emanating into effects, and effects ever-emanating into causes.

In a world of ever-emanating consequences, free will ever be a debatable assumption.

 

* * * *

It is what it is.

You get what You get.

You can only do so much with it.

 

* * * *

How real, how alive, can the quantum of the electromagnetic spectrum ever be,

But through the streaming mix 'n match of the given sensory theater,

And whatever delusions of imagination it orchestrates.

 

* * * *

Eternity, does not at all, careen or lurch.

It does not sputter, it does not shake.

It does not jerk, it does not strain.

It does not stick, it does not slip.

It does not tick, it does not  tock.

It does not do anything, but be exactly what it is,

Which is to kaleidoscope, to emanate, smoother than silk, in every way imaginable.

 

* * * *

Same witness, in every concoction,

Each one brilliant, each one ignorant,

In their own unique and predictable way.

 

* * * *

What a foolish pretender, to wander into Jerusalem, believing the powers that were really cared,

What he was going to say, what he was going to do, if it threatened their world in any way.

Their power, their renown, their fortune, was not about to be surrendered to an upstart.

To a self-proclaimed, wannabe messiah – martyred, all alone, on a barren mount.

How expedient to get oneself mythologized, at such a marketable young age.

 

* * * *

What need for faith in anything?

What is faith but a form of intellectual laziness,

A lack of discerning exactness, a lack of discipline for critical inquiry,

To discover the truth of this mystery, for one Self.

 

* * * *

You think imagination reigns?

Think again, Pilgrim, think again.

It will soon be, as if You were never born.

 

* * * *

All attachment to the temporal is pointless.

The sense of Self, exists only for as long, as the mind-body is able to function,

In the manner, its nature-nurture conditioning, has concocted.

Its inevitable death extinguishes all.

 

* * * *

Politics, economics, religion, sports, movies, et cetera, et cetera,

Are nothing more than the yabber of minds bent on distraction.

 

* * * *

Death happens.

Whether in a few minutes, a few hours, a few weeks, a few months, or thousands of years,

All living creatures endure one mortal clock, one mortal conclusion or another,

And everything now living, will someday stumble to its graveyard.

Only the genomes, the blueprints that shape existence,

Can lay claim to nominal immortality,

In Darwin’s natural-selection breeding program.

And then, even the most hardy, will inevitably face extinction.

 

* * * *

Do not confuse the brain, that is creating this timeless manifest dream,

With the time-bound mind, that is through imagination interpreting it.

 

* * * *

To know that which is mystery, that which is absolute,

You must engage in the ever-present moment, to such a degree,

As to completely forget, whatever temporal role,

You imagine the awareness to be.

 

* * * *

Eternal life is not something remembered, not something born of the mind in time.

It is merely being the timeless awareness, the timeless nowness, the timeless emptiness, You truly are.

There is nothing to become, nothing to prove, nothing to maintain, nothing to pretend.

To be in that state of timeless quietude, is to be all there is to be.

 

* * * *

The conditioning, the habituation, the programming, the indoctrination, the brainwashing,

Is hypnotizing, mesmerizing, absorbing, enthralling, spellbinding, captivating, convincing, blinding.

How much more challenging it is, to be what You really, truly are, than what You pretend to be.

 

* * * *

Why would anything, ever have to be done, in any certain way?

To be locked into any particular view, is to miss the fact,

That the way is forever boundless and unaligned.

 

* * * *

If You are a hardcore religious wingnut, a true believer of the dittohead persuasion,

What would You do, if You actually met your messiah, your prophet, your guru,

And did not believe him, did not adore him, wished You had never even heard of him?

Would it aggravate You, would it wake You up, or would You just start searching for another?

 

* * * *

No belief, no faith, no dogma, is required.

Let go of consciousness, of thought, of imagination.

Simply be the awareness, You truly are.

Simply be the given here now.

 

* * * *

What are the nerves – eyes and ears and nose and tongue and flesh, in the human paradigm –

But the mortal tendrils to all heavens, to all hells, and all the purgatories between.

Each and every organism, an entirely matchless cosmos unto its Self.

 

* * * *

Most people across the world only wake up long enough,

To swallow another blue pill, and push the snooze button.

 

* * * *

You have never existed as more than a thought.

How can the ephemeral ever-present, the timeless moment,

The indivisible quantum, ever be alive, but through imaginary notion?

 

* * * *

How can a collection of self-replicating molecules –

Chemical reactions, organized matter – be called life?

 

* * * *

This singular instant is all it is.

There is nothing more, nothing less, for it to be.

Discern the immeasurable expanse, between becoming and being.

 

* * * *

See it, hear it, taste it, smell it, feel it, as awareness alone, uncarved,

Without the imaginary self-perception, and all its a priori attachments.

 

* * * *

The only law in a Darwinian world, is the ability to adapt to change.

It may not be the strongest, nor the most intelligent that continue,

But by enabling weakness, by fostering political correctness,

Civilization assures its decline, and eventual destruction.

 

* * * *

These writings are for the rare few, inclined to fully examine the underlying form of existence.

Best stop quickly, if You lack the doubt, the skepticism, the cynicism, required.

