Leftovers Added to “The Return to Wonder”
Transferred to fill out the diminished ten-page blocks during the very gradual edit underway since September 2015.
Chapter One
Here you are, a drop of the grand mystery,
Weighing in as best you can with what tools you have,
Still unable to fathom any who-what-where-when-why-how to it.
What can you do but be here, be now, temporal witness to the dream of time.
* * * *
If it is your calling, your fortune, your kismet, your fate, your destiny,
You will discern the me within you, the you within me, the same me,
The same awareness within and between all things great to small.
* * * *
Other than the endlessly wearing reality
That two-legged existence is politics from the get-go,
Why would it matter even one iota what any other thinks of you?
Forever alone, you must daily pretend you are not.
* * * *
Light gets in your eye; sound, in your ear; taste, in your mouth;
Touch, in your flesh; smell in your nose; a universe in your mind.
* * * *
Informal communities are a little more relaxed,
A little more cordial, a little more civil, little less disheartening,
Than the more organized, teeming, frenzied kind.
* * * *
How can you think
You have accomplished anything
If you have not yet discovered the unconditioned?
* * * *
The universe has been spontaneously, ingeniously crafted
That you might penetrate this point in time,
Conscious witness to the play.
The price of the ticket: ecstasy, agony, death.
* * * *
The world, the universe, the hologram, the matrix, the quantum, call it what you will,
Is in a relentless state of consumption, a constant state of fluctuation,
Unscathed, unchanged, uncaring, all the while.
* * * *
To all who caste themselves upon high, who herald themselves greater,
Know well there are many who reside on the level playing field
Who do not and will never subscribe to hollow pretense.
Might may make right, but it does not make true.
* * * *
Duality is temporal illusion.
There truly is no other.
Nor was there ever a second.
The real you has always been, ever is,
And will ever be, number one.
* * * *
Identity is but an imprisoning, painful habit,
A play of light of temporal reality,
A fabrication to which mind desperately clings.
It requires the greatest courage of spirit to journey beyond it.
* * * *
At some point playing a prescribed identity
And participating in the collusion
Becomes so insufferable
Seeking release is not a choice.
* * * *
Wander with an empty cup,
Always an apprentice, always a beginner.
Eventually, perhaps you will even do away with the cup.
* * * *
You may use a variety of drugs
To understand the relativity of consciousness,
But remember they are but tools to be consumed in moderation,
That it is the essential nature, not the medicine,
Which is being explored.
* * * *
Remember always that you are the creator of this playful illusion.
When you surrender and journey timelessly prior and beyond birth and death,
There is a growing awareness of the absolute's infinite power within.
A time to be even more wary of Maya's enticing games.
* * * *
You know only what has been agreed upon within the given cultural blend.
Beyond the echoing collusion of any mythological set,
You can really know nothing.
* * * *
Until one sees it as an illusory, kaleidoscoping theater of light,
Pleasure and pain, the vexation that consciousness is,
Will continue, oblivious to the timeless at hand.
* * * *
So what is the point?
The point is: Here you are, right now, it is all you.
Breathe it in, breathe it out.
* * * *
You know only what has been agreed upon within the given cultural blend.
Beyond the echoing collusion of any mythological set,
You can really know nothing.
* * * *
Consume whatever you will,
But always, keep a firm reign of moderation
As you ride the mad bull through all its potential consequences.
* * * *
Man and woman merge in the throws of sexual ecstasy.
In the quiet tempest of goo, two fertile eggs unite.
In the mystery of the woman’s dark womb,
In the eternal stillness before time,
The seed grows, forms into life.
Out comes an organism
Wired for a fate yet unknown
Into a universe of its own conception.
* * * *
You cannot expect, or even hope,
That many will even begin to comprehend
This inward journey you are compelled to wander.
It is a lifetime sojourn into the utter aloneness of true nature.
It is a many-are-called-few-are-chosen-fewer-still-volunteer kind of thing.
* * * *
Neither resistance nor acceptance will connect you to the ultimate state of awareness.
You must be, allow, embrace, every aspect of consciousness as a whole,
If you are to rediscover the unbound state of the newborn.
* * * *
The other creates opportunity for reflection,
Something to which many throughout time and space
Have given their lives over, most often willingly, sometime not.
