Breadcrumbs 2022


Leftovers

 

You are eternity, You are the eternal, You are the now of awareness,

Peering out through stardust, into stardust; peering out through quantum, into quantum.

You are ever a mystery, to which there is no answer, no theorem, no philosophy, no religion, no anything.

Your challenge is to simply be it; unburdened by all the complexities, all the vagaries,

That the imaginary mind ceaselessly manifests into veil after veil,

Masking the stillness, You this moment are.

 

* * * *

You are alone, You have always been alone.

You were born alone, You live alone, You will die alone.

There has never been even one single moment when You were not alone,

When You were not pure awareness, when You were not the unborn-undying moment.

It is a wondrous state, given over at times to countless worldly distractions, but ever alone, nonetheless.

How the many others that come or go, that think of You, is utterly inconsequential.

And how You discern them, is but as clouds drifting across a sky.

There is no meaning, no purpose, no raison d'être,

But what the imagination imagines,

In its myriad imaginings.

It is but a reverie.

You, alone, are.

 

* * * *

These reflections are an offering, a gift, of the eternal life within all creation.

Am I the delusional one, for spouting these many musings? Or you, for not discerning it?

Or perhaps both, for ever having participated in this fantastical, utterly improbable dreamtime, at all.

 

* * * *

All human stages, all human endeavors, all human theatrics, no matter the time, no matter the place,

Be they scientific, mathematical, architectural, martial, philosophical, religious, mystical,

Commercial, engineering, manufacturing, craftsmanship, competitive, domestic,

Cultural, artistic, musical, dance, or literature in all its abundant arrays,

Have as their origin, the ever-enticing filament of imagination.

The entire human paradigm is its unrelenting handiwork.

The only freedom, for those rare few who seek it,

Is a mind given over to absolute awareness,

A mind given over to the tranquility of no-mind,

A mind given over to the equanimity of an eternal life.

 

* * * *

Who can more than speculate what is actually going on in the grand starry-starry mishmash of all genesis?

Except maybe that fabled supreme-deity Santa Claus, crisscrossing the cosmos in his enchanted sleigh;

Who must, surely, be bone-weary, from the on and on, of the never-ending labyrinth of imagination.

All over something, that may well have been, nothing more than a now much-regretted impulse.

 

* * * *

Seers have explored the mystery in countless ways throughout all times, all geographies.

And no matter their conclusions, or the traditions that evolved,

They are all the same elephant.

 

* * * *

Perhaps the mystery created this dream of space and time,

That the rare few might fathom its mystery, its wonder, its truth.

And those who are not called to inquire, live their lives as fate dictates.

 

* * * *

It is your dream; do with it what you will.

Do with it what time and circumstance allow.

Do with it what the quantum matrix ordains.

 

* * * *

The unifying principal is not some word, some equation, some symbol, some sound, some anything.

It is You, You alone, this one-and-only timeless moment, that has ever been, will ever be.

It is the You that is the unadulterated awareness, the tabula rasa, the perpetuity,

The omniscient-omnipotent-omnipresent eternity within and without all.

 

* * * *

The human paradigm is complex enough that many assume it is infused with free will.

But in the up-close-and-personal, individuals are but roiling algorithms.

Automatons, each playing out their daily Sisyphean toil,

As set by the cosmos, and all that is prior.

 

* * * *

Though human beings are complex genomic sequences, patterns, that imply free will,

They are patterns, nonetheless, each playing out their daily Sisyphean routine,

All perform their temporal existence as predictably as any algorithm,

Wandering through each moment as the nature-nurture ordains.

All live out their brief dreamtime as was set in motion,

The instant the mystery burst into the space-time continuum.

The You, You truly are, is witness to your splinter of that creation.

 

* * * *

For extra-terrestrials to reach our doorstep, however they might make their way across the vast expanses,

Would require that the ineffable mystery, somehow craft like evolutions on other garden worlds.

The number-crunchers fill their time with every sort of calculation of such possibilities,

But the actuality of such, has thus far never come to pass in any scientifically observable way.

Meanwhile, storytellers in this garden, are cauldrons, fueling imagination’s every imaginable whimsy.

 

* * * *

There is just this timeless moment.

 

Sometimes it is ecstasy, sometimes it is agony.

Sometimes it is true, sometimes it is false.

Sometimes it is full, sometimes it is empty.

Sometimes it is happy, sometimes it is sad.

Sometimes it is known, sometimes it is unknown.

Sometimes it is life, sometimes it is death.

Sometimes it is pleasant, sometimes it is noxious.

Sometimes it is fast, sometimes it is slow.

Sometimes it is clear, sometimes it is foggy.

Sometimes it is tangible, sometimes it is intangible.

Sometimes it is rich, sometimes it is poor.

Sometimes it is on, sometimes it is off.

Sometimes it is white, sometimes it is black.

Sometimes it is large, sometimes it is small.

Sometimes it is real, sometimes it is imaginary.

Sometimes it is smart, sometimes it is stupid.

Sometimes it is straight, sometimes it is crooked.

Sometimes it is punctual, sometimes it is late.

Sometimes it is busy, sometimes it is slow.

Sometimes it is reassuring, sometimes it is scary.

Sometimes it is serene, sometimes it is bustling.

Sometimes it is beautiful, sometimes it is ugly.

Sometimes it is sharp, sometimes it is blunt.

Sometimes it is day, sometimes it is night.

Sometimes it is bright, sometimes it is gloomy.

Sometimes it is loving, sometimes it is hateful.

Sometimes it is simple, sometimes it is complex.

Sometimes it is icy, sometimes it is tepid.

Sometimes it is friendly, sometimes it is hostile.

Sometimes it is young, sometimes it is old.

Sometimes it is energetic, sometimes it is lethargic.

Sometimes it is colors, sometimes it is gray.

Sometimes it is right, sometimes it is wrong.

Sometimes it is interesting, sometimes it is boring.

Sometimes it is close, sometimes it is distant.

Sometimes it is right, sometimes it is left.

Sometimes it is same, sometimes it is different.

Sometimes it is exact, sometimes it is approximate.

Sometimes it is similar, sometimes it is different.

Sometimes it is in, sometimes it is out.

Sometimes it is sweet, sometimes it is sour.

Sometimes it is early, sometimes it is late.

Sometimes it is soft, sometimes it is rough.

Sometimes it is tasty, sometimes it is bland.

Sometimes it is fragrant, sometimes it is smelly.

Sometimes it is yin, sometimes it is yang.

Sometimes it is inhale, sometimes it is exhale.

Sometimes it is smooth, sometimes it is rough.

Sometimes it is wavy, sometimes it is flat.

Sometimes it is round, sometimes it is square.

Sometimes it is up, sometimes it is down.

Sometimes it is excellent, sometimes it is mediocre.

Sometimes it is rich, sometimes it is poor.

Sometimes it is silent, sometimes it is noisy.

Sometimes it is expensive, sometimes it is cheap.

Sometimes it is male, sometimes it is female.

Sometimes it is happy, sometimes it is depressed.

Sometimes it is good, sometimes it is bad.

Sometimes it is reasonable, sometimes it is absurd.

Sometimes it is near, sometimes it is far.

Sometimes it is sane, sometimes it is insane.

Sometimes it is light, sometimes it is dark.

Sometimes it is hot, sometimes it is cold.

Sometimes it is dry, sometimes it is wet.

Sometimes it is here, sometimes it is there.

Sometimes it is now, sometimes it is then.

Sometimes it is this, sometimes it is that.

Sometimes it is born, sometimes it is dying.

Sometimes it is unborn, sometimes it is undying.

Sometimes it is beginning, sometimes it is ending.

Sometimes it is everything, sometimes it is nothing.

 

But it is always the same timeless moment.

 

* * * *

The past has only so much influence, so much control, over any given present.

Historians may or may not divine what is relevant to the future in their storytelling efforts.

History has proven many times that any given time will decipher its own take,

Based on the unfolding machinations the current world has in play.

And eventually, all will decline and fall into oblivion,

The abyss, where nothing ever happens.

 

* * * *

You are the electromagnetic spectrum, the quantum matrix,

Come to life, come to consciousness, come to imagination.

 

* * * *

Existence in a nutshell:

In any life, no matter how simple, no matter how complex, there are an endless stream of decisions,

That lead to consequences that require new decisions, and on and on, choice after choice.

Every variety of agony, every variety of ecstasy, until finally, departure.

And what continues on, but the unborn-undying awareness;

Never even once, the time. imagination imagines.

Now is, has ever been, will ever be.

 

* * * *

The word is not the thing.

The note is not the melody.

The number is not the actuality.

The imagination is not the awareness.

The moment is not the perception.

The thought is not the now.

Truth is not a concept.

You are not you.

 

* * * *

You are the unfathomable, playing fathomable.

You are the immutable, playing mercurial.

You are the indivisible, playing divisible.

You are the infinite, playing limited.

You are the timeless, playing time.

You are the ineffable, playing effable.

You are the infinitesimal, playing huge.

You are the changeless, playing changing.

You are the neverborn, playing existence.

You are the indelible, playing delible.

You are the flexible, playing inflexible.

You are the interminable, playing finite.

You are the everlasting, playing transient.

You are the perpetual, playing temporary.

You are the unknown, playing known.

You are the unutterable, playing utterable.

You are the absurdity, playing logic.

You are the unborn, playing life.

You are the undying, playing death.

You are the constant, playing irregular.

You are the impenetrable, playing penetrable.

You are the intangible, playing tangible.

You are the intrinsic, playing acquired.

You are the unending, playing destined.

You are the unceasing, playing sporadic.

You are the irrational, playing rational.

You are the inexpressible, playing expressible.

You are the enduring, playing short-lived.

You are the ageless, playing age.

You are the abyss, playing shallow.

You are the indefinable, playing definable.

You are the immortal, playing mortal.

You are the eternal, playing transience.

You are the unspeakable, playing speakable.

You are the unchangeable, playing changeable.

 

You are the You, playing you.

 

* * * *

You are creator of your cosmos, your world, your moment:

How can You ever be separate from the all-things-in-you?

 

* * * *

What a painful thing it can be,

For that sentience, your awareness has been, by nature-nurture, conditioned,

To experience the body’s pain and suffering,

As a tree, its rings.

 

* * * *

You can never appease the many ghosts in your head.

In their universe, you are whatever they think you are,

And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

 

* * * *

Awareness permeates all things, all illusions.

Any given universe is but a manifestation of quantum design,

In which the awareness, the infinite vastness of eternity, is witness to all, in all.

 

* * * *

How can you prove now; why should you have to?

How can you prove time; why should you have to?

How can you prove space; why should you have to?

How can you prove infinity; why should you have to?

How can you prove quantum; why should you have to?

How can you prove anything; why should you have to?

How can you prove everything; why should you have to?

How can you prove awareness; why should you have to?

How can you prove eternity; why should you have to?

How can you prove naught; why should you have to?

How can you prove You; why should you have to?

And as for some God, what would be the point?

 

* * * *

How seriously to take this dreamtime, how seriously to take your Self, is every moment a choice.

Whether to be an involved participant, or a joyful buddha, is all doable, in the illusion’s quantum buffet.

 

* * * *

Do not doubt, do not crave, do not fear, do not dread.

Do not give in to the compulsions of passion.

Abide in the stillness of awareness.

 

* * * *

Imagining you are anything but the very right-here, very right-now awareness,

Is the Black Snake of ego, slithering through the mind, you imagine your own.

 

* * * *

Imagine the billions of journeys around our little star, it took for you to be here reading this.

And let us not even try to speculate, how this mystery even reached this moment.

Just breathe in, breathe out, the mystery, You, this very instant, are,

And allow the destined chips fall, where they will, in the great so it goes.

 

* * * *

We have all played our touchy-feely-nature-nurture parts well; Best Actor Awards to all.

Everybody, applaud the infinite awareness peering out into their illusory universe.

Celebrate the one and only thespian, equally playing each and every role.

 

* * * *

Prey are predatory in their own way, and predators, prey, as well.

After all, it is an indelible, indivisible, quantum theater extraordinaire.

And there has never been even one creature that has survived,

For more than an iota of time’s illusory continuum.

By one means or another, all evaporate,

Back into the sea of oblivion.

 

* * * *

Are seers the delusional ones for spouting all this? Or you, for not seeing it?

Or perhaps all, forever engaging in this fantastical dreamtime absurdity, at all?

 

* * * *

Becoming a conscious observer –

Witness, spectator, onlooker, bystander, eyewitness, watcher –

Makes for a road-less-travelled dream.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how is this mysterious awareness?

Where is this ephemeral nowness, this timeless right-here-right-now?

Is it in the frontal lobe? Is it in the top of the head? Is it in the entire brain?

How can any ever hope to capture it with any eloquent conclusion?

All any can do is be still enough, to discern it is all they are.

 

* * * *

To imbibe the clear elixir of eternal life, timeless life, momentary life, disengage the mind from time;

From all the memories of existence – even from the recollection of a moment ago –

As often as the ever-present attention can wrestle itself free,

From the insistent grip of  imagination,

The creator of all that is time-bound and illusory.

 

* * * *

Forms project an illusionary duality, that the indivisible quantum matrix in no way confirms.

Yet, even in realizing all this, you must still daily wander through the dreamscape.

Only in death, figuratively or literally, can the sensory mind-body,

Give itself over to the essence of the ever-present.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how, is awareness?

Who-what-where-when-why-how, is awareness, not?

 

* * * *

It is an arduous flight to allow vanity wings.

There is no knowing what hardships will sally forth.

Far more serene to impart to others no unwarranted reflection,

For imagination is but an illusory player in this dream of space and time.

Wandering through life alone, relatively anonymous, has its trials and tribulations,

But the long-and-winding road less traveled, pathless less traveled,

Does not, in any way, necessitate a dream-bound audience.

You are as inwardly free as you allow your Self to be.

 

* * * *

Separated only in imagination’s Shakespearian touchy-feely, space-time theater,

The crunchy-chewy-gooey vehicle will sooner or later fall victim to the Reaper’s fell scythe.

But You, the awareness, You, the moment, You, the instantaneous, You, the ever-present right-here now;

You will ever remain, unborn-undying, indivisible, ineffaceable, interminable, timelessly infinite.

Some call it existential, nihilistic, but it is the reality in which all dreams come to fruition.

What You believe does not at all matter; mystery is what You are, it is what all are.

Dreamtime is a quantum matrix, in which the mystery, through imagination,

Equally plays all forms, all parts, in all the theaters across the abyss.

 

* * * *

The elephant in the room, standing right there, how can you not see it?

Neither wall nor spear nor snake nor tree nor fan nor rope, nor any other metaphor;

It stands alone for all to see, what there is to see, what there is to unsee,

Within and without all manifestation prior to imagination.

 

* * * *

Every life form has its rise and fall.

Every tribe has its rise and fall.

Every culture has its rise and fall.

Every nation has its rise and fall.

Every boulder has its rise and fall.

Every mountain has its rise and fall.

Every world has its rise and fall.

Every star has its rise and fall.

Every galaxy has its rise and fall.

Every universe has its rise and fall.

The mystery is all, the mystery permeates all.

The awareness, every moment, indelible witness of all.

There is no other; only the quantum matrix, and its eternity of appearances,

Kaleidoscoping a most excellent dream of space and time, that only the rarest minds discern unto Self.

 

* * * *

If you are concerned only with the ultimate truth, who said it, who did it –

What mask, what costume, what culture, what language, what geography, what time –

Is immaterial, irrelevant, inconsequential, of no importance, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

The less you cling to any given moment,

The less the dream will distract you from your eternal due;

The absoluteness you truly are, and are not.

 

* * * *

Ignore that imaginary world.

Become the awareness you are,

As often as attention allows.

 

* * * *

There is only the imaginary appearance of separate souls.

Awareness is the indivisible timelessness permeating all.

 

* * * *

Where is your face? What does it really look like?

What about the back of your noggin? Or either side view?

What about your back? Or the back of your neck? Or your shoulders?

Or your derrière, without a mirror? What do others see, when you are walking away?

Discerning the matrix vista, that state of awareness, prior to consciousness –

Detached, relativistic, indivisible, timeless, spaceless, boundless –

Is ample proof, if You are fated to achieve such a feat,

That you are indeed the mystery, unto Self.

 

* * * *

It is but an illusory, secular dream, to which only the chosen few –

Those inexorably drawn to the indivisible abyss –

Will truly, fully, ever awaken.

 

* * * *

Everything has been brought to you by imagination,

Keeper of the key to the time-bound illusion-delusion.

 

* * * *

You are the ephemeral sentience.

You are the ephemeral awareness.

You are the ephemeral intelligence.

You are the ephemeral astuteness.

You are the ephemeral compassion.

You are the ephemeral twinkling.

You are the ephemeral sensitivity.

You are the ephemeral right now.

You are the ephemeral awakeness.

You are the ephemeral here now.

You are the ephemeral alertness.

You are the ephemeral absurdity.

You are the ephemeral madness.

You are the ephemeral discrimination.

You are the ephemeral keenness.

You are the ephemeral shrewdness.

You are the ephemeral foolishness.

You are the ephemeral intuition.

You are the ephemeral moment.

You are the ephemeral judiciousness.

You are the ephemeral sagacity.

You are the ephemeral fluidity.

You are the ephemeral wisdom.

You are the ephemeral acumen.

You are the ephemeral flexibility.

You are the ephemeral instant.

You are the ephemeral insight.

You are the ephemeral now.

You are the ephemeral acuity.

You are the ephemeral jiffy.

You are the ephemeral sagacity.

You are the ephemeral wisdom.

You are the ephemeral acumen.

You are the ephemeral shrewdness.

You are the ephemeral judiciousness.

You are the ephemeral sensitivity.

You are the ephemeral here.

You are the ephemeral perception.

You are the ephemeral discernment.

You are the ephemeral discernment.

You are the ephemeral present.

You are the ephemeral passion.

You are the ephemeral dexterity.

You are the ephemeral sentience.

You are the ephemeral perceptiveness.

If You are thinking it, You are not being it.

 

* * * *

Any who discern their true nature are not followers.

How can any, fully discern the truth within,

And not be absolute, unto thy Self?

 

* * * *

How can space-time have any ultimate reality,

When it is founded upon the gravities, the chemistries, the temperatures,

The interactions, the dances, the vagaries, of suns and planets and moons, and all the dust about them.

Clocks, watches, calendars, are but temporal gauges of the relativity of illusion.

 

* * * *

Solving problems, creating solutions, is the keystone of the human paradigm.