Elsewise, You might find yourself down an infinite rabbit hole,

For which You have neither hunger nor aptitude.

 

* * * *

Vanity, vanity, all is vanity; there is no way out.

The delusion, that You even think You exist, is vanity.

 

* * * *

You are awareness, as infinitesimally small, as You are infinitely large.

You are awareness, neither infinitesimally small, nor infinitely large.

You are the awareness, that is neither infinitesimal, nor infinite at all.

 

* * * *

The burden of time,

The burden of history,

The burden of tradition,

Are the burden of mind.

 

* * * *

Does the descending spiral of revenge, have any end,

Without some sort of letting go, some form of detachment,

Whether through forgiveness, or simply a shrug of the shoulders?

 

* * * *

The absolute is absolutely indifferent,

To the variable winds of ecstasy and agony,

That transpire, in the consciousness, born of mind.

 

* * * *

You did not ask to be born, so why not play your existence, in whatever way suits You?

To be bound by any other’s expectations, is to miss out exploring your own potential.

 

* * * *

Hell is in the details, and those little wonders of bother,

Tend to multiply exponentially, and in accelerating fashion.

 

* * * *

Do not even for a moment, expect others to worship your indivisible realization.

More than a few would be only too willing to slit your throat,

Or fling You into a deep-dark-dank leper’s den.

You are on your, so-it-goes-deal-with-it-get-over-it-move-on, own.

 

* * * *

Conflict is rarely spawned by just one factor, one issue, one difference,

And any win-win solution, if that is the goal in any negotiation,

Requires all parties to tether their pride to some degree.

Wrong assumptions, taking things personally, is a sure road to war.

 

* * * *

What need for the sanction of any other,

Once You discern the mystery You truly are.

 

* * * *

You have played out every conceivable mythological role:

God, Allah, Brahmin, Tao, Buddha, Christ, and on and on, ad infinitum.

None of them are anything more than collusions, born of the idolatrous monkey-mind.

Let them all go, give Self over to the eternal awareness, prior to all naming, prior to all imagination.

There absolutely is no need, to be, to pretend, anything more, than the timeless stillness,

The quantum indivisibility, You are, have ever been, and will ever be.

 

* * * *

No, that new technology is not going to save us;

Only further postpone the Malthusian inevitability.

 

* * * *

Does the tiger think itself a tiger? The whale, a whale?

The shark, a shark? The crow, a crow? The snake, a snake? The frog, a frog?

The ant, an ant? The spider, a spider? The worm, a worm? The weed, a weed? A microbe, a microbe?

Or do they all merely act out the given instinctual patterns,

That all this mystery’s creatures small to great,

Play out in harmonized fashion; a ballet that knows no bounds.

And is humankind, despite all the pretenses of consciousness, really doing any different?

 

* * * *

The quantum matrix is a spaceless, timeless, immeasurable fact.

Measure it, evaluate it, in every way imaginable, even unto the big crunch,

All anyone will ever calculate, all anyone will ever speculate, is but the veil of illusion.

 

* * * *

Contentment is the final challenge of existence,

And gratitude, the vehicle to that ethereal conclusion.

 

* * * *

It took all of creation for humankind to reach its first billion,

And only a smidgen over two hundred years to hive up toward eight billion.

No matter how the numbers are crunched, there is no happy ending to the human epoch.

 

* * * *

Most every human being, has at least one group, one tribe, with which they repeatedly identify.

It is a monkey thing, for which we were hard-wired, in the canopied jungles of long ago.

To stand alone, entirely free of any identification, may well be almost impossible,

For all but the rarest of the rarest of the rare, and even then, very unlikely.

 

* * * *

How insipidly tedious and stagnant, so many lives are forced to become,

To offset the grinding debt, modern lifestyles far too often attain.

How enviable the unadorned existence of our ancestors,

In their hunting-gathering shelters and caves.

Not easy, of course, but far less bother,

Than striving to keep up with the Joneses.

 

* * * *

Despite all its innumerable strengths, all its determined exertions, in the quest for truth,

The scientific mind, is ever-hampered in its quest for objectivity,

By its very subjective limitations.

 

* * * *

Once the sensory cosmos convinces the mind, to take its awareness seriously,

It is condemned to play an imaginary, impromptu role, until death does it part.

 

* * * *

Physical pain and discomfort, have a tendency to put a damper on attitude.

And along with watching this garden orb spiral into every sort of horror and absurdity,

Can be a substantial challenge, to any Sisyphus, daily rolling the boulder up the hill.

Any Atlas, bothering to carry the weight of heaven and earth, upon his shoulders.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how, is not a teacher in this manifest play?

Family, lovers, friends, acquaintances, strangers, enemies,

All the places, all the things, all the many creatures small to great,

All the stars, all the worlds, all the moons, all the particles, speeding on high,

Do they not all give You pause, to ponder on, to wonder about, anything and everything?

 

* * * *

The source for one, is the source for all,

Which means in the ever-changing quantum theater,

All things small to great, are ever consuming, ever being consumed.

It is an inseparable, kaleidoscoping, one-in-all-all-in-one, god-eat-god, perpetuity.

 

* * * *

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.