It is a creative enterprise, the pleasure of which sustains beyond measure.
Chapter Two
That little gratification, that little pleasure,
That little satisfaction, that little amusement, that little enjoyment,
That little hedonistic longing, that little decadent inclination, that little narcissistic notion,
How much do you really need it? How important is it, really?
* * * *
Double-speakers calling the circle, square, and the square, circle.
And weary octagons forever on their own, ever out on limbs too far.
* * * *
Every moment springing simultaneously anew within the indivisible quantum matrix.
All its concoctions, all its innumerable forms, ever the same source,
Ever the same awareness, ever the same you-ness,
Ever the same boggling mystery.
How astounding this indelible Song of Godness,
This eternal eye gazing out the masks and veils of manifestation.
* * * *
Awareness is the “awakeness” of all living creations,
Of the indivisible quantum matrix, the stardust, come to “life.”
It is the eternal eye of the unknown prior to all manifestation ever-changing,
And whatever dreams they in spontaneous combustion may inspire.
* * * *
You have been filled to the brim with countless vain distractions
That are ultimately nothing more than deceptions formed of sensory illusion.
Attributes spun of random, arbitrary evolutionary happenstance,
Nothing more than nothingness playing its Self real.
* * * *
In all destinies there is an executioner, an assassin, a slayer,
Ever formed of the earth-air-water-fire of all things here-now ether.
There is no escape for the awareness you are, only an abiding endurance.
Spurn the Fates, they cannot touch you once the shadow of karma loses its hold.
* * * *
Call it what you will – soul, self, cosmos, god, whatever –
You are the awareness, not a dream of consciousness.
* * * *
At some point the fevered monopoly game runs out of new ground,
And the worn and torn infrastructure turns to gravity for resolution.
* * * *
Identity is the mistaken belief that the awareness you really are
Is at all attached to the sundry attributes of the food-body,
Or the world of appearances through which it renders.
Chapter Three
The universe exists because the oneness cannot do it all but through the many.
Truth is, who would ever want to revel in every ecstasy,
Much less endure every agony?
* * * *
Can you take all the pain upon which you dwell,
And cast it away in one mighty knock-down toss?
* * * *
Water flows, plants grow, birds fly, universes bang, universes crunch.
Only the mind you imagine you are daily struggles to be more or less.
* * * *
All seeds merely inherited genetic blueprints
Dutifully playing out their design.
No brag, just fact.
* * * *
If you are still looking for something, try turning your mind inside out.
Look to nothing, see what it is, see what it is not,
And that it is the just reward.
* * * *
Best deal with the fact that relatively very, very few
Really give a rat’s ass about your existence
At any relatively meaningful level.
* * * *
When the ebbing and flowing of the essence, the quantum fever, subsides,
When foreword is no longer forward, when backward is no longer backward,
When the singular awareness transcends the ever-moving tides of thought,
Where is the me-myself-and-I that believed its imaginary realm so real?
* * * *
Erase all boundaries, burn all flags, discern the common ground of awareness,
And wander your universe unburdened by the differences born of imagination.
* * * *
For consciousness to examine itself, for awareness to become aware of itself,
For the mystery to gaze into the indivisible depths of its mystery,
Is not this the ultimate raison d'être for all creation?
* * * *
How ridiculous it is to believe anyone individual can save anything or anyone,
When in the reality of this kaleidoscoping dream, there is nothing to save.
And even if there were, it would be the matrix-level synergy doing it,
Not some illusory persona wrapped in inflated self-absorption.
* * * *
What is the Bible but a poorly organized history book, laced with smatterings of wisdom,
Certainly no greater than any other so-called scripture written across this temporal orb.
* * * *
You are entirely a dream in everyone else’s awareness, and they in yours.
We are all alone together, from this shore to the farthest reaches and beyond.
* * * *
Through all creation, all preservation, all destruction,
The indivisible nothingness of totality reigns absolute.
Chapter Four
The senses daily pull you into believing the dream real.
To greet every moment as nothing is, indeed, a challenge.
* * * *
Move beyond being merely a corporeal, temporal entity.
You are not a human being, you are not bound by any form.
* * * *
All there is to remember … Oy vey!