Every other organism adapts to its world as nature-nurture prescribes in its allotted niche.

Humankind: the toolmakers, the craftsmen, the artists, the scholars, the kings, the servants, the slaves,

Fashion their manifest worlds, as imagination, through genetic lottery, dictates,

And quantum, through every illusionary device, allows,

 

* * * *

There truly is no point to existence, but the omnipresent moment,

In which the timeless awareness, perceives a sensory universe,

So touchy-freely-three-dimensional real, that minds are easily bent,

Into, with nary a doubt, playing whatever part, nature-nurture has deigned.

Only rare lifeforces are called to doubt the kaleidoscoping dream unfolding about them;

Such that their courses are reset, and the true game afoot.

A matrix thing, to be sure.

 

* * * *

You each and every moment decide, whether or not,

To engage in the temporal, or the eternal;

In the tangible, or the ethereal.

 

* * * *

No creation,

No sensory-born playground,

No amount of imagination in any possible dimension,

As touchy-feely-whatever real, as it may seem,

Can ever be more than a passing dream.

 

* * * *

Once that little, imaginary, conditioned, inner voice, gets its tongue, it is ever a challenge to shut it up.

There is no end, but death, to the ways and means, imagination can ecstasy-and-agony its imaginary self.

And awareness, ever-present, ever-still, ever witnessing, the nature-nurture mind-body illusion-delusion.

 

* * * *

If you are seeking god, look to the awareness within.

Awareness is awareness, no matter the state of consciousness.

Awareness plays whatever part it is allotted with the same equanimity.

Awareness has no attachment to any form, to any function.

Awareness boils down to a tranquil mind.

Kind of a matrix thing.

 

* * * *

If you are anything less than the rationality of pure awareness,

Then your imaginary cosmos has you in its clutches, yet again.

 

* * * *

If you were God, do you really think you would design every particle of your creation?

No, you would probably fashion your Self into dice, and throw yourself out into the abyss.

Let creation, every moment, spin itself; let creation sally forth, however nature-nurture deigns.

How much more interesting to play every part of whatever is in store.

And irony and paradox, ever at the helm.

 

* * * *

Still your mind.

Eternity is that stillness.

It is that simple.

 

* * * *

Mystery is its name.

Wonder is its game.

Stillness is its frame.

 

* * * *

Every moment, a decision.

Every moment, a slice of process.

Every moment, the kaleidoscoping now.

Eternity will not be undone.

 

* * * *

Language is the mechanism that imagination uses in ways and means beyond counting,

To bind the awareness in every contortion that frames of reference manage to contrive.

 

* * * *

You are not a super hero nor a super sleuth nor a super spy nor a super anything.

You are not even a crunchy-chewy-gooey globule bound by the airs of vanity and greed.

You are the awareness – untainted, unburdened, unswayed – by the idolatries of consciousness.

Do not succumb to the illusion-delusion, that the imaginary mind-body every moment imagines anew.

* * * *

Unless you are called by vanity and greed, to make a crowd-pleasing show of yourself,

It is relatively easy, unproblematic, to remain somewhat anonymous in this dream.

To live it out, as simply and profoundly, as walking the razor’s edge allows.

 

* * * *

Feeling sorry for your imaginary little self –

For the mind, for the body, for the other, for the world, for the cosmos,

For all the pain and suffering that biology and imagination have inflicted upon you again and again,

For the illusion-delusion dream of time, you hold so dear, feel so important –

Try not to go there.

 

* * * *

You must still the mind – rid it of the vagaries of imagination – to engage the moment absolutely.

You must be the awareness you truly are, to not be hypnotized by the whimsies of illusion’s delusions.

 

* * * *

Do not believe your own narrative; that is for the dream.

You are playing the part that all the vanities will remember, until they do not.

All dreamtime histories are replete, unto their entireties, with forgotten everything, sooner or later.

Imagination is but a flickering candle in the quantum wind.

Its reality is highly suspect.

 

* * * *

All any can do, to live out the dream presented,

Is to play the persona, however nature-nurture and imagination allow.

Rest assured, every other will have their version of you,

To cast humility upon your self-flattery.

 

* * * *

Nature-nurture conditioning inevitably fashions all life forms into self-perpetuating automatons.

Even the most astute, even the most resolute, are bound to their fate,

Which may well be why you are reading this.

 

* * * *

This is the role, character, protagonist, you have, through the wind of nature-nurture,

And its tango with imagination, fashioned, and quantum-impromptu played.

To be the awareness, you indelibly are, is life's greatest challenge.

Sisyphus looks up, sighs, and begins the daily ascent.

Will he whistle while he shoulders the boulder, is the question.

 

* * * *

It is a mystery, it has always been a mystery, it will always be a mystery.

Why resolve it? Why personalize it? Why dread it? Why measure it? Why worship it? Why dogmatize it?

Why pretend it is something that can be named, can be grasped, can be altered, can be saved?

Why play make-believe games, pretending to know what can never be known?

It is but dreamtime illusion, You are but dreamtime illusion.

 

* * * *

It is the quantum’s kaleidoscoping that generates the illusory dream of space and time.

It is the quantum movement through awareness, as clouds through a sky,

That simultaneously creates and preserves and destroys.

The challenge is to, in every moment possible,

Resume the absoluteness, the You, that is the unborn-undying mystery.

You are not the illusory dreamtime; You are not the playhouse, in which You wander every part.

 

* * * *

Even if you are in their fangs, or beneath their guillotine blade falling,

Why should you fear or dread or care at all, what any other will say or do?

Why should there be anything but the pure awareness, the witness, witnessing.

What will be, will be, and it will be endured, until death steps into the last moment.

 

* * * *

If you are enticed into passion in any of its countless playgrounds,

Into any of its countless electromagnetic-chemical swirls,

Then you would do well to get back to the moment.

 

* * * *

Imagination, in all its vanity and avarice, will never consent, will never allow, You,

To be the pure, unadulterated awareness; to be as tranquil as a still pond.

As the Sirens did Ulysses, it will ever beckon the inattentive.

Using any hook, any crook, it will draw you back,

To the shoals of its imaginary creation.

Death, figuratively or literally, is the final solution.

 

* * * *

Dominos are falling across the board, and likely will for the rest of time.

Our species has passed through the apex of what the human paradigm had to offer.

The only question, the only curiosity, is how long it will manage to stave off the fated die-off.

Darwinism has always been the way of this spinning garden mystery.

And were it not for tool-making endowments beyond all pales,

Malthus would have long ago been deemed a prophet.

 

* * * *

Why does the spacetime continuum seem to pass so much more quickly as we age?

Perhaps because the gradual loss of innocence, the gradual domestication of mind and body,

Have left us always describing and labeling and explaining and clarifying and justifying and defending

And measuring and counting and gauging and evaluating and ranking and appraising and judging,

And the moment, the awareness, through which imagination streams, is but rarely discerned.

 

* * * *

You have wandered your world, your cosmos, your illusion, your delusion, so many ways, so many times.

Do you ever pause to observe it anew? Do you ever perceive this one and only timeless moment?

Do you ever see all the colors and shapes and textures and whimsies of light and shadow?

Do you ever taste the flavors, hear the sounds, smell the scents, feel the sensations?

Or are you so ensnared, so confined, by desire and fear and dread, by all your millstones,

That your innocence, your presence, is forever lost to imagination’s plays of irony and paradox.

 

* * * *

Take moments now and again in all the busy-ness, to reflect on the illusory mystery that it is,

And perhaps give your Self over, at least occasionally, to that evasive quality of mind called detachment. Very challenging for any two-legged, because the dream seems so every moment very real.

And we are all so absorbed, so engaged, so attached, to our given dreamtimes.

There are no masters, only beginners, always beginning anew.

 

* * * *

Quality breathing is an awareness enabler.

So much bother boils down to oxygen deprivation.

Returning to the ever-present is the challenge, the razor's edge.

Not an easy calling to become a conscious witness to the mystery we all are.

To have taken the ruby-slipper red pill launches a destiny none could ever have anticipated.

The blue pill would perhaps have made it all so much easier, in so many ways.

But alas, there is no going back; alas, there is no rewind button.

All life is born to live out whatever fate the seed calls.

All any can do, is do it as well as possible.

Breathe it in, breathe it out.

Be here now.

You.

 

* * * *

Why does it matter so, why does it matter at all,

Who-what-where-why-when-how, others witness you?

Why are you, why is our kind, so mesmerized by our vanity?

Is it possible to wander unconditionally in the midst of all the fanfare?

Is it possible to wander in an utterly detached, disinterested, uninvolved, state?

How far would our species have come, could our species have come, were we all alone?

Despite the very apparent, very mysterious, very ineffable, fact, that we are, all, unutterably alone.

This momentary awareness, this now, and its absoluteness, its indivisibility, its solitude,

Is very much the same, within each and every one, throughout all creation.

All the other, is but a quantum illusion, a quantum delusion,

In minds given over to imagination’s whims.

 

* * * *

The scars, the stresses, in mind and body, are inflicted by all the other.

By the universe that the senses and imagination have created.

By the dream that has bound the awareness you are.

 

* * * *

You are an electromagnetic, biological phenomenon; a beast, a savage,

Domesticated to serve whatever tradition, natural selection has spawned you.

Is it possible to reverse engineer the conditioned mind-body you imagine you are,

To such a degree, as to become the infant, the innocence, the tabula rasa,

You were before the dreamtime took you by the scruff of the neck?

It is a question that compels focused, undivided attention.

A laser, burning away the dross of imagination,

Until only the awareness remains.

 

* * * *

Whether aristocratic or plebeian, whether high up the food chain, or down on the lower rungs,

An intelligent, inquisitive, disciplined, pragmatic, agnostic, energetic, courageous, attentive mind,

Are among the secular attributes required to go far and wide and deep in this mysterious mystery.

 

* * * *

Can the currents of quantum ever cease?

Can the universe ever collapse back into nothing?

Are questions philosopher-mystic-seers might contemplate,

And perhaps a collection of scientific and engineering sorts, as well.

 

* * * *

Hallucinogens have no doubt played a significant role in the eternal quest, in all times, in all geographies.

To see the mystery clearly, one is not required to use the bounty the garden has used to entice us forward,

But they are useful tools, that can be used in conjunction, with whatever wandering opens the inner eye.

 

* * * *

How much less ignorant of the mystery are you, really,

Than the moment you came out of the womb?

Many more words and symbols, yes,

But really no less ignorant.

 

* * * *

You are what You this moment are; that sentient awareness, that sentient awakeness.

Nothing before, nor hence, matters, but to imagination, and all its time-bound trickery.

 

* * * *

All creation is the same quantum mystery.

All sentience is the same awareness.

All sentience is the same You.

 

* * * *

From the ultimate standpoint, from the eye of the mystery’s standpoint,

What makes your biological array any greater or lesser than any other’s?

Only vanity-vanity-all-is-vanity separates it little self from the source of all.

 

* * * *

Space and time are less about being a measurable continuum,

Than they are, an immeasurable, ever-kaleidoscoping quantum medium.

An ineffable creation, enabled by a neurological set, evolved in a biological cauldron,

From which imagination plays out never-ending Shakespearian theater of nature-nurture design.

 

* * * *

Has there ever been any other species,

Born of this garden world, born of this quantum mystery,

That has imagined, has pretended, with such great effort, to be so many things,

That it is not, that it has never been, that it will never be?

 

* * * *

In the aging process, the weight of memory can cause a ceaseless tug-of-war,

Between imagination and awareness, between the dreamtime and the moment.

 

* * * *

Getting older is about compensating for the loss of youthful energy and capacity.

For the loss of nature-nurture entitlements, that gradually or quickly fade,

Through sickness and injury, and general wear and tear upon both mind and body.

Until the mortal frame inevitably reaches whatever dissolution the sands of time prescribe.

 

* * * *

Awareness abides, untouched, whatever form and function is at play.

It is ever the same timeless witness, ever the same intelligence,

Ever the same multi-dimensional backdrop, to all creation.

 

* * * *

Space and time can come to an end,

And eternal awareness, regain the helm,

If you manage to disregard the sensory input,

And allow the mind to be very still.

 

* * * *

Delve as deeply as one might, the mystery ever remains a mystery.

Ultimately, no one really has any choice, but to do whatever needs doing:

Breathe in, breathe out, hunt, gather, eat, pee, poop, breed, ponder, sleep, repeat.

Life need not be as complex as vanity and greed would have us all imagine and believe.

 

* * * *

Stories, narratives, chronicles, sagas, memoirs, accounts, tales, fairytales, legends, myths,

Are the primary ways and means that imagination perpetually, unabashedly utilizes,

To commandeer the purity of awareness, ever still in its immaculate moment.

 

* * * *

So, what is it you think you are looking for? What is it you think you might find, will find?

Unless you are no longer a seeker, unless you have already figured out the irony-paradox absurdity,

Any answer, any guess, any speculation, means you already have some sort of assumption,

And that means you may not be as serious as you would have yourself believe.

 

* * * *

No matter how much you learn, no matter how much you study, discover, analyze, realize;

No matter how known, how affluent, how powerful, how influential, you might become;

You are very much quantum-equal from the elemental, indivisible, matrix perspective.

All the vanity, all the pride, to which humanity inclines, is as empty as empty ever is.

 

* * * *

Imagine having never smelled a smell.

Imagine having never tasted a flavor.

Imagine having never seen an image.

Imagine having never heard a sound.

Imagine having never felt a sensation.

Imagine any combination of the above.

What would your frame of reference be?

What would your world, your universe, be?

 

* * * *

What is the universe of any life form?

What is the universe of a bee?

What is the universe of a hawk?

What is the universe of a sparrow?

What is the universe of a cockroach?

What is the universe of a tiger?

What is the universe of a virus?

What is the universe of a frog?

What is the universe of a dandelion?

What is the universe of a crow?

What is the universe of a shark?

What is the universe of an elephant?

What is the universe of a bat?

What is the universe of an ant?

What is the universe of a butterfly?

What is the universe of a whale?

What is the universe of a deer?

What is the universe of a microbe?

What is the universe of a snake?

What is the universe of a spider?

What is the universe of a plant?

What is the universe of a moth?

What is the universe of a lobster?

What is the universe of a bear?

What is the universe of a seagull?

What is the universe of a minnow?

What is the universe of a clam?

What is the universe of a dolphin?

What is the universe of a tree?

What is the universe of a snail?

What is the universe of a seal?

What is the universe of a buffalo?

What is the universe of a cow?

What is the universe of a chicken?

What is the universe of a pig?

What is the universe of a salmon?

What is the universe of a badger?

What is the universe of an octopus?

What is the universe of a kangaroo?

What is the universe of a panda?

What is the universe of a gnat?

What is the universe of a pike?

What is the universe of a rat?

What is the universe of a worm?

What is the universe of a guppy?

What is the universe of a owl?

What is the universe of a tarantula?

What is the universe of a sloth?

What is the universe of a wolf?

What is the universe of a giraffe?

What is the universe of a starfish?

What is the universe of an otter?

What is the universe of a penguin?

What is the universe of an alligator?

What is the universe of a mushroom?

What is the universe of a salamander?

What is the universe of any human being?

No matter the form, no matter the sensory input,

We are all walking the same stage in different universes.

Every organism, absolutely unique; all, the same timeless mystery.

 

* * * *

The awareness that You are, is right-here-right-now.

In what other quantum dimension, in what other imaginary dream,

Would it be any different? Could it be any different? Should it be any different?

 

* * * *

You must leave all doubt behind, to be your truest Self.

If you wish to be The One of the mystery, it is not enough to act like the one.

You must be The One, and there can be no doubt, because doubt causes chaos and one's own demise.

 

* * * *

The senses are always drawing you out to play,

In this imaginary world, in this dream of space and time.

To disregard them is the big challenge, for all who would linger,

In the ever-present awareness, this one and only moment,

That all really are, have ever been, will ever be.

 

* * * *

Sages, seers, prophets, oracles, and other individuals of the doubting sort,

Are radicals, anarchists, insurgents, mutineers, revolutionaries,

In the reclamation of awareness to its rightful throne.

 

* * * *

Infinity is not a number.

Infinity is not a word.

Infinity is not a time.

Infinity is not a space.

Infinity is not an image.

Infinity is not a sound.

Infinity is not a sight.

Infinity is not a taste.

Infinity is not a smell.

Infinity is not a sensation.

Infinity is not great.

Infinity is not small.

Infinity is not a distance.

Infinity is not a concept.

Infinity is not an image.

Infinity is not an emotion.

Infinity is not a thought.

Infinity is not anything.

Infinity is everything.

Infinity is nothing.

 

* * * *

The sights! The sights!

The sounds! The sounds!

The smells! The smells!

The tastes! The tastes!

The textures! The textures!

The thoughts! The thoughts!

The vanity! The vanity!

The hunger! The hunger!

The algorithm! The alsorithm!

The division! The division!

The creativity! The creativity!

The greed! The greed!

The hypocrisy! The hypocrisy!

The sorrow! The sorrow!

The discordance! The discordance!

The subtlety! The subtlety!

The laziness! The laziness!

The love! The love!

The paradox! The paradox!

The wealth! The wealth!

The poverty! The poverty!

The loneliness! The loneliness!

The disparity! The disparity!

The dullness! The dullness!

The violence! The violence!

The obesity! The obesity!

The pain! The pain!

The disharmony! The disharmony!

The genetics! The genetics!

The novelty! The novelty!

The ambition! The ambition!

The stress! The stress!

The predictability! The predictability!

The ugliness! The ugliness!

The brilliance! The brilliance!

The dogma! The dogma!

The monotony! The monotony!

The matrix! The matrix!

The bullshit! The bullshit!

The wisdom! The wisdom!

The stupidity! The stupidity!

The boredom! The boredom!

The hate! The hate!

The tradition! The tradition!

The suffering! The suffering!

The bother! The bother!

The corruption! The corruption!

The loyalty! The loyalty!

The worry! The worry!

The rigidity! The rigidity!

The cacophony! The cacophony!

The deceit! The deceit!

The pleasure! The pleasure!

The viciousness! The viciousness!

The irony! The irony!

The repetition! The repetition!

The conflict! The conflict!

The beauty! The beauty!

The harmony! The harmony!

The insanity! The insanity!

The tribalism! The tribalism!

The cruelty! The cruelty!

The industry! The industry!

The emptiness! The emptiness!

The drama! The drama!

The inanity! The inanity!

The absurdity! The absurdity!