What a load in that head of yours.
* * * *
Earth, wind, water, fire, quantum ether.
That is all that all of this grand mystery truly is.
Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
Forget everything.
Be everything.
Be nothing.
* * * *
Awareness is a very nothing-but-youness.
What is there to think about, really?
* * * *
How many dimensions might there be?
How many ways can you cut any pie?
* * * *
Perhaps rather than calling it a redistribution of wealth,
It should be called a redistribution of compassion.
* * * *
To see what cannot be seen,
Hear what cannot be heard,
Taste what cannot be tasted,
Smell what cannot be smelled,
Touch what cannot be touched,
Now there is the rub.
* * * *
Whether intentional or not, those who have, those who can,
Often enslave those who do not have, those who cannot.
* * * *
At some point there is really no need to even assert “I Am.”
Just being – breathing in, breathing out – is more than enough.
* * * *
It can indeed be a long and winding and oft times lonely road
Until you discern the matrix through which all time-bound linear notions wander,
Is, has ever been, will ever be, eternal aloneness unto thy Self.
Chapter Five
How is it that you ever imagined
That your origin was ever any different
Than anyone or anything else’s?
* * * *
Filling the day with another round of nothing?
Or filling another nothing with a round of day?
* * * *
It is what it is, and nothing anyone thinks or does
Has ever mattered even one iota of diddley-squat.
* * * *
History is whatever each of us thinks it is, and much of it absurd hogwash.
Time always boils down to be here now, and enjoy or endure it as best ye may.
* * * *
What is the universe?
And what makes you believe it has ever existed
In any which-way the senses have deceived your mind into daily believing?
* * * *
The Seven Deadlies: Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Wrath, Greed, Sloth.
The cornerstone for any narcissistic, hedonistic, Sybarite.
The perdition of any of monk-ish design.
* * * *
The one mind discerns the one in all, the one mind discerns there is no other.
What point anything but compassion, even for the most abominable.
We are all just visitors here, prisoners here, of our own device.
* * * *
The now streams indivisibly each and every moment into the next,
While the sensory mind consumes it, metabolizes it, weaves it,
Into a perception of time, which only imagination knows.
* * * *
Nobody really knows what is going on around any given corner;
How could they possibly know is happening across the universe?
Or who-what-where-when-why-how it all started in the first place?
Chapter Six
Through the endless suffering caused by extremes,
The moderation of the middle path is discerned.
* * * *
Stop pretending to know.
You do not, never did, never will,
And no one else does, did, nor will, either.
Agnostic is the only frank assertion under any sun.
* * * *
What attachment can awareness have to anything?
Only the winds of consciousness fabricates attributes
Of every form, of every hue, of every shade of gray.
* * * *
Light is only discerned through awareness,
And awareness only possible through manifestation
In one form, one dimension, or another.
The possibilities are infinite,
But there is but one source to all.
* * * *
Is there anything not made stronger
When fashioned by a certain amount of challenge,
A certain amount of adversity, a certain amount of pain and suffering.
Of the qualities needed for survival in this manifest world,
Amorphous is likely only rarely included.
Chapter Seven
From nothingness to nothingness,
The manifest journey between naught but imagination,
And death before dying the only release.
* * * *
Best never to presume you know another’s mind,
Without figuring out what is going on in yours first.
* * * *
Evaporate the wind-blown clouds of consciousness
That swirl through the awareness you truly are.
* * * *
What have you really given your child if it does not include
Discipline, fortitude, resourcefulness, gumption, and grit?
* * * *
If you know pain, you likely know fear, and what weaves pain
But the conditioned mind that clings to its imaginary universe.
Chapter Eight
Through awareness of the other comes awareness of the no other.
* * * *
You cannot erase pain unless you deal with its cause,
And that may or may not be well beyond possible.
* * * *
At some point, it there really anything that you have to do ever again?
Seriously, how many times do you have to brush your teeth to get the gist?
* * * *
What we call knowledge is no less imaginary than any fairy tale.
Both are equal products, equal conscripts, of the time born of mind.
Chapter Nine
You are but another life form, another creature, another universe,
Ultimately as anonymous as any other Mother Gaia has ever created.
* * * *
Do you seriously believe any supreme being
Would not be bored to tears with human absurdity by now?
Likely less the absentee landlord than the gone-fishing project manager.
* * * *
It is less about what any other thinks about you,
Than it is what you think they think about you.
* * * *
Whatever bearing you take on this inexplicable mystery,
Whether the all-knowing many-faced version,
Or that all knowledge is fabricated,
Where are you left with the vision offered?
* * * *
What to do when the world and all its vanities no longer moves you,
When thought subsides and the mind is content to reside in awareness.
* * * *
How much time have you dwelled on all the inanities of the human drama?
What do you need to prove, what can you prove, to any other anymore, really?
* * * *
Always examine, always question, anything and everything closely for your Self.
To blindly accept another’s outlook as truth without a critical eye,
Is a dark and wayward road down which the mob
Has traveled times beyond counting.
Chapter Ten
What was the face of God before you were born, what will it be after you die,
But the same faceless, still awareness it has always been
In every timeless here now
Since long before the advent of stardust.
* * * *
We two-leggeds embrace a good story.
Weave a mundane shopping list into a tale,
And it risks becoming a coast-to-coast best seller.
* * * *
The cause becomes the effect becomes the cause becomes the effect becomes …
In the streamlessness-causelessness-effectlessness of it all.
* * * *
Once you own any thought, any concept, any impression,
Once any perception is added to the dynamic of your frame of reference,
The insights it reveals, mix-and-match-new-and-unique,
Double-double-toil-and-trouble meld,
Into the witch’s brew of your paradigm stew.
* * * *
None are islands in this finite, temporal, mortal dream of time.
Only in eternal awareness are all worlds, all universes, undone.
* * * *
This one and only timeless moment, are you giving it your full attention?
* * * *
You can think about this grand mystery in whatever way you wish,
Or not at all, for all that it matters.
Chapter Eleven
Some get born into pondering such as these, some are found and hijacked into them,
But most of those who investigate the indelible unknown of their own accord
Must discover the way with their own blend of doubt and gumption,
And the many serendipities of the given Yellow Brick Road.
* * * *
Awareness is the only god,
The only dogma, the only shrine, the only idol, the only symbol,
The only truth anyone really needs.
* * * *
What is any story but the chaff surrounding a message, a moral,
The fruit that draws a creature to consume the kernel and convey it to new ground,
The means to draw a reader, a listener, to a conclusion, to an insight,
That may flourish, and perchance ripple further still.
* * * *
You are here now because your genetic line,
Since existence kicked off in the swampy puddle of origin,
Somehow survived, somehow thrived, at least long enough to procreate.
The consecration of patterned happenstance; nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
Windows of agreeable health and vibrant energy are but fleeting reprieves
From the calamitous endgame that is as sure and true as sure and true can be.
* * * *
Pain is best met with a certain amount of detachment
If it is to be endured without morphing into the suffering
The human mind so effortlessly, so readily, entertains.
* * * *
You cannot force someone to like you, to give of themselves willingly.
That is of a resonation inspired by an inexplicable dynamic,
A mix of commonalities of mind, body, spirit,
That may even include vibrations at a molecular level.
* * * *
What is any word but a stagnant thing
Without the dynamic of the eternal moment
Beneath the wave upon which it surfs.
* * * *
What does any patterning great or small do
But waft through its tiny slice of matrix
For as long as its shelf life pertains.
* * * *
All these inventions we tool-makers have conceived and manifested into the day-to-day,
And many if not most feverishly straining to keep up with the beast it has wrought,
Often competing with the myriad creations as if we ourselves were machines,
But really only ending up more and more inane, more and more insane.
What are we and this dream world but victims of our own insatiable vanity.
Chapter Twelve
The writings of any seers should be called just that: writings, notes, works, books.
Not scriptures, because the definition often implies some sort of authority,
And in when it comes to the unknowable, there is no such thing.
All are inquiring into the same mystery to which all have equal access.
And for anyone to claim any expertise, or some greater connection, is absurd.
* * * *
We are molecular beings inhabiting a molecular universe.
The drug-induced possibilities offered by Eden are many and varied.
How they came to be is ever a question without answer,
Other than to say, “Yay, Team Quantum.”
* * * *
Release the world in your mind,
And where are you, when are you,
But the only now that has ever been.