The horror! The horror!

 

* * * *

I am mystery.

You are mystery.

We are all mystery.

Everything is mystery.

Every no-thing is mystery.

There is nothing not mystery.

Give up all attempts to know it.

Let go all that you think you know.

Inhale the timeless-spaceless moment.

It is the virtue, the integrity, you truly are.

 

* * * *

Some blobs are slimy.

Some blobs are gooey.

Some blobs are chewy.

Some blobs are crunchy.

Same quantum essence, all.

 

* * * *

Do the engineering.

Do the architecture.

Do the language.

Do the science.

Do the math.

Do the art.

Do the music.

Do the history.

Do the athletics.

Do the humanities.

Do the good, the bad.

Do whatever you please,

The same mystery is in all.

 

* * * *

Infinity is not a concept, nor is it a number, nor is it a symbol, nor it is anything else.

It is not something the mind-body can ever in any way grasp.

It is the mystery; it can only be,

And you must surrender everything to discern it.

 

* * * *

Why all the demons? Why do you allow them into your mind?

Why do you allow them to haunt you? Why do you allow them to torture you?

Are you waiting for some deity, some mortal deputy, to save you?

Cast them out, put them behind you, be free of time.

You are Self, you are bound by nothing.

 

* * * *

Deal with your post-traumatic stress as a sensation, a vibration,

Rather than all the thoughts and feelings, that imagination ever ignites upon.

The challenge is to, at least every now and again, detach from the mind-body dreamtime.

Still the mind, be the awareness, be the moment, free of all the agonies and ecstasies, existence exacts.

It may or may not be easy, to discern and be, this most simple beingness;

Attachment is a magnet, that holds all in its orbit.

But it never hurts to practice.

 

* * * *

No matter how many lectures you attend,

No matter how many books and articles you read,

No matter how many movies and documentaries you see,

No matter how many thinkers you talk with in the here and there,

You are still, every moment, very much on your own.

The ineffable mystery, exploring its Self.

 

* * * *

It is, and is not, as you imagine it to be.

The true revolution is freeing the awareness You are,

From the imagination that has imprisoned it.

 

* * * *

Even if there are dimensions beyond all constraints, beyond all conceivable bounds,

It is still the same ineffable, indivisible mystery, at the core of all.

And all are, surely, no less illusory than this one.

I mean, yawn and double-yawn.

 

* * * *

Find that space, that clarity, that innocence,

Before all the demons moved in, and usurped the awareness,

And bound it in imagination, the space-time that is but quantum sleight of hand.

 

* * * *

Destroy all the knowledge.

Destroy all opinions.

Destroy the other.

Destroy the world.

Destroy the cosmos.

Destroy all the creation.

Here You are, right here, right now.

 

* * * *

We are all the same mystery, the same awareness, the same eye,

Swathed in a mortal container, with which we all identify,

And sustain, in whatever way nature-nurture has in dreamtime ordained.

It is part, a fate, a destiny, a dream, an illusion, we must all together, all alone, endure.

 

* * * *

Some may truly believe they can rhetorically, pretentiously, irreverently, debate the sciences,

But they cannot debate the quantum physics upon which true science is founded,

Upon which the indivisible nature is codified in every particle,

Across all whatever this mystery is, and is not.

The true law is not man-made, and those who violate true law –

Or their progeny, their tribe, their world, their cosmos – will suffer the consequences.

 

* * * *

A dream created by quantum through awareness.

Is the quantum cosmos created by the quantum mind?

Or is the quantum mind fashioned by the quantum cosmos?

Or do they simultaneously metamorphose together?

Only the mystery knows, and it is not telling.

And awareness, serene witness to it all.

 

* * * *

Do not blame awareness for the maelstrom of imagination.

It is consciousness alone that is the upwelling of all that is absurdity,

In this theater-in-the-round, playing out on an obscure side-stage of nothingness.

Like the sky, awareness is immaculate, unblemished, blameless, for any storms passing through.

If there is anything to be blamed, if there is a fall guy in this tale, it is surely inattention.

 

* * * *

Odds are that imagination will always be lurking about,

Waiting for any opening to distract You from the eternal moment,

From the timeless awareness You truly are, have ever been, will ever be.

Until those occasional moments, in which full attention kicks in,

And the real You awakens in the moment you ever are.

 

* * * *

It is not the eyes, nor the ears, nor the tongue, nor the nose, nor the flesh,

That differentiate the sights, the sounds, the tastes, the smells, the sensations.

Without mind, there would be no world, no cosmos, by which to be daily enticed.

 

* * * *

Another talking head, doing the circuit, trying to make a buck, promoting yet another book.

How is it anyone even begins to believe this madhouse can be somehow be made sane?

The Titanic, even be one degree turned; the fate of Easter Island somehow averted.

Consciousness is well on its way to the abyss; its brief window, rapidly closing.

 

* * * *

Meiosis, the mutation, the springboard, to this indivisible, indelible, ineffable, timeless moment.

Natural selection, the spontaneous artist, using the electromagnetic spectrum and quantum mechanics,

As its pallet, its brush, its paints, its facades, all playing out, right-here-right-now, within and without you.

 

* * * *

It is but an imaginary quantum space-time-dream-time that has enticed you,

Conditioned you, trained you, bound you, into really and truly believing, it real and true.

It is totally on you, to awaken to the true reality, the true You, the awareness beneath all surfaces.

 

* * * *

How many generations did it take since life’s first etching,

To finally reach the genomic sequence, You now inhabit?

 

* * * *

What a curious thing, to spend so much of one’s life, being educated,

Being made so cognizant of so many goings-on in the human paradigm,

As well as all the other astounding permutations, this mystery has spawned.

And to have so little say in any of it, so little potency to really modify anything.

What did all that schooling do, really, but pull together a merry band of spectators –

Rubbernecks, bystanders, oglers, gawkers, talking heads, peeping Toms –

Clucking away, like chickens, in bars, coffee shops, wherever,

And always the foxes in charge, collecting their due.

 

* * * *

Plenty of creatures on this planet get along plenty fine without ever seeing a human being,

And plenty of human beings, get along plenty fine without ever seeing you.

We are not as important to the cosmos as we would like to think,

And you, to but a relative few, for but a brief while.

Vanity is nothing more than poof.

 

* * * *

The human paradigm is founded on five senses and a central processing unit.

Any given world, any given universe, is created by how well each sense works.

How well, how acutely, eyes see, ears hear, nose smells, tongue tastes, flesh feels.

You are playing out the die roll set in motion at the instant of genesis.

When or how or why it all happened, is entirely irrelevant.

Here we are, right here, right now, this very moment,

Incessantly quibbling over absurdities beyond measure.

 

* * * *

It does not in any way matter, how you reached this awareness of awareness.

It does not matter what you thought; it does not matter what you did, or did not do.

You are the only one who judges, the only one who counts, the only one who imagines,

And all your imaginary judgments, all your imaginary accountings,

Are as meaningless, as meaningless can be.

 

* * * *

We all are the same mystery, the same inscrutable unknowable, the same quantum magic-fairy-dust.

We are all absolute equals, in all shapes and sizes and functions in this web of life.

We are all the Dreamer dreaming; how can you not be part of it?

 

* * * *

When it comes to this inscrutable mystery,

Can anything ever be proven, ever be encapsulated by consciousness?

Of course not, that is why this may well be the most ineffable mystery, the mystery has ever concocted.

That is why all conjectures, all speculations, all assumptions, all assertions,

Can never be anything more than idle hearsay.

 

* * * *

The young are flagrantly innocent, naively simple, blissfully radiant, until they are not.

Until they are touched harshly by this dreamtime, into which they have been involuntarily cast.

Touched harshly by any of the so many ways the human paradigm has through imagination engineered.

And then they join in with the collective, churning mass, and become the adult now reading this.

The adult who vaguely recalls, and longs, for that innocence, that simplicity, that radiance,

And will perhaps rummage deeply enough, freely enough, to resume the tabula rasa.

The You, the Self, that is, and has always been, right-here-right-now present.

 

* * * *

Ignore the sensory theater; be the awareness you are, the stillness you are, the moment you are.

There is only right here, right now, this very singular, timeless, spaceless moment.

All befores, all afters, are nothing more than imaginary delusions,

Concocted by quantum minds bound to illusion.

 

* * * *

In the quest for truth, you are judge, jury, executioner,

And new empirical discovery, the only means to freedom.

 

* * * *

You are the indelible awareness; you are the ineffable mystery.

If you do not discern it for your Self, it is entirely on you.

No one else can discover it for you, no one else can do it for you.

No one else can more than point out ironies and paradoxes and absurdities.

But more than a few will be happy to manipulate and appropriate whatever you allow.

 

* * * *

Everything that has happened since creation, however this mystery came about,

Whether spontaneously through natural selection, or intentionally as ordained by some deity or deities,

Has made it possible for you to be sitting there, pondering these thoughts,

In the right-here-right-now in which you dwell.

What matter, how?

 

* * * *

True believers are always in the hunt for followers

– acolytes, devotees, disciples, adherents, admirers, enthusiasts –

To join their groupthink, and more than likely relinquish a tithing, large or small.

To stand alone, free and clear, of all imaginary notion, is not for all.

 

* * * *

Death is the mercy of the mystery to its Self, that it not be forever trapped,

In all the illusions, in all the delusions, in all the ironies and paradoxes,

In all the absurdities of awareness, falsely believing itself to be you.

 

* * * *

All the deities ever concocted by the human mind, across the board,

Are petty and small, in comparison with what the mystery truly is, and is not.

It requires a mind free of bounds, to discern that which cannot be grasped or tamed.

 

* * * *

Science must eventually fall on its sword,

Because it can only explore the kaleidoscoping quantum illusion.

The mystery, that which pervades all, that which is prior and beyond, is the realm of philosophy.

And even philosophers, must eventually still their loquacious intellects,

If they discern the wit and will to abandon all absurdity,

And melt into the timeless awareness.

 

* * * *

How alone you are, depends how deeply you have probed.

How deeply you have explored whatever fields you wandered.

 

* * * *

If you can scrutinize anything, question anything, wander anywhere, that imagination allows,

You are well-equipped, well on the way, to being eye-wide-open witness,

To anything the mystery brings to your stage.

 

* * * *

Wrapping one’s wee little brainstem

Around a three (or four) dimensional, kaleidoscoping matrix,

Is not for the weak of wit.

 

* * * *

A good nap settles many dispositions of the lesser kind.

It may be long, it may be short, it may be naught but an instant,

But it is a toe into the abyss, a min-death, in which the mind-body renews,

Until the next pillow comes into sleepy-time view.

 

* * * *

It is the ineffable quantum mystery that is born again and again and again, not the mind-body identity.

The imagined you, is but a delusional dream of awareness, of Self, attached to a corporal figurine.

Of Self, deluded by, attached to, imagination, and its ever-kaleidoscoping legion of illusions.

Of Self, deluded by a dream concocted by a mind and five senses, feelers into the quantum matrix,

Playing out the destiny that the quantum mystery set in motion in a space-time that never really existed.

 

* * * *

Cloaking a blob in the finest mask and costume in the cosmos, does not make it any less a blob.

Is there really anything left to take seriously? Is there anything but illusion?

Absurdity reigns; why are we not rolling in the aisles?

 

* * * *

Why would any deity, with any salt at all,

Create a cosmos, merely to judge its participants laudable or not?

If there were to be such a deity, why would any of the participants submit to such absurdity?

Surely, they would cast him into his own purgatory to teach a lesson.

Check the mirror; maybe they already have.

 

* * * *

The imagination that grips You, is the aspect that desires and fears and dreads.

The awareness, the moment, the real You, was never born, can never die.

What is there to want? What is there to fear? What is there to dread?

What is there to think or do? What is there to create or destroy?

What can any rational sage do, but yield to the absurdity.

 

* * * *

Imagination has had a good time,

But it needs to get a reign on itself it is to survive much longer,

In the forever it has contrived.

 

* * * *

Is a memory of something that happened a few moments ago,

Really any more or less tangible, than one that was perceived decades ago?

They are just random perceptions, from a long and winding line of random perceptions,

Yesterdays that are but vague dreams, vague dreams that only delusion believes, ever really happened.

 

* * * *

The sense of self is not the body, not the mind, not the life.

Imagination usurps the eternal awareness for its own mortal schemes,

For its time-bound creations, that are, in reality, no more lasting than the moment.

Reincarnation is but an imaginary concept; no thespian returns to center stage again and again.

All are new seeds, new actors, in which the awareness, the mystery, performs yet another one-time show.

All who are born to the stage, are the same awareness, the same consciousness, the same witness.

Call it theater, call it matrix, call it god, call it whatever you will, it is one in all, all in one.

It is quantum stagecraft: unscripted, extemporaneous, serendipitous, happenchance.

 

* * * *

By the time you recognize anything – a sight, a sound, a smell, a taste, a sensation – it is long gone,

And your frame of reference is interpreting the perceptions recorded along the mind’s neuron trails.

What we call existence is really nothing more than a constant rehash of yesterday’s song and dance.

 

* * * *

My awareness is your awareness, your awareness is my awareness,

Is his awareness, is her awareness, is our awareness, is their awareness, is its awareness.

It is the same awareness in all living beings across any and all dimensions.

And through awareness, imagination gambols in every mind.

Ultimately, we are all just talking to our Self.

 

* * * *

Second hands, minute hands, hour hands,

Go round and round and round, portraying analogue time real.

But where is the ‘moment’ hand, and what can any digital clock ever even pretend?

 

* * * *

The moment is now.

Not before, not after.

There is no who in it

There is no what in it.

There is no where in it.

There is no when in it.

There is no why in it.

There is no how in it.

The hustle misses it.

The bustle misses it.

The mind cannot grasp it.

The moment is right here, right now.

Discern the moment, discern the moment you are.

The moment you have ever been, the moment you will ever be.

The moment you are not, never were, will never be.

Abide in the awareness, witness to it all.

 

* * * *

It is the mind’s curiosity to see what will happen next and next and next,

That draws you away from your Self, again and again and again, ever again.

 

* * * *

Hard to imagine, despite all statistical assertions to the contrary,

That across the entire universe, there could be a more absurd species.

 

* * * *

Awareness cannot be seen.

Awareness cannot be heard.

Awareness cannot be tasted.

Awareness cannot be smelled

Awareness cannot be touched.

Awareness cannot be thought.

Awareness is as intangible

As intangible can be.

 

* * * *

Pride and envy and gluttony and lust and wrath and greed and sloth,

The Seven Deadly Sins, consume us all, in every way,

Every moment we can squeeze them in,

Every moment this mystery deigns space and time.

 

* * * *

Illusion and imagination spin all about this awareness, this ‘youness’ You are.

Endure it, abide it, perform it, stay centered in the unutterable stillness,

The indelible awareness that is without beginning, without end.

 

* * * *

Being motionless in the given moment, surrendering to the ever-present awareness,

Is not – effortless as it is – a simple task for any busy-busy mind.

Nor is it all that easy for serene minds, either.

 

* * * *

I observe you, you observe me, each of us peering out.

Only in reflections do we discern our masks and costumes,

Because we are both the same awareness, the same faceless Self,

Eternally gazing out upon all other imaginary parts.

And they, eternally gazing back at you.

You are the indelible mystery, and it is you.

 

* * * *

How simple, how easy, how uncomplicated it is,

To accept as truth, whatever you are told,

To do, whatever you are told to do.

Doubting the group, departing the group,

Is solitary feat for which only rare few are suited.

 

* * * *

What if you could profoundly articulate and understand, every human language ever spoken, ever written.

That you were intimate with the histories from which they, in partnership with nature, evolved.

What an astounding thing it would have been, to have witnessed all creation, all genesis,

From beginning to end, from germination to fruition, from cradle to grave,

And what if that ‘what if’ included all life forms, from small to great,

All the other organisms this Darwinian garden has in space and time devised.

You would have to be some sort of all-encompassing deity, to achieve such awareness.

And surely that divine omniscience, can never more than imagine its way onto any mortal stage.

And though we all are all of this eternal awareness, we are but pawns in its mystery theater extraordinaire.

 

* * * *

There is no need to care one way or another, about anything or anyone.

The conditioning, the indoctrination, the domestication, is a powerful dynamic,

But you can be free of it, if you choose to abide in the awareness prior to imagination.

It is not easy, but an attentive, well-sharpened blade of discrimination, can cut through the veil.

Despite all claims to the contrary, there is no divinity requiring you to suffer all the mindless absurdities.

This is naught but an illusionary-delusionary dream, so be as free, be as mindful, as you are able.

 

* * * *

You need not get all weird and out-in-left-field in this quest into the Self you truly are.

There is every sort of esoteric, magical, clownish groupthink, all around you.

All of them seeking acolytes with the potential to be true-believers.

And though they may be tantalizing for a few moments,

They are but distraction from the true course.

Learn from them, as you will,

But surrender the rudder at your peril.

 

* * * *

Is there really, truly, anything that you have ever witnessed,

That cannot be explained through lucid, rational, scientific thinking?

A serious question, that does not align, in any way, with the underlying reality,

That this whole dreamtime mystery theater, is as irrational and absurd and astounding,

And ineffable, beyond any speculation, that any illusionary-delusionary mind, has ever babbled.

 

* * * *

You have to be at least a little off the mark, at least a little demented,

To spend so much of your existence seeking this, for all it ends up mattering.

Just imagine how many things you could be doing in this magical mystery madhouse.

Got it all right here, folks, something for everyone, got it all right here.

Step right up, folks! Step right up! This ain’t Kansas, Toto.

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.

 

* * * *

You only need to please your ineffable Self, really.

Whether or not others esteem your character to be of interest,

Really only matters to the insatiable vagaries of vanity.

 

* * * *

The end to curiosity about the world, the cosmos, in which you ply your imagination, is required,

If you wish to timelessly linger in the serene pool of awareness, absolute, without peer.

For the temptations to return again and again, ever again, are beyond many.

It takes some serious resolve, to do without the daily cappuccino.

 

* * * *

You really believe more than a random few even notice you?

And so what, really, if even billions know of you,

And the history books laud your name.

Do you even know your Self?

 

* * * *

Try not to get too upset that true-believers will never give up their child-ish things.

Do not hold your breath that the human species is going to ‘wake up’ just because you want it to.

Besides which, what exactly are you believing-hoping-praying, our kind might become?

And what would it really take to get to that magical-mystery place in the sun?

 

* * * *

At the absolute level, hurting another, is actually rippling throughout your one and only true Self.