* * * *
Challenging to let go of vanity when the mind-body duality so inspires it
With the countless delusions that desire and fear fuel in this dream of time.
* * * *
Imagine existing in this world when it was perfectly untamed,
And you with neither claw nor fang, only mind and opposable thumb,
And an abiding, pitiless will to survive, and perchance thrive.
You are a direct descendant, the genomic outcome,
Of those who somehow persevered
From the puddle of origin to this here now.
* * * *
No one is even near as notable or essential
As so many spend their lives vainly believing.
The countless delusions of the human paradigm
Must certainly be the laughingstock of the universe,
Assuming, of course, that the universe is even watching.
* * * *
Breathe in you.
Breathe out you.
* * * *
It was perhaps when our kind began to communicate,
When we discerned that we all perceive our worlds differently,
That we began to harbor resentments and merge together as mindsets,
And in doing so, truly set in motion the dystopian endgame
In which we the descendants now find ourselves.
* * * *
To just completely, absolutely be,
At such a level as to neither assume nor judge,
Is a yogic feat of the highest order.
* * * *
The potential of concept is that the essence of many things can be clearly discerned
Without ever having to experience them in the first person
Once the frame of reference
Has the depth and breadth of an abundant life.
* * * *
The mortal coil comes into being, grows bright, dims, and expires,
Ever the same quantum essence witnessing its inexplicable nature.
* * * *
There is only one quantum dimension, one quantum matrix, one quantum soul.
Neither within nor without, neither known nor unknown,
Neither here nor there, you are.
* * * *
What will endure, what will emerge, what will reign,
After mammalian life can no longer survive this spinning garden orb
That humankind has through the twists and turns of consciousness forever desecrated?
What great kingdom would you not readily yield for a time machine
To witness Eden play out it magical mystery.
* * * *
Curiosity is one of those things that generally lessens over time.
It is the tool of the young in the sponge-time of their lives,
The time when they are exploring, finding their way.
To daily view the universe with fresh eyes is a rare feat.
* * * *
To give attention to the ephemeral eternal moment
Is a busy-busy, measuring-measuring mind’s most arduous task.
The imaginary past and its countless projected futures stoke far too much passion
For the quietude of eternity to be allotted its true autonomy.
* * * *
The nothing and everything from which all creation does and does not emanate.
The ethereal nada’s kaleidoscoping lightshow playing out its ever-present enigma.
* * * *
The nothing special.
The nothing, special.
* * * *
Awareness has no ego, no attributes, no boundaries, whatsoever.
The imagination of consciousness, in all its dualistic notions,
Is sole source, soul proprietor, to that whimsical state.
* * * *
You know … you know not …
You know … you know not …
You know … you know not …
You know … you know not …
* * * *
How many lives, how many dreamtimes, is anyone, whether for good or ill, yay or nay,
Of any real consequence to, is a question to which no one can have answer.
Consciousness ripples, but how far, how strong, how long,
Who can even more than begin to guess?
* * * *
Sacks of shit and piss and bones and goo,
Yup, that is all we are in our inflated game, our vain diversion,
Just the electromagnetic spectrum daily playing out its impromptu theater real and true.
* * * *
What is evolution but the unknowable,
The creation, the preservation, the destruction,
The selecting, the pruning, the thinning, the harvesting,
The ever-changing nature of matter and motion, energy and force,
In the dance, the play, the lila, of eternal space and time.
An indivisible, boundless, quantum billiard table,
With neither beginning nor end nor middle,
Witnessed each and every moment,
In every imaginable way,
By the awareness you truly are.
* * * *
All the words in the world have never even once saved anyone.
All are doomed from the get-go in this terrible-swift mortal fray.
Chapter Thirteen
Some call it this, some call it that.
Words, words, words; sounds given conceptual overlays.
The nothingness given meaning, given purpose; identity it neither needs nor requires.
The busy-busy cacophony of the human mind’s unceasing obsession
With re-hashing everything in its own muddle.
* * * *
Black and white are but fringes of consciousness,
With everything between every shade of gray.
* * * *
Where is the demarcation between the awareness within
And the universe without, but a wall built of imagination.