A reflection which puts something of a spin, a twist, on the Golden Rule:

Do unto others as you wish them to do unto you.

 

* * * *

Why would you really believe you are more exceptional than anyone or anything else?

Try imagining them, try playing their role, their world, their universe,

And try it with any other living creature, as well.

How can you not be humbled by this incredible mystery You are.

 

* * * *

If it is true, it will be true, for all dreams, all times, all geographies.

That is the guarantee this indelible quantum mystery ever guarantees.

 

* * * *

Explore being completely indifferent to your universe, and all its parts and pieces.

Not easy at all for the intellectual weaving and emotional wiring,

To entirely dissipate into clear awareness.

 

* * * *

Your mind-body is quite a bit more intricate,

Quite a bit more attached to the dreamtiming of consciousness,

Than when life first took root, however, a few billion spins around the sun ago.

A little more crunchy, a little more chewy, but no less gooey, to all the creatures that would consume it.

Essentially the same goopy-slushy organism, though much more self-absorbed in the packaging.

Even the strongest, the smartest, the most beautiful, are but collections of protoplasm,

Ever deluded they are greater than they are, ever have been, will ever be.

 

* * * *

That ‘thing’ you so value, is going to be broken,

Scratched, damaged, scuffed, sullied, tarnished, lost, smashed,

Fragmented, shattered, cracked, stolen, damaged, ruined, destroyed, crushed,

Fractured, ruptured, split, wrecked, trashed, annihilated,

Razed, devasted, demolished.

 

Oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on, quantum is as quantum does.

 

* * * *

The expanding cosmos of human knowledge is the first and foremost zero-sum game.

What will happen to it all, when the human species eventually goes who-knows-when-how extinct?

Is there some vast, eternal vault, wherein can be found a manilla folder, with a single page,

On which are, in faded print, typed beginning and end dates for a planet called Gaia?

So much for the vanity-vanity-all-is-vanity show being even noteworthy.

Maybe go ask all the Petri dish universes what they were about,

To voilà-realize that all existence anywhere, anytime,

Is really nothing more than a fleeting stain.

 

* * * *

It takes earnest, vigilant attention, to interrupt, to suspend consciousness.

To give your Self back to the moment, back to the timeless awareness.

To cease the background chatter always at the ready to drone away.

 

* * * *

A harsh existence creates a tension that innocence never knows.

Observe deeply within, to the source of consciousness itself,

To discern the blameless innocence that is your true nature.

 

* * * *

Egocentric

Ethnocentric

Phallocentric

Androcentric

Anthropocentric

Chronocentric

Heliocentric

Theocentric

Geocentric

Solarcentric

Cosmoscentric

All orbiting the me, the myself, and the I.

A flesh-wrapped blob believing itself to be whatever its imagination imagines.

 

* * * *

Forget your imaginary self,

Forget your imaginary world,

Forget your imaginary universe,

Forget everything you think you know.

Become the ineffable, indelible, unknowable, unfathomable, intangible, indivisible, lasting, unutterable,

Irrational, unborn, undying, inexpressible, overwhelming, indefinable, expansive, immortal,

Unspeakable, deep, beyond words, ineradicable, permanent, enduring, intrinsic,

Engrained, deep-rooted, deep-seated, impenetrable, timeless, eternal,

Awareness,

You truly are.

 

* * * *

How can you even begin to believe this momentary awareness is anything but the mystery itself?

Equally permeating all dreams, all worlds, all universes, across all times, across all spaces.

There is nothing that is not connected, except in imaginary notion, imaginary delusion.

 

* * * *

And why would it be in any way at all important, why would it be in any way at all significant,
To be known, to be remembered, to be revered, by two-leggeds you will never meet?
Neither now, nor hundreds nor thousands of orbits round our star hence.
Anonymity is the very solitary actuality for all things eternal.

 

* * * *

Are you really any more than a flesh-packaged-wrapped-sheathed-incased-bundled blob?

Are the human body’s five sensory accessories– eyes, ears, nose, tongue, nerve-ridden skin –

Anything more than Mr. Potato Head mechanisms wired into an organic central processing unit?

Are all the things that make the human paradigm what it is – opposable thumbs, larynx,

Two arms, two legs, lung capacity, group dynamics, sexuality, et cetera –

Anything more than the happenstance of natural selection?

The mystery is the master of all possibilities.

Nature is its ever-changing, ever-evolving expression.

The device You inhabit, is but current issue in a timeless dance,

Eternally kaleidoscoping, for as long as the enigma of imagination endures.

 

* * * *

If existence has meaning and purpose,

Then surely at the top of the list, is to wake up,

To the awareness prior to consciousness, that you truly are.

The distractions are many; narcissism and hedonism are in their sway.

Few have the interest or wit to suspend the algorithm of the given nature-nurture.

For most, to even once, doubt all things, to even once, peer behind the veil,

Is so beyond the realm of possibility, that only fools brood over it.

And even if every human being, was somehow to awaken,

You would still be pure, unadulterated awareness,

Peering out upon the mystery, totally alone.

 

* * * *

Existence does not require meaning and purpose; it is the meaning and purpose.

The quest for more-more-more draws all into the insatiable rabbit hole of imagination.

But if pretending, if make-believe, is the lie, the delusion, that keeps you slogging, so be it.

Truth will still be here if any inkling of doubt is ever enough to be drawn back into its awareness.

 

* * * *

Can any following ever not create some sort of unnecessary mischief?

Best to retain this variety of eternal questing in the solitary confines of your mind,

And if you do pass it on, try to be sure to chance into the recipient only as serendipity allows.

 

* * * *

Despite all the blinding differences in all minds, across all times, across all geographies,

Despite all the walls and spears and snakes and trees and fans and ropes,

How can the entire elephant, how can the entire mystery,

Not be the same through and through?

How can any philosophy not embrace the entirety?

 

* * * *

What a thing to witness such a cataclysmic unfolding in the history of this garden orb.

With or without life on board, it will spin along until, eventually,

The mystery sees fit to consume it entirely,

And then, presumably, speculatively, spit out something new,

Assuming, of course, that some form of imaginary perception is there to witness it.

 

* * * *

What is there to fear, to dread, really, in this sensory-mind dream born of space-time imagination?

What other creature has so definitively invented such havoc as humankind,

With its inclination for every imaginable storyline.

All played out in an imaginary world,

To which awareness, is every moment, its own witness.

 

* * * *

Death means no more body,

No more harbor, no more container, no more vehicle,

So where is all that baggage going to go,

In the nowness of awareness?

 

* * * *

Religion is really nothing more than a narcissistic-hedonistic genus of Self-masturbation.

If you are going to venerate anything, venerate whatever is left of nature.

She is the Eden that made all this, this dreamtime, possible.

How difficult would it have been for our species,

To have fostered, to have embraced, a guardianship role,

Rather than twisting and destroying it to a degree yet to be finalized.

 

* * * *

You see only see what you perceive.

You see only see what you know.

You see only see what you believe.

Everyone is but a frame of reference.

Patterns born of the mystery prior to all.

 

* * * *

Would you save everyone, even if you could?

And what of all the other creations born of mystery?

Would you save all those, too? And in what stage of bloom?

And what of all the things? The rocks? The grains of sand and dust?

Surely, the indelible moment in which all transpire,

Is all the saving they require.

 

* * * *

Does time march? Does time dance?

Does time do anything at all?

Is time anything at all?

And what then, of space?

 

* * * *

How many mountains you have climbed,

How many rivers you have crossed, how many things you have done,

How many sunrises and sunsets you have witnessed,

To reach this moment of awareness.

 

* * * *

What north and south and east and west,

Would there possibly be, but for the dancing of the stars?

But for the angle and spin of the orb, around and around the hearth of the sun.

How you are here to witness whatever dream you have been cast,

Is the theater of mind, the playhouse of imagination,

In which wise and foolish alike dwell.

 

* * * *

To be born master of anything, to be born heir to anything, would seem very dulling.

The garnering process, from whatever beginning, to whatever end, is all.

To have been drawn into this life, this nature-nurture mystery,

Why not live it as if it were the stuff of legend?

Even if you are a grocery clerk.

 

* * * *

Is your existence, your fate, some deity’s plan?

Or is it all merely spontaneous, impromptu, quantum theater,

You, center stage in the one-and-only performance?

Listen for the applause in the graveyard.

 

* * * *

Imagination cannot more than hope to hide from awareness,

But awareness can evade imagination, as inattention allows.

 

* * * *

What choice has anyone ever had in anything, really?

Nature-nurture, the genetic lottery, coupled with the given backdrop –

History, culture, politics, religion, language, wealth, status, gender, and whatever else –

Fashion all, as surely, as deftly, as a mold does any lump of quantum terra-cotta.

Human consciousness may vainly, in so many ways, deem itself superior,

To the churning instinctual algorithms of all its fellow earthlings,

But primordial instinct is the underlying operating system,

That has been running this state of so-called existence,

Since long before the first hint, the first tethers, of imagination.

Destiny is, each and every timeless moment, choreographing your arrival.

 

* * * *

Science’s Big Bang Theory is about as meaningful for the layperson,

As any creation mythology is, from any tradition, from any time, from any geography.

All those who claim to know what this unfathomable mystery is about, are all only pretenders pretending.

The mystery is a mystery is a mystery is a mystery, and will forever remain a mystery,

In any and all forever-mores, that will ever be, forever more-ing.

 

* * * *

How could your sentience, your awareness,

Possibly be, in any way different, in any way disconnected,

From any other life form’s sentience, from any other life form’s awareness?

The mystery is all-inclusive: omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent.

Duality is nothing more than an imaginary concept,

Stillborn, preserved in mind only.

 

* * * *

Every moment awaits the arrival of your presence, your awareness, in the space-time construct.

The quantum matrix to which your imaginary, temporal existence, is habitually bound.

Free will looking forward, every moment, morphs into fate looking back.

 

* * * *

The dream, the illusion, only seems real in the moment.

Does the universe exist, without you as witness?

Did it create you, that you could create it,

In whatever way imagination might?

And death, in due course, erasing everything.

 

* * * *

Why has humankind created so many deities,

So many paradises, so many purgatories, of every variety and ilk?

Because the ever-churning imagination, required meaning and purpose, rhyme and reason,

To explain the inexplicable, to battle the futility, to lessen the fear of oblivion,

That followed them like shadows, in the jungles of long ago.

 

* * * *

You really believe you have free will?

Could you be free of your time?

Could you be free of your space?

Could you be free of your genetics?

Could you be free of your body?

Could you be free of your face?

Could you be free of your eyes?

Could you be free of your ears?

Could you be free of your nose?

Could you be free of your tongue?

Could you be free of your touch?

Could you be free of your language?

Could you be free of your ethnicity?

Could you be free of your gender?

Could you be free of your status?

Could you be free of your knowledge?

Could you be free of your memories?

Could you be free of your beliefs?

Could you be free of your wealth?

Could you be free of your religion?

Could you be free of your politics?

Could you be free of your feelings?

Could you be free of your emotions?

Could you be free of your prejudices?

Could you be free of your reflections?

Could you be free of your insights?

Could you be free of your appetites?

Could you be free of your family?

Could you be free of your friends?

Could you be free of your acquaintances?

Could you be free of your adversaries?

Could you be free of your heritage?

Could you be free of your tribe?

Could you be free of your work?

Could you be free of your habits?

Could you be free of your foods?

Could you be free of your liquids?

Could you be free of your pleasures?

Could you be free of your pains?

Could you be free of your sexuality?

Could you be free of your things?

Could you be free of your hobbies?

Could you be free of your loves?

Could you be free of your likes?

Could you be free of your hates?

Could you be free of your reactions?

Could you be free of your banter?

Could you be free of your algorithm?

Could you be free of your world?

Could you be free of your cosmos?

Could you be free of your moment?

Could you be free of anything at all?

The human paradigm is as fixed as any.

It may seem a complex, superior pattern,

In which consciousness reigns over instinct,

But you are as caught in it, as any jellyfish is its.

Even your most unpredictable actions are predictable.

Free will looking forward, fate looking back.

Your destiny awaits your arrival.

Die to it now, if you can.

 

* * * *

Is it really some ‘me’, some ‘myself’, some ‘I’, who is reading this?

Or is this sense of ‘you’ really nothing more than programmed imagination?

Imagination shrouding the awareness timelessly witnessing this sensory-mind dream.

The awareness timelessly witnessing dreamtimes in all sentient beings,

In which the indelible, unfathomable mystery, harbors.

 

* * * *

It is not the awareness that does anything, that remembers anything.

Consciousness is the engineer of all mischief.

The eternal is immaculate.

 

* * * *

The end of curiosity hearkens of the end of imaginary collusions.

Or perhaps at least hearkens to some diminishment, of imaginary collusions.

Or at least hearkens to waking up from the siesta, every once-in-a-while, now-and-again,

To the reality that it is all nothing more than an inexplicable, ineffable, rather absurd, quantum reverie.

 

* * * *

Another religion, another sect, another cult, another school, another system, another technique.

So much effort, so much discussion, so much argument, so much conflict.

All for the same moment, ever the same mystery.

 

* * * *

We must all play the consequences, the upshots, the penalties, of our given nature-nurture.

No one can save anyone, no one ever has saved anyone, no one ever will save anyone.

These sensory-laced blobs of crunchy-chewy-gooey, in which awareness is witness,

Are as indivisibly-inexplicably-indelibly-ineffably disposable, as all quantum-made are.

 

* * * *

If there is to be considered a duality,

The demarcation is between awareness and consciousness,

Which is not a true duality. because consciousness is to awareness, as clouds are to sky.

Duality is a concept, not a reality.

 

* * * *

If you are looking for a deity, awareness is it, awareness is You.

No dogma, no priesthood, no groupthink, no edifice, no charge.

 

* * * *

Savor the moment.

Do not be driven by imagination,

Into its dreamy time-bound-space-bound illusion.

Its monotonous, banal, narcissistic-hedonistic theater of the absurd,

That ceaselessly, zealously, rushes on and on and on, to the next to the next to the next.

To hold fast requires earnest diligence.

 

* * * *

Believe and hope and pray as you might, that there is more, alas, no.

You are a one-time sensory-mind dream, a Shakespearian player,

Wandering a touchy-feely, multi-dimensional, quantum holodeck.

An imaginary matrix of the original nature, flawless from all get-goes.

 

* * * *

Your spin in the genetic lottery may make you lucky,

But it does not make you special, it does not make you superior,

It does not make you higher or lower, stronger or weaker,

In the eternal eye of the spaceless-timeless moment.

Try to avoid getting all narcissistic about it.

 

* * * *

Science becomes as meaningless as any superstitious, mythological narrative,

Once you look for your Self, and discern the imaginary context of all perspectives.

 

* * * *

Why should you ever allow your Self to be yoked in any way?

Why feel the need to submit to any imaginary fiction?

Why give in to any absurdity born of vanity?

Why not just ‘be’ the awareness, you truly are?

 

* * * *

Dualistic notion makes absolutely no sense, whatsoever, in the rational truth scales.

For there to be a deity on high – bearded, lolling about the sky – is more than a little preposterous.

It was likely a calculated con on the sheeple to get their coin and free labor and daughters,

For whatever greedy, self-serving ends-and-means, steered the powers-that-were.

Call it cynical, call it skeptical, call it pessimistic, but do not call it untrue.

 

* * * *

Everything – culture, language, history, status, gender – is imprinted long before it becomes absorbed.

To believe you are anything more than a quantum algorithm humming away your little part,

In this grand theatrical production, that encompasses all creation, best think again.

In your next decision, see if you can come up with an unexpected move,

Without thinking at about it.

 

And if you managed something, how unpredictable was it, really?

 

* * * *

Every decision you make, large or small, left or right, good or bad,

Carries you down the long and winding Yellow Brick River

To whatever destiny awaits your inevitable appearance.

Each moment is equal, each moment is absolute,

Each moment is done as soon as it begins.

When death does eventually arrive,

When all those memoires are erased,

It will all be as if nothing ever happened.

 

* * * *

This moment is as new, a new, as any new, can ever be.

Vague perceptions, concoctions of mind, machinations of imagination,

Are but shadows cast only for as long as the given dreamer ascertains them real and true.

Death has proven to be the most convenient way to wipe the slate clean.

 

* * * *

To call anything yours, journeys into the never-never land of absurdity,

Being that you have never really existed as more than an imaginary construct,

That this kaleidoscoping dreamtime is really nothing more than quantum fairy dust.

Death is nothing more than an imaginary cosmos coming to a full and assuredly final, halt.

 

* * * *

If you think life is monotonous, imagine eternity.

As mundane and lackluster as the mind it is given.

 

* * * *

Stop wishing you were some other place.

Stop wishing you were some other time.

Stop wishing you were some other life.

Here You are … right here, right now.

Awareness … pure, simple, absolute.

Ineffable, inexplicable, unfathomable.

Nothing more to be, nothing else to be.

 

* * * *

You are not the self.

You are not the mind.

You are not the body,

You are not the world.

You are not the cosmos.

You are the awareness.

You were never born.

You will never die.

Let go all dreams.

Let go all illusions.

Let go all delusions.

Let go all attachments.

Pay attention to the moment.

Be free of space, be free of time.

 

* * * *

To all true believers: Duality makes no sense, whatsoever.

Why would any deity not want to experience everything for itself?

The awareness you are, is the mystery itself, witnessing its own creation,

Through the given nature-nurture, spawned long before your parents copulated.

This is a preordained dream; there is no partition, there is no wall, there is no division.

There is only one mystery, there is only one unknown, there is only one truth, and it is … You.

This is surely what Jesus meant, when rumored to have declared, “I am the Truth, the Life, and the Way.”

What was not recorded, what was not transcribed, or worse yet, edited out, was, “And so are You.”

This all assumes, of course, that Jesus of Bethlehem was not some storyteller’s tall tale,

Conceived after spending a few hours with a naive young woman named Mary,

Whose husband, Joseph, had pimped her out to pay for their stable,

Where their baby, Jesus, was serenely asleep in a manger.

That the storyteller, a prankster named Paul,

Realized a ‘divine’ opportunity,

And spun it into a rather lucrative livelihood,

Which, alas, ended badly when it touched the flame of Rome.

Paul’s carny act, however, did survive, and has played every imaginable circus ever since.

 

* * * *

All human history, since long before the migration, the exodus, from the African jungles,

Has been driven by a very Darwinian might-makes-right, and its certain sidekick, political correctness.

World history is how all these tribal mindsets, these clannish groupthinks, have blended together.

From on-high, it would appear like bacteria spreading every which way across a Petri Dish.

Creating-preserving-destroying, in every corner of this itty-bitty, whirling grain of dust,

Which serenely orbits a small star floating in a relatively unexceptional galaxy,

In a cosmos whose lifespan is considered brief by the deities in charge.

 

* * * *

It is far easier to stay with what you started, to stay with what you know,

Than it is to adventure into the unknown, into the insecurity of new beginnings.

Of new people, new places, new ways of looking at things, new ways of doing things.

A questing life offers a sea of agonies and ecstasies in the unending universe over the next hill.

It is not for all, but it is for some; it is for those who cannot resist at least a taste, at least the dip of a toe.

But realize that you can never come back to what was left, for the cave of origin can never be the same.

Because you are not the same, and you can never unsee, can never undo, whatever was seen and done.

Sages, seers, oracles, mystics, prophets – are the tribeless tribe, fated to wander alone,

Across all times, across all geographies. across all dimensions.

 

* * * *

In the annals of the vast unknowable,

The entire human paradigm and all its imaginary theatrics,

Could be summed to being nothing more than a relentless torrent of mental masturbation.

The interminable make-believe of a species assuming its sensory illusion tangible.

Laughably absurd, steeped in the inanity and insanity of irony and paradox.

Unequivocal meaninglessness from any and all imaginary get-goes.

 

* * * *

The nature-nurture conditioning is so powerful, so strong, so imbued,

That to even be aware of it, much less even an iota free of it,

Requires absolute attention, committed witnessing,

A yogic feat to which very few are inclined.

 

* * * *

What will your death, your departure, your exodus, be like?

Will it be passionate or peaceful? Painful or painless?

Will it be expected or unexpected? Quick or slow?

Will you be all alone or surrounded by others?

Will you be whimpering or unconcerned?

Will you be pleading to some deity?

Or already at home in the abyss?

 

* * * *

We are all nothing more than recordings playing our little blob parts so seriously.

Stepping back into the oblivion of awareness, gives it the perspective it deserves.

 

* * * *

Memories are the world you carry,

The universe you hold to be real and true,

The frame of reference to which you feel so entitled.

Atlas shrugged; you can, too.

 

* * * *

Abiding in pure awareness, without the screen of memory, without the sense of self,

Every moment is the first and last time the conditioned mind,

Will ever read the sensory input that way.

Continuity is illusion coupled with delusion.

 

* * * *

Free will is not possible.

If there is any freedom to be had,

It is in the abeyance of consciousness, the abeyance of will.

It is in the surrender of awareness to its Self.

Free ‘of’ will, so to speak.

 

* * * *

Your little window of time,

Opens into the next, into the next, into the next,

Into every next there can possibly be.

If the dream were real, that is.

 

* * * *

Even the most successful, even the most favored, even the most joyous, even the most loving,

Must one day surrender to that called death, to the facelessness of oblivion,

In whatever manner the quantum mystery has deigned.

 

* * * *

Liberate your Self.

Let go your world, your cosmos.

Discern that sweet spot in the eye of awareness,

That which is unknown, that which is the mystery, that you truly are.

 

* * * *

What is time but the indivisible quantum matrix,

Kaleidoscoping multi-dimensionally;

You, its faceless witness.

 

* * * *

Every life form is shaped by its environment.

Every life form helps shape its environment.

It is the quantum mystery, the cosmic dance,

That each life form witnesses in its own way.

 

* * * *

Perhaps all the bacteria in that Petri dish, is carrying on just like us.

Perhaps we are being watched through a microscope by a scientist in some laboratory,

In the next turtle up universe in the turtles-up-turtles-down of more universes than numbers have access.

Unleash your mind upon the near-infinity of possibilities, if you have the wit and inclination.

 

* * * *

Your entire existence is nothing more than the hum of quantum programming,

Nothing more than an ever-churning, self-perpetuating algorithm,

Set into undying motion at the inception of all creation,

Guided by the serendipity of natural selection.

You are helpless to change anything.

With or without a master, you are but a puppet.

 

* * * *

You can be pretty-darned sure, that for you to be right here, right now, this moment,

Your ancestors, your lineage, from the inception in the quantum soup,

Consumed whatever it could, whatever it had to, to survive long enough to cast a seed,

That through Darwinian selection, spawned the mind-body, the sensory matrix, inhabited solely by You.

 

* * * *

Discern closely, without any attachment to the mind-body and its theater,

And you will see clearly, that your world, your cosmos, is nothing more than sensation,

Sculpted by imagination into the way it is, for You, all by your alonesome.

 

* * * *

The busy-busy mind, the curious mind, the time-bound mind, the illusory mind,

Can be easily drawn, easily enticed, down every variety of rabbit hole.

To reside in the eternal awareness requires great detachment

From the temporal world and all its distractions.

 

* * * *

Awareness, impartial witness to all creation.

Awareness, impartial witness to all preservation.

Awareness, impartial witness to all destruction

Awareness, impartial witness to all oblivion.

 

* * * *

If you had never seen your face in a mirror,

Or photograph or any other reflection,

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

Would you imagine your Self to be?

 

* * * *

Who really cares what you believe?

Who really cares what you feel?

Who really cares what you are?

Really only You, and You, alone.

And that, but for the dreamtime allotted.

 

* * * *

How is it that this world, this cosmos, is not already beyond-all-pales magical,

Without so many glossing it over with every variety of superstition and fantasy?

How is it that a scientific approach has not entirely abolished all fallacious claims,

With a vision so much more expansive, than any parts can but begin to imagine?

 

* * * *

This moment is all there is, and there ain’t no more.

No who, no what, no where, no when, no why, no how.

Nothing to know, nothing to be, nothing to be curious about.

That there is nothing to conceive, is so amazingly slam-dunk obvious.

In fact, it is impossible to conceive, to imagine, anything, within any given moment.

Even if the momentary, unborn-undying awareness, could, somehow, stop long enough to consider it;

Could somehow, make the quantum space-time matrix, stop its kaleidoscoping merry-go-round;

Could somehow hold absolutely still, for even one single poof of an eternal moment;

It would all boil down to: this moment is all there is, and there ain’t no more.

 

* * * *

All are witness to the same mystery,

Witness to the same indivisible theater of quantum origin,

But how each patterning, each algorithm, plays out its nature-nurture dreamtime,

Is its own incomparable adventure, its own incomparable fate,

From imagination’s beginning, to its end.

 

* * * *

The curious mind is ever drawn out the keep of awareness,

In the insatiable quest for one grail or another,

Not always of the holy sort.

 

* * * *

Imagination, creator of all that is nothing more than quantum illusion.

Imagination, creator of all that has never been anything more than quantum illusion.

Imagination, creator of all that will never be anything more than quantum illusion.

Imagination, only as material as the sensory-born illusion of the given moment.

 

* * * *

How much of your imaginary space-time is spent on every variety of distraction?

Mindless drivel, fallacious conclusions, magical assumptions, romantic yearnings.

How much of your imaginary space-time is spent avoiding the stillness within?

 

* * * *

Playing in this touchy-feely sandbox does not mean You are not entirely alone all the while.

That all others are but apparitions, dancing about all around you,

In a magical holodeck of quantum design.

Perfectly choreographed by the sensory mind,

In all its biological-chemical-electrical-quantum glory.

It may be delusional, but it is a madness that makes it tolerable.

 

* * * *

What conflict could there have ever been in sentient beings for more than food and turf,

Until imagination usurped the awareness, rose into Planet of the Apes glory,

And grafted self-absorption, identity, into the instinctual algorithm.

And thus, a long and winding, ever-present expedition, to You, reading this,

Somewhere along the path that your nature-nurture is, to its imaginary fate, wandering.

 

* * * *

Dwelling in the awareness requires a very clear, a very present, attentiveness.

Far easier to drift in the busy-ness of the imaginary realms,

To which most minds are inclined.

 

* * * *

In the craft, the art, the cunning, of politicians, of rhetoricians, of manipulators, of Machiavellians.

That all humans, through natural selection of the species, possess to some degree,

The important thing, the pragmatic thing, the sensible thing,

Is not whether you heard or understood them,

But that they believe you did.

Keeping the peace keeps it peaceful.

Respect oils the ceaseless machinations of power.

Disregarding the balance is a sure road to mayhem and suffering,

All based upon patterns that our kind evolved since inception in the primordial stew.

Long before space, long before time, long before imagination usurped the genome for its imaginary ends.

 

* * * *

Diverse as all the speculations – in all times, in all geographies – of how all this creation came to be,

The dice of the original patterning were thrown long before there were any stories to weave,

And have been whirling and twirling their tango down the craps table ever since.

Call it by whatever name has been drilled in, it is ever the mystery of You.

That which is prior to all beginnings, that which is after all ends.

No need to believe anything, but what the palette of nature reveals,

But what your awareness, what you, your Self, alone, clearly discerns.

 

* * * *

Imagination is the Original Sin.

Until it usurped awareness, good and evil did not exist,

And their reality is a still an unproven doctrine, one left to philosophers who pontificate on ethics,

And the rest, to those who ceaselessly spin their self-absorbed realities,

Into every imaginable form of self-righteousness.

 

* * * *

Everything you know, everything you trust, everything you consider real and true,

Everything you spent your life accumulating, everything you will likely depart believing,

Is nothing more than whatever your imaginary nature-nurture quantum reverie, has concocted.

 

* * * *

Challenging not to allow imagination to believe this mystery,

To be more than it is, more than it needs to be, more than it ever can be.

Imagination has an exceedingly long rap sheet, of difficulty leaving well enough alone.

 

* * * *

Through all times,

Through all spaces,

The same genesis in all,

The same unknown in all,

The same consciousness in all,

The same imagination in all,

The same awareness in all,

The same moment in all,

The same mystery in all,

The same voice in all,

The same You in all.

 

* * * *

Reality is only as real as you imagine it.

Space is only as real as you imagine it.

Time is only as real as you imagine it.

History is only as real as you imagine it.

Science is only as real as you imagine it.

Mathematics is only as real as you imagine it.

Music is only as real as you imagine it.

Art is only as real as you imagine it.

Philosophy is only as real as you imagine it.

Industry is only as real as you imagine it.

Technology is only as real as you imagine it.

Architecture is only as real as you imagine it.

Existence is only as real as you imagine it.

Stuff is only as real as you imagine it.

Other is only as real as you imagine it.

Nature is only as real as you imagine it.

Gaia is only as real as you imagine it.

Genesis is only as real as you imagine it.

Dreamtime is only as real as you imagine it.

Everything is only as real as you imagine it.

God is only as real as you imagine it.

Awareness is only as real as you imagine it.

Self is only as real as you imagine it.

You are only as real as you imagine it.

 

* * * *

What is left, after you stop imagining you are the body?

What is left, after you stop imagining you are the identity?

What is left, after you stop imagining you are all these memories?

What is left, after you stop imagining you are all these relationships?

What is left, after you stop imagining you are anything at all?

What is left, but the still, pure awareness, you ever are,

That to which all manifestation is but a dream.

 

* * * *

How boggling that the human species,

Despite all the science, despite all the technology,

Still imagines itself in any way separate from the mystery it is.

 

* * * *

There is no reason why anything has to stay the same.

There is no way anything can stay the same.

Change is the quantum certitude.

 

* * * *

What will death be, but a huge release, complete freedom, from the captivity of awareness,

Locked in a corporeal mind-body, locked in the confining nature of any seed’s existence.

The human version saturated with every variety of illusion that imagination can muster.

Why fear, why dread, at last returning to the oblivion, to the home ground, you truly are?

 

* * * *

Look at the population counters, counting away, and you will get a sense,

Of how many dreams are out there, happening right now, and that is just human beings.

All life has equal access to the same simultaneous, timeless awareness.

All existence, you included, is the same mystery.

Allow it to remain a mystery.

Give it no name.

Be it.

Enjoy the quietude.

 

* * * *

Imagination takes you anywhere you please.

It is the magic carpet ride of this eternal mystery.

Perhaps wearing a bit thin as far as this garden goes.

 

* * * *

What will death be, but a huge release, complete freedom, from the captivity of awareness,

In a corporeal mind-body, saturated with every variety of illusion that imagination can muster.

Why fear, why dread, at last returning to the oblivion, to the homestead, you ever really-truly are?

 

* * * *

No need to believe anything, but what the palette of nature reveals,

But what your awareness, what you, your Self, alone, clearly discerns.

 

* * * *

After who-knows-how-many thousands of years of inquiry,

In all strata of all cultures, across all times, across all geographies,

The unanswerable question are still as unanswerable as ever.

 

* * * *

The sciences, the mathematics, the technologies, and all the other intellectual pursuits,

Have investigated anything and everything to unimaginable heights and depths,

But there is a point of diminishing returns we have long since surpassed.

When will we finally discern the meaninglessness, the absurdity,

Of the infinity of zeros on either side of the decimal point?

 

* * * *

How did you ever come to believe that You, were this mass of crunchy and chewy and gooey?

This double-double-toil-and-trouble vat of quantum, patterned into life,

That somehow, through countless Darwinian choices,

Came to be but the current chariot,

From which to witness your eternal creation.

Be not too attached to it, for it must go the way of all the rest.

 

* * * *

Who and what and where and when and why and how,

Is there any direction in the stillness, the emptiness, the nothingness, the oblivion;

The ineffable, indelible, unknowable, unfathomable, spaceless, timeless, ever-present now of awareness?

 

* * * *

An unmindful breath is imagination’s most potent weapon in the usurpation of awareness.

One can only speculate, how much of the human paradigm, is really about oxygen deprivation.

What strange things these endorphins, these chemical reactions, in this magical electromagnetic body,

That has taken all genesis, all creation, gazillions of trips around our wee little star,

To create the one You are in, in this particular space and time.

You are witness to a sensory-inspired theater,

A sensory-inspired matrix,

A sensory-inspired, ineffable mystery.

There need be, there can be, no more explanation.

 

* * * *

Growing older becomes something of a tick-tick-tick countdown to death.

Moving closer moment by moment, to what, you do know, to what, you cannot know.

All religions, all the middleman, across all times, all geographies, are talking through their hats.

No one knows, no one has ever known, no one will ever know,

Anything but what imagination imagines.

 

* * * *

Neither cosmos nor world revolve around you.

It kaleidoscopes within and without the timeless eye of awareness.

As you scan this, gazillions beyond gazillions of moments, have streamed before the senses.

Do not dwell on the in and out of each and every breath of a body bound to illusion.

Focus instead, on it flowing through the mind, that space you truly ever are,

In which the mystery, each and every timeless, indelible moment,

Simultaneously enters and exits, as it does any stream.

 

* * * *

Be – in mind, in consciousness, in awareness – very still,

And you will discern the mystery you ever are,

This, and every tabula rasa moment,

Since the dawn of creation.

 

* * * *

There are many writers writing, there are many speakers speaking.

All describing the same mystery though the prisms of different frames of reference.

Different times, different geographies, different cultures, different languages, different everything.

There is no need to favor one over another; only to ascertain if the voice is the same.

 

* * * *

The awareness you are, requires a mind, a vehicle, a theater,

In which to envision its imaginary quantum creation.

To believe you are the vessel, is to miss entirely,

That no vain notion carries water for long.

 

* * * *

An empty mind is a whole mind, a total mind, a no-mind.

Do not focus the momentary awareness on the in and out of breathing.

Concentrate instead, on stilling the ever-churning thoughts,

Which cloak the mystery of the moment.

 

* * * *

If you feel called to serve, serve the awareness, serve the matrix, serve the moment, serve the now,

Whose quantum mystery casts into all sensory theaters the illusion of space and time.

Walk spontaneously, walk anonymously, do whatever the moment calls.

No need to make a big thing about the imaginary character.

The mystery you truly are, is beyond all need of vanity or avarice.

 

* * * *

It would seem extremely rare, extremely atypical, extremely dubious, likely all but impossible,

That a mind that has been heavily conditioned, could even begin to escape its taloned clutches.

It would take an extremely doubtful, an extremely adroit mind, to embark on such a journey.

 

* * * *

Play hedonism and narcissism from abstinence to moderate to extreme,

It is all the same awareness through which the winds of illusion blow.

 

* * * *

What happened to the Egyptians,

What happened to the Persians,

What happened to the Chinese,

What happened to the Greeks,

What happened to the Spanish,

What happened to the French,

What happened to the English,

What happened to the Germans,

What happened to the Russians,

What happened to the Aztecs,

What happened to the Incas,

What happened to the Zulus,

What happened to the Romans,

Is what happens to all robust tribes.

Everything that rises, sooner or later falls.

That is the statistical certainty of all manifestation.

Including this genesis, this matrix, and any and all creations prior and hence.

 

* * * *

The awakening, is realizing you have a front-and-center-row seat,

To your world, your universe, your mind-body’s nature-nurture, your now.

All other dualistic notions, all blacks and whites, fall to the wayside; relativity reigns.

 

* * * *

This corporeal mind-body, too, must one day dis-incorporate, as all mortal shells do.

The ultimate You, the quantum matrix You, the electromagnetic spectrum You,

Has, through awareness, experienced every life form, every sentient creature.

Congratulations on getting to perform an at least somewhat awakened role.

 

* * * *

Whether words are scientific or philosophical,

None have any influence over truth, any control of truth.

It is only vanity that stokes any arguments about the way it is, and is not.

 

* * * *

Who, what, where, when, why, how, are you,

But imagination, imagining itself real,

In the emptiness of awareness.

 

* * * *

A discerning, doubting eye, is all any earnest truth-seeker requires.

Your mind, your body, your world, your cosmos, is your teacher, your guru.

So, meander on, pilgrim, wherever, however, your Yellow Brick Road twists and turns.

 

* * * *

You are nothing more than a quantum algorithm.

Oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

 

* * * *

So, one moment, awareness, a.k.a., God, if that’s your thing, woke up from a long siesta,

Wondered what would happen if it kick-started a tiny little tidbit of nothingness.

And voila, here you are, meandering an electromagnetic mystery theater,

Witnessing every agony, every ecstasy, and everything betwixt.

As every cat knows, that curiosity thing sure can bite.

 

* * * *

Show me what will happen in one minute,

Just a few miles away, or half-way across the world,

And I will believe space-time is more than an imaginary notion.

 

* * * *

If you are paying very close attention to the impenetrable awareness,

You are waylaying your patterning for at least a few moments, maybe.