* * * *
Only in the stillness of eternal life,
Of the awareness prior to all things imagined,
Is there freedom from the myriad vanities of consciousness.
* * * *
The linear mind is no match for the ever-accelerating,
Ever-morphing exponential of these our modern times.
* * * *
Challenging, indeed, for the mind to just be, given its conditioning,
And the life force at whose helm it navigate the shoals of existence.
* * * *
Of the crimes committed,
A don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy is advised.
The secret no one knows is the secret no one tells.
* * * *
Here you are now ...
Here you are now ...
Here you are now ...
Here you are now ...
Here you are ...
* * * *
The awareness is a formless sea behind the eyes.
The senses inspire consciousness to imagine a vast universe,
But it is no more than a brief dream to which mind every moment yields.
* * * *
Playing a little part in a little play is but a little smidgeon of imagination
Given over to vain notion based on a nature-nurture fiction of quantum design.
* * * *
Are you something that is something, something that is nothing,
Nothing that is something, nothing that is nothing.
Or all of the above in a sea of relativity.
* * * *
The universe is a pulsating-vibrating-kaleidoscoping-hologram-matrix-quantum theater
In which you are witness within and without the within and without
That is not, was not, and will never be.
* * * *
What a hungry thing the mind is, consciousness is, the indivisible essence is.
What is all experience but the insatiable consuming itself every moment.
* * * *
The stillness of awareness
Witnesses the clouds of consciousness come and go.
You only think you are the wind.
* * * *
You are it, have been all along,
And will be in every future-past hence,
In the forever-after-genre-milieu whatever.
* * * *
Dirtier water, dirtier air, dirtier ground.
Less food, less space, less accord.
The dystopian now unfurls.
* * * *
Desire, fear, the myriad passions of the monkey-mind in general,
Are nothing more than predicable habits, patterns born of nature-nurture,
Of genetics and the incessant winds of time playing out the vanities of consciousness.
* * * *
None of it is real, none of it was ever real, none of it will ever be real.
None of it ever more than a kaleidoscoping dream of stardust,
The quantum essence come unto the pretense of life.
* * * *
You are screwed anyway; the Reaper always hovering naught a breath away.
May as well enjoy your Self, die in the saddle, in so-to-speak cowboy parlance.
* * * *
There are those rare who dwell in the momentary awareness,
Those who dwell in discernment, those who dwell in the eternal mind,
Insight is its own law, neither bowing to authority, nor subscribing to dogma.
* * * *
Is the atheist any less determined not to believe, than the believer is to believe?
So much assertion, so much struggle, so much dwelling on so many this’s and that’s,
For nothing more than vain notion, hollow whimsy, over that which can never be known.
Chapter Fourteen
Just about everything you have ever seen, heard or done
May well be happening somewhere in your world in particular,
Or your imaginary quantum universe in general.
Who knows, who cares?
* * * *
A multi-dimensional tapestry,
Too inexplicable for any but god-minds
To but vaguely comprehend.
* * * *
And when you do find it,
When you do give your Self over to it,
What then, Grasshopper?
* * * *
If something is true, it can be verified by many eyes.
Subjective assertions are not the harbor of science.
* * * *
Good and evil are human concoctions.
If you believe they existed before we unleashed upon the world,
You are caught in the mire of delusion.
* * * *
Look where pretending to know
What can never be known
Has brought us,
And is taking us further still.
* * * *
What is any hell but a veil between awareness
And that which is not, never was, will never be.
* * * *
Every day another level, another tweak, of degradation.
How much longer will our little mishap in time carry on?
* * * *
Hang out in the left brain
When it is all about monkey chatter,
And the right side when stillness has the notion.
* * * *
The only difference between a big mind and a little mind
Is in the little mind's ceaseless absorption in attributes.
* * * *
What does it truly mean to be one with the oneness?
Completely free, completely alone, completely eternal.
* * * *
This universe is merely a temporary theater,
But the you that you really are is real,
Immortal, and free for all eternity.
* * * *
There is no solution
But the inevitable consequences
Of all things approached by imbalanced minds.
* * * *
Consciousness is riddled with every sort of desire,
And desire is the most worthy opponent
Of those who would be freedom
In this world or any other.
* * * *
Desire is like a hydra.