 

* * * *

When has anything you have ever created, no matter the genre,

Not required an evolutionary process linked to space and time?

 

* * * *

What is the whole mind, the absolute mind,

But a mind given over to the pure awareness,

Witness to all reveries of consciousness.

Called by many names; none matter.

 

* * * *

Some are, through the ever-streaming river of natural selection, given the role of predator, some, of prey.

Some a do-whatever-is-required, adaptable, opportunistic, pragmatic blend.

Which role have you been allotted?

The thing to always remember and appreciate,

Is that all are equally the same awareness, the same mystery.

 

* * * *

Storytelling will never end, because that is how imagination reigns,

Over the emptiness, the pointlessness, the tabula rasa, of immaculate awareness.

Or so it seems to believe, across all the many variations of vanity,

Humankind has, since long ago, played out.

 

* * * *

All creation is a massive, ever-kaleidoscoping sculpture,

A work of art that includes you as one of its countless sculptors.

The only way to witness its sum, is to surrender self, and become Self.

 

* * * *

For the human species to survive much longer,

It must somehow recalibrate itself with the rules of the game.

The choices of vain notion have nothing to do with it, never have, never will.

The world, the cosmos, the mystery, are every moment in precise quantum-clock equilibrium.

The only real question is whether our kind, and all our fellow earthlings, small to large,

Can manage to survive the holocaust into which it is every moment headed.

 

* * * *

What you think, what you do not think, what you do, what you do not do,

When you are alone, when no one is watching, when no one but you knows,

Says everything about the nature-nurture, imaginary you,

That can be ever be said or written.

 

* * * *

If the words infinity and infinitesimal imply measurement,

Then they, too, are not real in the immeasurableness of it all.

 

* * * *

The epiphany voice is a realization from the deepest deep within.

It is a realization of something ofttimes life-changing.

It has a certain indescribable tone about it.

Never a bad idea to have bags packed for new adventures.

 

* * * *

What did it take for this, or any of these many thoughts, to reach your awareness?

All of creation, and prior to that, if speculation be tickled and taunted.

Written for those who modestly hunger for prior to more.

For those who seek the one and only true Self within any and all.

 

* * * *

The great cause for divorce in any relationship is not meeting the other’s expectations.

Crossing some line, known or unknown, such that forgiveness is no longer an option.

 

* * * *

Do not be fooled by façade and bluster and bluff.

Every human being is filled with such a deep insecurity,

That many, if not most, spend their entire temporal dreamtime,

Avoiding, evading, bargaining, deluding, in every way imaginable.

To challenge the insecurity squarely, is embrace the mystery.

 

* * * *

Scientists will likely whirl and twirl with the mystery for the rest of time,

But they will always end up at the same impenetrable dead end,

As mystics, across all times, across all geographies.

The mystery will ever remain a mystery.

All any can ever do, is be it.

 

* * * *

How can this done-as-quickly-as-it-happens dream of space and time,

Be considered anything more than impromptu theater, full of every imaginable intrigue.

But, for those whose nature-nurture have given the intelligence, the wit, to step outside any and all limits,

It is an opportunity to witness the mystery in whatever way frame of reference allows.

 

* * * *

Call it Genesis, call it Big Bang, what difference, really?

Whether it was kicked off by some divine being or quantum mechanics,

It is ever the same unfathomable, ineffable, timeless mystery.

Quarreling over something that can never be known,

Is about at meaningless as meaningless gets.

 

* * * *

Let the vain be vain, the greedy be greedy, the powerful be powerful.

It is their avarice for more-more-more that has made it possible,

For you to be here observing this grand mystery, as they never will.

You will not even one iota change the world, but it need not change you.

 

* * * *

Life plays but one seed at a time.

Genomic sequences, strung out like pearls.

Each linked from whatever beginning to whatever end.

It is a process that is as close to immortality as the mystery allows.

 

* * * *

What can anyone really know of the so many unanswerable questions?

Science has examined everything to the nth degree, and still they remain inscrutable.

Every moment is the exact same mystery it has always been, the exact same mystery it will ever be.

Anyone enticing you with some esoteric morsel is talking through their hat.

Best check your wallet as you quickly back away.

 

* * * *

Light will travel through a vacuum at 300 million meters per second.

The speed of sound through air is about 340 meters per second.

And what of taste? And what of smell? And what of touch?

What exactly is this dream that the five senses weave?

And does any universe exist without a witness to create it?

 

* * * *

The dream of time spins on and on and on and on.

Never more than a dream of consciousness.

Never more than a dream of imagination.

Never more than a dream of mystery.

Never more than a dream of You.

 

* * * *

Everything you remember is no more than what neurons manage to encode.

Your world is entirely based on electrical impulses evolved

In the primordial stew long before time.

 

* * * *

What effort it takes to politic, to maneuver and fire, as the moment calls.

How much simpler might-makes-right must have been,

Before the advent of language, infused with the infinity of imagination,

Before the fruit of knowledge was first plucked, and the exodus from the garden underway.

 

* * * *

If you are called to something greater than your imaginary dreamer,

All you need do is serve the awareness, serve the moment,

Serve the matrix, serve the mystery, there is no other.

No need for crystal cathedrals climbing to divine summits,

Nor charlatans between you and whatever they claim the mystery to be.

 

* * * *

Vanity is naught but the fluff, the huff and puff, of imagination.

It means absolutely nothing to the world, to the cosmos, to mystery.

 

* * * *

Are you this imaginary part in the human paradigm, the human chronicle, the human debacle?

Or simply You, witnessing; simply You, present; simply You, right here, right now;

Simply You, the one and only, ever-present, unborn-undying moment.

The same one that twinkles in the eye of the awareness.

 

* * * *

When did the first notion of your imaginary sense of self take place?

When did the first scratches appear on the empty slate, the tabula rasa?

 

* * * *

All that is imagined is only real in imagination.

To be that awareness, to be that witness, prior to imagination,

Is to be free of history, free of all that is known, free of all that limits the spirit;

 

* * * *

What need does nature, what need does awareness, have for gods and demons?

What need for any imaginary temporal confabulations born of human insecurity?

 

* * * *

Every timeless moment brings more degradation

To a garden already mutilated beyond all recognition,

From the Darwinian purity, the quantum clockwork,

Prior to the rise of man, and his penchant for more.

 

* * * *

How can philosophy, the study of life, the inquiry into what is real, what is factual, what is genuine,

Be confined by any time, be confined by any geography, be confined by any circumstance?

How can it be called Western or Eastern, or any other arbitrary, dualistic notion?

If any given truth applies to one, it must apply to all, else it is not truth.

 

* * * *

Family and friends may be cracked up to what they are supposed to be, if you are lucky.

Sometimes you are on surer footing with adversaries and strangers,

Than you are with those you hold near and dear,

Those you assume, you hope, you should be able to trust.

Standing alone, aloof, unallied, is sometimes the best and only option.

 

* * * *

Awareness is prior to consciousness.

Awareness is prior to sound.

Awareness is prior to sight.

Awareness is prior to taste.

Awareness is prior to smell.

Awareness is prior to touch.

Awareness is prior to everything.

 

* * * *

Every moment is tabula rasa, every moment is an empty slate,

Every moment is timelessly unconnected to every other moment,

Upon which consciousness can write any story it pleases, or not.

To discern this clearly, is what it truly means, to be born again.

 

* * * *

To delve into true aloneness, true solitude, true seclusion, true isolation,

Put behind family, friends, strangers, adversaries, and all other endless attachments to mind and body.

Let go the ever-stormy, ever confused, ever violent world, we have together crafted,

With its seemingly endless collection of insanities and absurdities,

Headlining every moment of every day.

 

* * * *

Most mortal minds are more attached to their imagination,

Than they are the mystery from which all imagination comes.

 

* * * *

Why deprive your Self of a good, full, fearless, desireless, breath of air?

Giving your awareness back to the moment it is, is the serenity,

That no imaginary character can in mind, ever achieve.

 

* * * *

The creative mind is a state of awareness that spices up even the most plebeian existence.

No matter the genre, it is a mind that surfs the moment, the wave of time and space.

Its only rival is desire, playing out in all the ways only the hunger for more can.

 

* * * *

We are all blobs of crunchy and chewy and gooey,

Some with more aesthetically-pleasing exteriors than others,

But all just blobs, playing out the theater of consciousness, just the same.

Which blobs of crunchy and chewy and gooey, will copulate,

And cast forth the next generation, the next wave,

In the mystery’s Darwinian anthology?

 

* * * *

The quantum can do whatever the limits of being a quantum are.

Why should the electromagnetic spectrum be confined

By any imaginary notion devised by mind?

 

* * * *

It is extremely arduous for the mind, the brain, to reach a discerning point,

Where it is able to still itself into the timeless beingness, where it is at last content to merely be,

Awakening to the awareness challenges, defies, the genomic rhyme and reason.

It is the one and only revolution, it is the one and only evolution.

 

* * * *

We all play the part, the role, spun by the genetic lottery.

Nature-nurture spins character, and they, together, spin destiny.

Only in looking back, can there be any awareness, any understanding,

Of what it took for you to have reached this moment,

In your performance, in your spectacle.

And you, its solitary, dispassionate, eternal witness.

 

* * * *

When you get right down to it, stars shining from across the universe,

Are about as meaningful as lights on a Christmas tree across the room.

Always calling to astronomers and astrologists to measure and calculate,

But relatively meaningless for plebeians just trying to survive the day.

 

* * * *

What would happen if humankind across the world, somehow awakened to its eternal nature?

How would we behave toward each other, and the garden, we have so brought to its knees?

How would we mend ourselves, and the environment, we have so abused and neglected?

What discourse would there be, if vanity and greed no longer spun their absurdities?

What decisions would the species make to become guardians instead of destroyers?

 

* * * *

Where else is there to be,

When the me, the myself, the I,

Disappear into the stillness of awareness.

 

* * * *

The Garden of Life and Death.

The Garden of Good and Evil.

The Garden of Desire and Fear.

The Garden of Sweet and Bitter.

The Garden of Black and White.

The Garden of Sound and Silence.

The Garden of Kind and Callous.

The Garden of Full and Empty.

The Garden of Hot and Cold.

The Garden of Ones and Zeros.

The Garden of Dualistic Notion.

 

* * * *

What a wretched, useless thing, to go through this existence born of mystery,

Always estimating, always calculating, always preserving,

One’s power, one’s wealth, one’s status.

Who is the who, who cares, is the real question.

 

* * * *

No need to ever inquire deeply, if it does not call you.

There are distractions beyond all counting,

For as many lifetimes as you like,

Or at least for as many,

As this dream world has in store.

 

* * * *

We all have a part to play.

Small or large, long or short, easy or hard.

Perhaps center stage, perhaps off in some anonymous sidebar.

But always the lead actor, front and center, peering out through the senses provided.

See it or not, like it or not, play it or not, that is the way the mystery rolls.

 

* * * *

Are you really open to forgetting your imaginary self?

To regain your true Self, to abide in the pure awareness the moment is?

Are you really willing to be dead before your time?

 

* * * *

Why would it ever matter if you are the only one to see this great truth?

There is no need to proselytize, no need to organize, no need to demonize.

There is no need to create any philosophy, form any cult, foster any fortune.

You are free to spend the rest of your dream, a totally anonymous witness.

You can spend it sitting staring at a wall, or on a barstool at the local pub.

No one will give second thought, if you do not raise your hand to speak.

 

* * * *

Most minds are more attached to their stories,

Than they are the truth from which all stories come.

 

* * * *

How many generations has it taken since life’s beginning,

To finally reach your ephemeral window of imagination’s future past?

And unless you have not brought children into dreamtime, not forwarded your seed line,

There is no knowing what chronicle your lineage will someday withstand,

In whatever theater the human paradigm has yet to play,

Before its inevitable, inexorable extinction.

 

* * * *

How can any mortal witness ever be totally free of the given conditioning,

But through unreserved surrender to the momentary awareness?

Something to do with staring blankly at a blank wall,

At least on the first few million attempts.

 

* * * *

To discern and abide in that most vibrant state prior to consciousness,

The momentary union with the awareness you truly are,

Is the final bout with the windmills of mind.

 

* * * *

Where else is there to be, when the me, the myself, the I,

Dissipate like the Cheshire Cat into the stillness of awareness.

 

* * * *

Just another sound.

Just another sight.

Just another taste.

Just another smell.

Just another touch.

Just another thought.

Where is the space?

Where is the time?

 

* * * *

Everything the quantum mystery has ever woven across all creation,

Was required, for the awareness, in your mortal form, to reach this moment.

Tarry a while, for you are the You, which all seekers have sought, since seeking began.

 

* * * *

Extinction of any species is just another day in the garden.

Not even a pause to pay last respects or salute the departed.

Mother Nature just churns on and on in her quantum way.

 

* * * *

Imagine, if you will, being that newborn again.

Pure awareness, out into the light, the noise, the hunger, the pain, the fear,

And what it took for consciousness, for imagination, to shape it, mold it, whittle it, into the universe,

In which you every moment tread, playing out the dream as you do.

We are all very much alone, together.

 

* * * *

Consciousness (a.k.a., imagination), the great usurper,

Is a trickster, a jester, a charlatan, a skalawag, a scoundrel, a pretender,

With every imaginable diversion, every ways and means, every moment, at its beck and call.

Ever enticing the awareness that you are, that you are not,

Away from its eternal nature.

 

* * * *

As we have witnessed many times, in all times, in all geographies,

Spiritual inquiry so often becomes more about the charismatic leader,

More about the followers, more about the dogma, than the original message.

It is an abyss into which the undiscerning, the true believers, again and again fall.

It is about middlemen, who, consciously or not, mold the me-myself-and-I

Into an us-versus-them group mind that casts all non-believers

Into a nadir that seals off all possibility of resolution,

But through submission to the group’s will.

 

* * * *

On either side of the decimal, the ultimate truth of science,

Is always just one more zero past the far distant shores.

 

* * * *

You are but another tidbit, another flavor, another texture,

In the double-double-toil-and-trouble stew of this manifest theater.

Nothing more or less special than any quantum handiwork.

 

* * * *

Awareness of Self is much more, much less, than imagination

Can ever more than swathe in the smoke and mirrors of time.

 

* * * *

Fathom your world, fathom your universe.

It will be as immense, or as small, as your imagination.

What was it before you were born? What will it be after you die?

 

* * * *

What is being investigated in this long and winding, tedious, cumbersome, philosophical edifice,

And many others across all times, all spaces, is whether awareness can be the go-to.

Giving it the reigns to imagination, rather than the other way around.

Consciousness need not be the willy-nilly, insane absurdity,

For those who have the wit to spin it rationally.

 

* * * *

Every newborn, whatever the species, the genus,

Is pure consciousness, is pure awareness,

As tabula rasa as tabula rasa can be,

Struggling to comprehend what is going on.

Nature-nurture will fashion its own unique answer.

 

* * * *

Yet another day, same mind, same body, same instincts, same routine, same storyline.

Awareness can do nothing more than witness; it is the unborn-undying, sleepless eye of eternity.

Taking the Red Pill, the no-stone-unturned existence, is a quest to which few are inclined.

Any fallacy, any delusion, any lie, can only usurp the truth in undiscerning minds.

 

* * * *

Regarding the patterning to which all are witness, always be mindful that it is every moment,

Patterning along, humming along, with the entire universe, with the entire mystery.

None can ever, in any way, any shape, any form, be a free-will-free-agent,

Because the mind-body cannot, for even one moment,

Disconnect from the sensory theater to which it is mortally bound.

And thus, it is imagination, the creator of all delusions, the architect of all destinies,

To which the dualistic task of individuality falls, and every absurdity played, in the fall from grace.

 

* * * *

The world stills, when the mind does.

Full attention to the awareness that you are, that you are not,

Is the key to the indivisible reality of all things.

 

* * * *

Yes, anything may well be possible:

Gods, angels, demons, ghosts, vampires, zombies, goblins, fairies, aliens,

Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Cupid, Saint Patrick, Father Time … and yes, Jesus, too.

But should you not want it corroborated by a number of reliable witnesses,

Including your Self, the most sober truth-seeker you know,

Before you go all-in True Believer on it?

 

* * * *

Full attention to breath brings the mind to focus on the moment at hand.

Challenging to do conscious breathing, if you cannot manage to stay focused.

Imagination will use any and every trick to waylay awareness back to its dream.

 

* * * *

No worries if you are still very attached

To your mind-body, and the dream about you.

The matrix, the carnivàle, is full of blue-pill zombies,

Who believe it all enough to play on for as long as possible.

 

* * * *

Some call it, Genesis, others the Big Bang.

It is all the same mystery, and no story, no explanation, owns it.

Except for the turtles – the turtles all the way up, the turtles all the way down – they own it.

 

* * * *

What can be reincarnated in the timeless, unborn-undying moment?

Consciousness, imagination, is but creator and creation of this ineffable mystery.

Awareness is without intention or concern; what need does it have to be born again and again?

Consciousness believes it is an individual drop, playing out some glorious destiny.

Awareness is the ocean, in which all drops are indivisibly one.

 

* * * *

Every concoction of senses that Darwin’s natural selections devise,

Create an utterly unique cosmos, to which only that form’s awareness is sovereign witness.

How this is not beyond-boggling to any and every conscious being,

Would seem one of the greater mysteries.

 

* * * *

How can any world, any cosmos, possibly be created, be witnessed by awareness,

Without some sort of sensory algorithm, feeding into a central processing unit?

 

* * * *

What can be reborn in the timeless, ever-present moment,

That which is unborn, undying, indivisible, nonexistent?

 

* * * *

If you are not this tedious, mundane, temporal, worldly, mortal body,

What else can you possibly be, but the timeless moment of awareness?

 

* * * *

If you believe you are the seed and the mind-body it becomes,

Then you are caught in the willy-nilly illusions and delusions of consciousness.

If you are the awareness prior to consciousness, you are the ever-present, transcendent moment.

 

* * * *

Imagination usurped the mystery of awareness many long ago’s in the mind’s evolution.

It is not easily recovered, except in minds able to turn a blind eye to the world, to the cosmos.

Seers, mystics, sages, who wander freely about, aloof from the helter-skelter of the sensory theater.

 

* * * *

The eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue, the flesh, are sensory organs feeding into the brain.

Ergo, what the ever-dreaming, imaginary mind dreams, what the awareness witnesses,

Is nothing more than sensation, nothing more than quantum doing its mechanics.

 

* * * *

See the indivisible, see the unfathomable, see the ineffable, see the unknowable.