You must eradicate the beast,
Else its many heads will flower ever anew.
* * * *
Just because you are godness,
Does not mean you can break the speed limit
And always get away with it.
* * * *
Earth, air, water, fire
Are but ephemeral players,
And anything ephemeral
Is but a cloak to truth.
* * * *
No matter
Where you are,
Whenever you are,
It is really all the same,
Has always been the same,
Will ever be the same.
* * * *
Male and female in every species are wired with different mindsets.
Their interests may intersect at varying points, but never completely.
Chapter Fifteen
Consciousness will play out
As consciousness will play out.
That I Am is unconcerned.
* * * *
Challenging to play your self and your Self, too.
To eat your cake, or not to eat your cake,
That is, indeed, the question.
* * * *
What is all this accumulation, anyway?
This incessant gorging of the mind
With every sort of trivial pursuit.
* * * *
Somewhere along the line, all learn to fear; the challenge is to somehow transcend it.
* * * *
That which in the prime of youth,
You knew so well,
Is in the many years passed
So challenging to more than vaguely recall.
So many lifetimes in just this one.
* * * *
Have you ever really made anything happen?
Or is that merely the fallacy of imagination’s ego?
* * * *
What is this world, this universe, this grand mystery,
But a quantum theater born of senses and mind.
Like cotton candy spun of sugary nothingness.
* * * *
Consciousness requires your presence
To meander willy-nilly as it will,
But you, source of all,
Require nothing.
* * * *
So much gibberish.
Be done with it.
* * * *
Every life form has a unique vision
For the universe, into which they are,
From the formlessness, made manifest.
* * * *
The next game show: Name That Meme.
And a t-shirt to match: What’s Your Meme?
* * * *
Real strength, real power, is an inner confidence
That does not require effort or show,
A sword rarely drawn.
* * * *
There is ultimately nothing for which you need be forgiven.
You did not ask to be here; there is no need to pray for more.
* * * *
The unknown pervades all.
You are the mystery; the mystery is you.
That which is known is but a bubble of imaginary notion,
A dreamtime play of consciousness, nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
However any life form great or small may sense it,
It is ever the same quantum matrix playing its magic.
* * * *
True religion is much more than regurgitating some historic dogmatic notion,
That is really no more real and true now than it was in the way-back-when.
* * * *
Duality is a fabrication of consciousness.
In reality, there can be only oneness:
All-pervading, all-knowing, ever-present.
The all-in-one-one-in-all quantum awareness.
Chapter Sixteen
The hologram born of imagination is discerned complete
When the awareness you believe a separate you
Fully realizes that its true, ultimate nature
Is the infinite, eternal oneness.
* * * *
Futility is beating your head on the wall,
Believing you can change anything
Without changing into your Self.
* * * *
To the bitter end?
Or some quick, self-determined conclusion?
Are they not all of the sword
By which we live?
* * * *
Yet another dogmatic, idolatrous, cultish hoax played out as religion.
Why waste any eternal breath attempting to convince others
Of that which is obvious to those who are not blind?
* * * *
You have pretended it all matters long enough.
Feel free to take a long vacation,
An eternal holiday,
From this theater of the absurd.
* * * *
What need or concern would the clayness ever have
For light or sound, form or being, thought or memory?
* * * *
Unless you win a lucky spin in some lottery, or happen upon a pot of gold,
You are not likely to get much of anything out of something
Into which you put piecemeal or no effort.
* * * *
The passions draw you out into this imaginary world.
Without their hot and cold, you are nothing more
Than the infinite stillness of pure awareness.
* * * *
What a mystery this holographic matrix,
A mirage of space and time,
An imaginary sandbox,
In which all play,
But none truly exist.
* * * *
If you wander about thinking and behaving
You are somehow superior to a wide slice of the pie,
You are more than likely in for a relatively rude awakening.
* * * *
Everybody and everything is not going to wake up,
And what does it matter, really?
If you are awake,
There is really no other needing to awaken.
* * * *
Seriously, folks,
At the fundamental level,
How can anyone really be all that different
From any other life form?
Come on,
Think about it.
* * * *
Totally, completely, absolutely, indivisibly, undeniably,
The You, you really are, have ever been, will ever be.
Chapter Seventeen
(Under Construction)