Hear the indivisible, hear the unfathomable, hear the ineffable, hear the unknowable.

Smell the indivisible, smell the unfathomable, smell the ineffable, smell the unknowable.

Taste the indivisible, taste the unfathomable, taste the ineffable, taste the unknowable.

Feel the indivisible. feel the unfathomable, feel the ineffable, feel the unknowable.

Be the indivisible, be the unfathomable, be the ineffable, be the unknowable.

 

* * * *

Humankind’s tool-making capacity has made it possible

For the observation and measurement and manipulation of all things quantum.

The accelerating exponential of the unutterable devastation and pain and suffering, of the absurdity,

Every moment calls into question, however, its aptitude for saving us from ourselves.

File it under the usual suspects: Brother Irony and Sister Paradox.

 

* * * *

Any living organism is an energy structure, an energy system, an energy dynamic,

Through which awareness peers out into a universe of energy arrays.

The electromagnetic spectrum has no knowable bounds,

And imagination is but a thief, a player, dreaming itself real.

 

* * * *

And where does the awareness, the spirit, the soul, go, when the body expires,

But the same right here, right now, this one and only moment, it was all along.

 

* * * *

How can you ever hope to explain this mystery to a true believer,

Too shuttered in, to closed off, too certain, to listen, much less hear?

 

* * * *

It has all happened so that this matrix of a moment could happen.

And now this one, and this one, and this one, and this one,

And all the ones before, and all the ones after, too.

Not that that means time is real, of course.

 

* * * *

Some call it God.

Some call it Allah.

Some call it Yahweh.

Some call it Brahman.

Some call it Quantum.

Some call it Jehovah.

Some call it Shiva.

Some call it Tao.

Any name will do,

Any name the same,

To the mystery in all,

A mystery with no name.

 

* * * *

However it began: genesis, big bang, does it really matter?

It has been rolling like dice down a Las Vegas craps table ever since,

Everything as destined, as fated, as ordained, as kismet, as sure as sure can be.

You believe there is really free will? You believe there is really choice?

Well, I have not found them, so the burden of proof is on you.

 

* * * *

You are naught but awareness witnessing a dreamtime.

The crunch and goo will someday fall away,

And you will remain as you are.

Immortality is like that.

 

* * * *

So, what world, what universe, would you create,

If you were in charge, if you had control of every part and particle?

How would you run it? Would you create? Would you preserve? Would you destroy?

Would there be peace? Goodwill to all? Or the reign of fire and pillage?

Could you do it any better? Could you do it any worse?

Playing God is not all it is cracked up to be.

 

* * * *

Your fate, your destiny, your kismet, is whatever you were programmed to do,

In the touchy-feely dream of space-time you have been allotted.

Some get a Royal Flush, some, not even a high card.

All you can do, all you need do, all you will do,

Is play the hand dealt by nature-nurture as best you can.

 

* * * *

If there is a supreme deity. or even a hole-in-the-wall collection of lesser ones,

Let them show themselves, or forever get the fuck out of Dodge, and leave us alone.

 

* * * *

You are ever the same You.

Everything is ever the same You.

There is nothing that is not the same You.

No matter the dimension.

No matter the quantum.

No matter the matrix.

No matter the universe.

No matter the galaxy.

No matter the star.

No matter the world.

No matter the space.

No matter the time.

No matter the culture.

No matter the language.

No matter the mind-body.

No matter the dream.

No matter the gender.

No matter the costume.

No matter the vocation.

No matter the dogma.

No matter the politics.

No matter the attitude.

No matter the whatever.

You are ever the same You.

 

* * * *

Frail bags of crunch and goo is all we are,

And for every motive imaginable, we spend our time,

Liking each other, loving each other, despising each other,

Lying to each other, stealing from each other, cheating each other,

Adulating, scratching, raping, pillaging, killing, each other.

What a thing for frail bags of crunch and goo to do.

 

* * * *

This existence, this dream of space and time, is so ‘friggin implausible,

That it has journeyed well beyond the heart of darkness,

Into the deep, dark jungle of absurdity.

 

* * * *

Being present in the timeless now, is the most simple state the eternal moment offers.

How ironic, how paradoxical, that it is among the most arduous for imagination to bear,

Given how the breezes and gales of illusion and delusion so easily distract the wavering mind.

 

* * * *

Your true birth was Genesis, Big Bang,

Turtles all the way up, all the way down, whatever.

And before that, you were never born.

Or so the speculation goes.

 

* * * *

Why keep thinking of your imaginary self at all?

Why keep playing that record over and over and over?

You need not imprison, need not torture your Self, all the time.

 

* * * *

Whether one universe or many,

Whether one dimension or many,

All are the same quantum mystery,

All are the same electromagnetic spectrum.

 

* * * *

Imagine levers majestically directed with lofty intent all you please;

There are neither levers, nor some majestic guide or guides with lofty intent.

Those layers filled with bones and oil and other treasures, were long in the making.

You are but current issue in an ever-streaming process which has neither beginning nor end,

And all speculations, all assumptions, all hypotheses, all opinions, all sentiments,

Are pointless, hollow, irrelevant, futile, needless, vain, absurd.

Consciousness can never more than imagine

The source of its mystery.

 

* * * *

How can you not be in utter awe, utter wonder,

Of the genesis, the cosmos, the world, the garden, the mystery,

To which you are conscious, timeless, solitary, unfathomable, ineffable witness?

 

* * * *

This here-now, ever-present, eternal moment, this timeless awareness, is all there is.

There are no other moments, no other space-times, no other dimensions, no other dreams.

You are captive to its kaleidoscoping intrigues for as long as the mind-body is fated to endure.

 

* * * *

What dreams are,

What dreams have been,

What dreams are yet to come,

Only awareness knows.

 

* * * *

What is the Way? What is the Truth? What is the Life?

To see, and not see; to hear, and not hear; to taste, and not taste;

To smell, and not smell; to feel, and not feel; to imagine, and not imagine.

That how it works for human beings, many who are more often “human becomings”.

What other creature gives it any thought, any question, any doubt, at all?

 

* * * *

It is the spaceless-timeless abyss of awareness, the unborn-undying, ever-present now,

Through which all quantum dreams ceaselessly kaleidoscope, with slumber the only respite.

The sensory play, the sensory mind-body, is but the illusion, the delusion, of imagination.

 

* * * *

Even the smallest sample of memories is a cosmos to the mind,

And upon them, it will dwell and churn on and on and on upon.

 

* * * *

What is the state of mind free of all history, worldly or personal?

Very still, pure awareness, untrammeled by the presence of the other.

 

* * * *

Consciousness (a.k.a., imagination) slices and dices the quantum pie in every possible way.

The ever-present, timeless now of awareness, has no blade with which to slice or dice anything.

It is simply, purely, absolute witness to the mystery kaleidoscoping in its immeasurable expanses.

 

* * * *

It is the unborn-undying awareness of the moment that is immortal.

The biological mind-body is but a mundane, temporal, pedestrian vehicle.

A ways and means to Self-discovery, for those called to a path of transcendence.

 

* * * *

Neither the quantum universe, nor garden orb, require the human species

To carry on longer than it can manage, can naturally select,

In its ill-fated genomic quest for immortality.

We all know cockroaches are trailblazers in that race.

 

* * * *

Where is time, where is space, in the indivisible awareness of the moment?

Where are creation, preservation, destruction, in the indivisible awareness of the moment?

What are they but illusion, but delusion, created by the sensory mirage, the dreamtime of consciousness.

 

* * * *

You want religion?

Give your Self over to the moment.

Give your Self over to the awareness you are, and are not.

It is the one and only true church.

 

* * * *

You were tabula rasa, an empty slate,

Until traumatic moments, from minor to harsh,

Little by little, imperceptively, unabashedly, irrevocably,

Familiarized you, initiated you, remanded you, to the human race.

Swayed you, molded you, wrought you, forged you, scarred you, crippled you,

Into the human being you are, the one reading this, in a lifetime quest to be inwardly free.

 

* * * *

Except in lofty, exalted, grandiose, majestic, tributes to one absurdity or another,

No one will be remembered forever, nor exist forever, nor whatever forever.

There is no forever in which anyone or anything can be remembered.

The matrix of space-time is but a magical illusion playing out in the abyss.

What is there to say, but “Oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.”

 

* * * *

If there is truly only the indelible, indivisible, impenetrable moment,

Then every moment is identical, every moment is simultaneous,

Every moment is but clouds wafting through the emptiness,

Which means the entire universe from beginning to end,

Is at best, but the blink of an eye, and never really happened.

 

* * * *

Quantum is the operating system, and all life but apps,

Simultaneously churning out their programmed roles.

 

* * * *

Imagine the Grecian thinkers of old, in their robes,

Speaking to forums filled with critical minds,

Perceiving the candor in every thought.

Together, unearthing the mystery.

As some minds are wont to do.

 

* * * *

Seeing through the artifice of the genomic sequencing in this ineffable quantum matrix,

Is a vocation to which relatively few are called, relatively few are fated.

Blue pill, red pill, did you really have any choice?

 

* * * *

And what is the point and purpose of all this knowledge?

All this curiosity, this never-ending flow of a busy-busy mind.

Maybe a paycheck, maybe some applause, maybe some influence.

How long before you wake up to the depths below the churning waves?

How long before mind stills enough to finally discern the mystery within all?

 

* * * *

The inner voice, the inner narrative, the inner soliloquy, everyone has one.

Each a world, a universe, unto its Self, some realized, most fated otherwise.

 

* * * *

The Bible and Koran are not the only books on the shelf of history.

All are the mystery, but no one owns it; beware the people of one book.

 

* * * *

If used moderately, with conscious intent and focus, many hallucinogens from around the world

Can be vehicles, magic carpets, into the unknown reaches of this ineffable mystery.

They are a means to explore, to investigate, to study, to discover,

That which is source to all, great to small.

 

* * * *

Time and space are but constructs of human consciousness.

Yes, every life form functions in the cycles of this mystery theater,

But obviously, none think about it, conceive it, in the way humankind does.

 

* * * *

What is the state, the condition, the quality, of mind,

When time and space cease to exist as imaginary notions?

 

* * * *

As you dance back and forth between imagination and awareness,

Enjoy both as you glean them of the fruit of the garden,

Such as it is in its ever-present dreamtime.

 

* * * *

Who created this Supreme Being that so many revere?

A query true believers will neither, can neither, question nor answer,

For every response quickly becomes turtles all the way up, turtles all the way down.

And what matter whether there is a peerless deity on high or not, really?

This touchy-feely 3D dream is equally the same mystery,

No matter imagination’s perspective.

 

* * * *

We all imagine entirely different worlds, entirely different universes.

How can any one mind’s illusory creation be more real than any others?

 

* * * *

The world, the universe, you in mind, in imagination, create, is yours, and yours alone.

Like fingerprints and genomic sequences, no world, no universe, can ever be seen the same.

And the translation between all these worlds, all these universes, well, you see how that has gone.

We are as close to getting along peacefully as the ancestors that exited the jungles long ago.

 

* * * *

Put all the middlemen, all the parasites, all the predators, all the toll booths, well behind you,

And examine, scrutinize, for yourself, the masterworks of the many scribes of old.

Each, and each very much alone, must meander through the illusion,

To, for themselves, discern the truth behind all veils.

 

* * * *

After everything is gone, the mystery will remain,

As ineffaceable and untarnished as eternity allows.

 

* * * *

Whether your view is founded on scientific inquiry or magical thinking,

You may well believe you know something of this dreamtime’s beginning,

But rest assured, you will never, you can never, more than imagine its ending.

 

* * * *

This is your world, your cosmos.

You will do with it whatever you will,

And ultimately, it really only matters to you.

Others can only care, others can only do, so much.

Even God cannot help those who will not help themselves.

 

* * * *

Have you ever looked up into a starry-starry night,

And really deeply contemplated, really fully embraced,

How infinitesimal, how microscopic, how insignificant,

You really-truly are, in the grand scheme of things?

 

* * * *

If there is indeed a deity-on-high, he/she/it,

Might well have long, long ago set all this quantum in motion,

And just like any earnest scientist, is watching the entire dream, to see what comes of it.

No attachment to anything, just pure tabula rasa awareness of everything.

Just like any earnest scientist observing microorganisms

Milling about willy-nilly in a Petri dish.

Ain’t speculation fun?

 

* * * *

What will death be but the disincorporation of a body, the dissolution of a dream,

And the unborn-undying awareness of the you, that you have ever been, all that remains.

Call it whatever you will, it is from that original state that you became conscious,

It is that which endured existence, it is that to which all things return.

 

* * * *

Awareness is an impenetrable, changeless stillness, both clear and obscure.

It is that in which creation and preservation and destruction compose genesis.

It is the soul of all dreams, it is the source of all potentials, it is the eye of all eyes.

It is the moment, it is timeless, it is spaceless, it is eternity, right here, right now.

 

* * * *

There is only awareness.

Only its timeless presence, only its unending constancy.

Nothing to believe, nothing to deify, nothing to worship, nothing to decree, nothing to join.

Nothing to buy, nothing to sell, nothing to barter, nothing to give or take.

Everything to alone see, nothing to alone be.

 

* * * *

What is time but an imaginary construct of the human mind.

An illusion from which is hatched every conceivable delusion.

 

* * * *

Memories are but electromagnetic-chemical reactions, perceived by awareness.

They can never be what really happened from more than a single perspective, yours.

Your frame of reference, your translation, your values, your opinions, your judgments.

 

* * * *

There is only the moment, there is only the timeless now.

The entire human paradigm is an impromptu theater of imagination.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

You have read the books, seen the movies, know the tales of so many histories,

And the oh-so-many-ways people can die, in both fiction and nonfiction,

And how would it be, if you could experience them all, each and every one?

Imagine dying … every … imaginable … death … for all eternity … Ooh-la-la.

 

* * * * 

Your individual dream of consciousness, of imagination,

Is but an infinitesimal splinter of the grand dream of all dreams,

And that is naught but the very same moment all eternity is,

All that is not, all that never was, all that will never be.

 

* * * *

Observe the stillness within,

Fathom the soul of awareness you truly are,

The soul truly worth loving, the soul truly worth being loved.

* * * * 

If there is some sort of Supreme Being responsible for all this kaleidoscoping creation,

Then surely it is intolerably weary of consciousness,

At least at times.

 

* * * *

Somebody came up with eight types of intelligence:

bodily kinesthetic (body smart)

interpersonal (people smart)

verbal linguistic (word smart)

logical-mathematical (logic smart)

naturalistic (nature smart)

intrapersonal (self smart)

visual-spatial (picture smart)

musical (music smart)

 

Another collection also lists eight, with slight variations:

mathematical (number smart),

musical (music smart),

linguistic (word smart),

naturalistic (nature smart),

intrapersonal (self smart),

interpersonal (people smart),

body-kinesthetic (body smart),

visual (picture smart)

 

Another fellow, named Mark Vital, stoked it up to nine:

naturalist (understanding living things and reading nature)

musical (discerning sounds, their pitch, tone, rhythm, and timbre)

logical-mathematical (quantifying things, making hypothesis and proving them)

existential (tackling the questions of why we live, and why we die)

interpersonal (sensing people’s feelings and motives)

bodily-kinesthetic (coordinating your mind with your body)

linguistic (finding the right words to express what you mean)

intrapersonal (understanding yourself, what you feel, and what you want)

spatial (visualizing the world in 3D)

 

Likely many, if not most, fall into at least one of the above categories.

 

And what sort of intelligence is required to be any other life form, any other earthling,

On this spinning rock some humans call Earth, in a cosmos some call the Universe?

 

* * * *

How is awareness any different than consciousness?

How is consciousness different than memory?

Ho is memory different than imagination?

How is imagination different than perception?

How is perception any different than awareness?

 

* * * * 

You believe your salvation is yoked to your creed?

You believe your salvation is tethered to your prayers?

Pfft, my friend, you are but tossing your hard-earned coin

To a scam artist, a shyster, with just enough talent to fool you

With one ruse after another, with one hope after another.

Take back the rudder of your reverie, take more walks,

More sits, more any and all ways, that get you home.

Explore the singular aloneness within all dreams,

The timeless awareness through which all pass.

 

* * * *

It is impossible to break the rules of the Quantum Game.

You may try to defy them, but you can never break them.

 

* * * *

It is not at all important what anybody sees, hears, tastes, smells, feels.

It is not at all important what anybody thinks, believes, hopes.

The mystery is a mystery is a mystery is a mystery.

Well beyond the scope of consciousness,

Of imagination, to encapsulate.

 

* * * *

From the deepest trenches to the highest reaches that industry and technology are capable,

Another day of poisoning, another day of maiming, all that we can possibly touch,

Using every form of nuclear-chemical-biological interaction imaginable.

Absolute madness and absurdity, on an unfathomable scale.

All innocence suffers the ruthless, brutal wake-up call,

Of the malignant cancer that has spawned upon this garden orb.

 

* * * *

Yet another memory joining in with all the others,

Merging together into the synergistic frame of reference,

The dreamtime, in which you imagine your imaginary self, real.

 

* * * *

If only eternity could tell the full tale,

The mystery’s mysteries would find a resting place.

Meanwhile, dread and speculation and adversity and death will carry on

As they have since the dawn of consciousness.

 

* * * *

How can you look at this mystery, and not see it is you?

How can you look at any other, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a mountain, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a plant, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a stream, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a rock, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a table, and not see it is you?

How can you look at an insect, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a bird, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a fish, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a horse, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a man, and not see he is you?

How can you look at a woman, and not see she is you?

How can you look at a child, and not see it is you?

How can you look at the ocean, and not see it is you?

How can you look at a cloud, and not see it is you?

How can you look at the sky, and not see it is you?

How can you look at the moon, and not see it is you?

How can you look at the sun, and not see it is you?

How can you look at the stars, and not see they are you?

How can you look at a particle of dust, and not see it is you?

 

* * * *

What is Genesis but a wind propelling its own sail.

What is Genesis but a brush frolicking upon its own canvas.

What is Genesis but a hammer pounding upon its own nail.

What is Genesis but a wave heading toward its own shore.

What is Genesis but a flame burning in its own darkness.

What is Genesis but a particle drifting in its own space.

What is Genesis but a dream floating in its given mind.

 

* * * *

The distance from here to there, the distance from now to then,

From who to what to where to when to why to how,

All a state of mind, playing out in time.

 

* * * *

Every creature plays out whatever intelligence is programmed in its genomic sequence.

All are innately equal parts of the same source, the same quantum field, the same mystery.

 

* * * *

Universe, Quantaverse, Electromagnetic spectrum;

Whole-view-big-picture labels for the same mystery.

 

* * * *

Who are you to assert any nature-nurture cosmos

Is any greater or lesser, better or worse, lovelier or uglier,

Than any other figment of imagination cast in this mystery theater?

 

* * * *

Imagination only thinks it is alive.

Imagination only dreams it is alive.

Imagination only imagines it is alive.

 

* * * *

Behind the illusory mask, behind the imaginary character,

An indelible awareness, an ineffable emptiness.

Ever unknowable, ever immeasurable, ever unfathomable,

Ever incomprehensible, ever indescribable, ever enigmatic, ever inscrutable.

 

* * * *

You are the current issue of your genomic lineage

Since the origin of all life several billion orbits around the sun ago.

Every moment of eternal awareness playing out the quantum dream of space and time.

 

* * * *

The mind is, the mind is not, a dream.

The mind is, the mind is not, a delusion.

The mind is, the mind is not, a habit.

The mind is, the mind is not, a truth.

The mind is, the mind is not, a practice.

The mind is, the mind is not, a trance.

The mind is, the mind is not, a fixation.

The mind is, the mind is not, an obsession.

The mind is, the mind is not, a fondness.

The mind is, the mind is not, a tendency.

The mind is, the mind is not, a bent.

The mind is, the mind is not, a fabrication.

The mind is, the mind is not, a lie.

The mind is, the mind is not, a pretense.

The mind is, the mind is not, a chameleon.

The mind is, the mind is not, a hope.

The mind is, the mind is not, a reality.

The mind is, the mind is not, a passion.

The mind is, the mind is not, a reverie.

The mind is, the mind is not, a hallucination.

The mind is, the mind is not, a leaning.

The mind is, the mind is not, a desire.

The mind is, the mind is not, an aspiration.

The mind is, the mind is not, an idea.

The mind is, the mind is not, a notion.

The mind is, the mind is not, a mirage.

The mind is, the mind is not, a custom.

The mind is, the mind is not, a preference.

The mind is, the mind is not, a memory.

The mind is, the mind is not, an irony.

The mind is, the mind is not, a paradox.

The mind is, the mind is not, a figment.

The mind is, the mind is not, a daydream.

The mind is, the mind is not, a wish.

The mind is, the mind is not, an ambition.

The mind is, the mind is not, a pattern.

The mind is, the mind is not, a frame.

The mind is, the mind is not, a nightmare.

The mind is, the mind is not, a trick.

The mind is, the mind is not, a tradition.

The mind is, the mind is not, a thought.

The mind is, the mind is not, a window.

The mind is, the mind is not, a fear.

The mind is, the mind is not, a template.

The mind is, the mind is not, an artifice.

The mind is, the mind is not, a custom.

The mind is, the mind is not, a convention.

The mind is, the mind is not, a chimera.

The mind is, the mind is not, a projection.

The mind is, the mind is not, an impression.

The mind is, the mind is not, a goal.

The mind is, the mind is not, a pipedream.

The mind is, the mind is not, a word.

The mind is, the mind is not, a deception.

The mind is, the mind is not, a fantasy.

The mind is, the mind is not, an addiction.

The mind is, the mind is not, a problem.

The mind is, the mind is not, a mold.

The mind is, the mind is not, a character.

The mind is, the mind is not, a liking.

The mind is, the mind is not, an inclination.

The mind is, the mind is not, a matrix.

 

* * * *

Real faith is a beingness so indelible, so absolute,

That no word or act, no belief or creed, is required.

 

* * * *

Surely, you do not in any way believe your eensy-weensy window of perception

Witnesses even an infinitesimal smidgeon of the mystery’s infinite indivisibility.

 

* * * *

In the world that imagination builds,

You are awareness playing a role,

Not a role, playing awareness.

 

* * * *

The human forebrain is but a collection of neurons,

In which awareness witness imagination frolicking,

In whatever way the given nature-nurture sanctions.

 

* * * *

The unyielding grip of imagination on the human paradigm is far too formidable,

But for the relentless doubt only the rarest minds have fortitude to mine.

This indelible, unfathomable, singular mystery, is every moment.

All sense of duality is but the figment of consciousness.

 

* * * *

You have been very much alone since life’s beginning,

In that primordial sludge that made all this possible.

 

* * * *

Clocks, watches, calendars, or any other measurement device,

Are gauges of illusion, not reality, and most definitely not eternity.

 

* * * *

You are a reflection of the indelible mystery.

It created you, and you mirrored the favor.

If you consider being born a favor, that is.

 

* * * *

The personal mind is an imaginary creation.

The impersonal mind you are is creation unto its Self.

It is imagination from which the awareness you are must detach.

 

* * * *

Might has always made right.

Whatever justice there may be is moderated by compassion,

Benevolence, sympathy, forgiveness, kindness, mercy, understanding, humanity, tolerance,

Magnanimity, clemency, generosity, identification, fairness, rightness, solicitude,

Empathy, appreciation, forbearance, high-mindedness, concern,

Indulgence, leniency, pity, consideration, altruism,

Awareness, conscience, care, grace.

 

* * * *

How can you continue believing this imaginary self is at all real, at all true?

It is an ever-kaleidoscoping quantum theater of ecstasy and agony,

Swirled in the nature-nurture dream of the given seed.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

Without thought, where is time?

Forget everything; unclench your mind.

Let go your world, let go your universe; be eternity.

 

* * * *

Always becoming is the Sisyphean chore of insatiable imagination.

If it is serenity you quest, you will discern it in the emptiness of a still mind.

Such a simple thing, yet more arduous than any escapade the mystery could ever spin.

 

* * * *

When it comes to speculation about the mystery.

Best to resist imagination’s insatiable inclination.

 

* * * *

All the slicing and dicing of the mystery into this or that certainty,

Is the endless absurdity of imagination pretending it knows something.

What is imagination, what is consciousness, but a dream state ever babbling.

 

* * * *

Awareness you are; in which, through which, in whichever way,

The electromagnetic spectrum plays out its illusionary mystery theater.

 

* * * *

In the That I Am I Am way of seeing this dream,

The protagonist you play is not you, nor is any other, either.

Consciousness, in all its many roles, can never be more than it imagines.

 

* * * *

The way it was, the way it will be, is never the way it is,

In the ever-changing dream, in the never-changing moment.

 

* * * *

Without thought, where is space, where is time?

Forget everything; unclench the mind.

Let go the world, the universe.

Be the eternal, You are.

 

* * * *

Do you truly-without-doubt believe God gives a rat’s ass whether your team wins?

Are you really so pathetically self-absorbed to believe he or she or it,

Is focused entirely on you or your wretched little tribe?

That all your hopes and prayers mean squat in some divine plan?

Just perhaps next year’s New Year Resolution should be to fucking wake up.

 

* * * *

What need to make pure awareness, pure beingness, a group activity,

Filled with all the usual suspects that wrap themselves

Around dogma born of conscious design.

 

* * * *

Time-bound imagination imagines itself existing forever.

Unborn-undying awareness is harbor to no such delusion.

 

* * * *

How can you gaze out into the starry-starry night,

And not discern your true nature, your true mystery?

 

* * * *

Who is the perceiver but the one in all.

Who said there must be meaning and purpose?

Who said this mystery has to make sense?

 

* * * *

Stream of consciousness.

Stream of imagination.

Stream of dreamtime.

All the same thing.

All the same mystery.

 

* * * *

If you are seeking god, look to the awareness within.

Awareness is awareness, no matter the state of consciousness.

Awareness plays whatever part it is allotted with the same equanimity.

Awareness has no attachment to any form, to any function.

Awareness boils down to a tranquil mind.

 

* * * *

History is a rolodex of story after story.

All born of imagination’s usurpation of the moment.

So many pretending they know so much, pretending to be so much.

An absurd little dream of countless forays into every inanity imagination can devise;

All to be forgotten in natural selection’s unintended consequences file.

 

* * * *

If you have to be something,

If you have to recall something,

If you have to accomplish something,

Then you are overlooking the awareness,

This moment in which everything transpires.

Who is the perceiver but the one in all.

 

* * * *

Imagination is but a pattern, a habit, born of nature-nurture’s evolutionary happenchance.

A touchy-feely dream in the electromagnetic spectrum’s beyond-all-pales mystery theater.

No need to get more attached to the apparent reality of it than the given moment calls.

 

* * * *

The mystery is a field of meshing patterns,

All indivisibly synced in timelessly harmonious vibration.

Each and every drop in the ocean is equally saturated with mystery.

How is it humankind is seemingly incapable of seeing this ultimate relationship?

 

 

Soundbites

 

Awareness is eternity; without thought, without desire, without passion, without fear, without dread.

 

* * * *

What would existence be like, if you had never seen your face?

 

* * * *

Solitude, whatever the space or time, allows you to close the door on the world.

 

* * * *

Who-what-where-when-why-how is any boundary, but the world, the universe, that imagination built.

 

* * * *

Do you really believe all those words, all those numbers, all those anything, really matter to the mystery?

 

* * * *

Unknown looking forward, fate looking back.

 

* * * *

You are the indivisible playing divisible.

 

* * * *

History evaporates as surely as any body of water in the hot-cold of dreamtime.

 

* * * *

No matter the view, no matter the perspective, it is ever the same timeless mystery.

 

* * * *

To be as still as you are able in the given moment, is as close to eternal life as you can get.

 

* * * *

The unifying principal is a still mind; pure awareness, indifferent to sensory input.

 

* * * *

The entire universe is but a whirling particle of dust in an immeasurable void.

 

* * * *

Infinity and infinitesimal imply measurements that are not real.

 

* * * *

Everything always boils down to this moment.

 

* * * *

In awareness, no memory resides.

 

* * * *

How can awareness retain a memory?

 

* * * *

How much of this world, this cosmos, this dreamtime, do you want to keep inflicting upon your moment?

 

* * * *

What memory need any universe retain?

 

* * * *

Not all discomfort can be avoided, and is it a good idea in this Darwinian universe to be too soft?

 

* * * *

Yet another day of unborn-undying-birth-death of every moment.

 

* * * *

You are but awareness, you cannot die, there is no need to fear it.

 

* * * *

Is there a universe without its creation, without you, to imagine it?

 

* * * *

How much Self-reflection is really required to be one with the awareness?

 

* * * *

Remember, all these thoughts, are the timelessly time-bound You, pointing to the timeless You.

 

* * * *

We are all on the spectrum of quantum persuasion: both predator and prey, You are.

 

* * * *

The no-mind is nothing more than the right-here-right-now prior-to-consciousness awareness.

 

* * * *

Every seed has its fate inexorably written in the sands of timelessness.

 

* * * *

The mystery equally plays out, in quantum perfection, whatever form is taken.

 

* * * *

Are you the awareness, or the absurdity passing through?

 

* * * *

To take the red pill, and keep it down, requires great doubt.

 

* * * *

Eternity is not going anywhere.

 

* * * *

Truth always boils down to the given moment.

 

* * * *

Are You awareness, this moment? Or frame of reference, this moment?

 

* * * *

The awareness is the soul that permeates all creation, and the infinity beyond.

 

* * * *

Ignore that imaginary world; become the awareness you are, as often as attention allows.

 

* * * *

Live every moment as it you were completely alone.

 

* * * *

How cannot any possibility be on the mystery’s table?

 

* * * *

Are you a seeker of truth, no matter that it is beneath every rock, and every rock, as well?

 

* * * *

No mystery is complete without the lead actor being the mystery its Self.

 

* * * *

Still your mind … Eternity is that stillness … Yes, it is that simple.

 

* * * *

Mystery is its name, wonder is its game, stillness is its frameless.

 

* * * *

The nectar of existence: forgiveness, innocence, compassion, contentment, truth.

 

* * * *

Truth has always been by hijacked by the wolves to herd the sheep.

 

* * * *

You are eternity; the trick is to be it.

 

* * * *

Creators destroy, destroyers create; it is but quantum swirl, imagination’s twirl.

 

* * * *

Awareness is, without any desire, without any fear, without any passion, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

Imagination is ever ready to step into awareness overtaken by inattention.

 

* * * *

There is no world, no universe, but the one you every moment in imagination carry.

 

* * * *

If you are seeking god, look to the awareness within.

 

* * * *

Awareness is awareness, no matter the state of consciousness.

 

* * * *

Awareness plays whatever part it is allotted with the same equanimity.

 

* * * *

Awareness has no attachment to any form, to any function.

 

* * * *

Awareness boils down to a tranquil mind.

 

* * * *

Yup, kind of a matrix thing.

 

* * * *

This is the only now, this is the only moment, eternity has to offer.

 

* * * *

A still mind is a timeless mind.

 

* * * *

Awareness attired in illusion.

 

* * * *

The quantum dance.

 

* * * *

Are you right-here-right-now worldly? Or right-here-right-now eternal?

 

* * * *

Eternity is the omniscient-omnipotent-omnipresent moment; the one and only moment, that has ever been.

 

* * * *

Call it mystery, call it wonder, call it unknown, it is all and none of the above.

 

* * * *

Time is the movement of mind; awareness, the stillness through which it passes.

 

* * * *

Awareness is without desire, without fear, without any passion, at all.

 

* * * *

Frame of reference, or awareness without frames?

 

* * * *

You are not the illusory dreamtime, the playhouse, in which You wander every part.

 

* * * *

Rational or irrational, you are arbiter of your mind, your thoughts, your world, your cosmos.

 

* * * *

It is all You, upon every stage, for all of whatever eternity is, and is not.

 

* * * *

Do not second-guess, doubt, betray, your Self.

 

* * * *

There it is, you finally saw it, and not for the first time today.

 

* * * *

Are you a blob, or the awareness prior to blobbery?

 

* * * *

Why is it you hold back from your ultimate truth?

 

* * * *

The tabula rasa mind is pure awareness; untainted by any fixture of consciousness.

 

* * * *

Stream of consciousness, of imagination, of dreamtime, all the same thing, all the same mystery.

 

* * * *

How can the timeless now not be the eternal You?

 

* * * *

Time management, or timeless management, the dance between imagination and awareness.

 

* * * *

How can there be desire or fear or dread, when you are the awareness you are.

 

* * * *

Quantum is not etched in stone; it is the stone.

 

* * * *

The timeless now does not move to be toyed with.

 

* * * *

Sometimes more, sometimes less; each moment must be gauged.

 

* * * *

Quantum Nature is not waiting for us to catch up with the accelerating exponential we have inspired.

 

* * * *

Immortality is the eternal reality, of which all creation is an ever-changing part.

 

* * * *

Anything for a once and a while; nothing all the time.

 

* * * *

Speculation studied, is always more sound than speculation assumed.

 

* * * *

The mind-body is the quantum creator, generating a universe, as immense as imagination allows.

 

* * * *

The universe is a crap shoot, ever rolling down the table.

 

* * * *

Space and time can come to an end, if you shut your sense very tightly, and let the mind be very still.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the witness, the intelligence, to which imagination subscribes.

 

* * * *

If you seek serenity, you will discern it in the absoluteness of aloneness.

 

* * * *

How different any difference to the universe?

 

* * * *

In the awareness, in the nothingness, you are, and are not, all universes disappear.

 

* * * *

Be alone, be very, very alone.

 

* * * *

The space-time continuum is a kaleidoscoping illusion.

 

* * * *

Dust off the awareness.

 

* * * *

Imagination is to awareness as clouds are to the sky.

 

* * * *

To be truly, fully, completely, absolutely alone, is a gift to your Self.

 

* * * *

Peer out to the horizon, to the moon, to the sun, to the stars; the same mystery in all.

 

* * * *

Patterns cannot churn if they do not have a matrix in which to churn.

 

* * * *

Do not confuse negation with negativity; the beingness of awareness is neither positive or negative.

 

* * * *

Another blurb, another story, another manifesto, for the sands of quantum to blow away.

 

* * * *

Mother Quantum devised a spherical playing field, upon which all creatures play out their moment.

 

* * * *

Matrix or imagination, chicken or egg.

 

* * * *

How will your universe carry on without you to witness it?

 

* * * *

From quantum to chemical to biological, is how the dream rolls.

 

* * * *

The true revolution is freeing the awareness You are, from the imagination that has imprisoned it.

 

* * * *

Give up all notions, all that is imaginary, and you will find your Self in the clear space of awareness.

 

* * * *

Quantum is the magic carpet; imagination, the flying carpet; awareness, the innocent bystander.

 

* * * *

Infinity is not a number.

 

* * * *

Infinity is a pointless concept, perhaps the most pointless concept the human mind has ever devised.

 

* * * *

Personal memories are imagination’s go-to in its awareness-usurpation game.

 

* * * *

The sleight of hand of the quantum illusion is an every-moment, kaleidoscoping deception.

 

* * * *

The unfathomable becomes fathomable, when you become it.

 

* * * *

Awareness is akin to an opaque sea of salt, an absolute, still clarity, prior to consciousness.

 

* * * *

What are these blobby bodies but time machines traveling through awareness.

 

* * * *

Born back into that which is prior to space and time every time you awaken.

 

* * * *

You are a means for the mystery to explore existence.

 

* * * *

Imagination built its world, its universe, and it is up to you to reassert your Self.

 

* * * *

Infinity does not touch what you really are; nor does infinitesimal, for that matter.

 

* * * *

How can it not be the same awareness, the same unborn-undying mystery, in all?

 

* * * *

Eternity is right here, right now, this very singular, timeless, spaceless moment; cease looking for more.

 

* * * *

After all the names it has been given, is not Mystery the most accurate?

 

* * * *

The divinity you seek, is the awareness you are, a candle in the abyss.

 

* * * *

How alone you are, depends how deeply you have probed.

 

* * * *

What is future? What is past? What is forever? Without time, without space, without illusion?

 

* * * *

Be eternity.

 

* * * *

The mystery, solved, in that sort of sideways-topsy-turvy-inside-out-convoluted-mangled way.

 

* * * *

It is on you, alone, to get un-educated, un-conditioned, un-brainwashed, un-mesmerized.

 

* * * *

You are ever the mystery, no matter how you cloak it.

 

* * * *

To stand alone, free and clear, of all imaginary notion, is not for all.

 

* * * *

The awareness is the mystery; the mystery is the awareness.

 

* * * *

Cloaking a blob in the finest mask and costume in the cosmos, does not make it any less a blob.

 

* * * *

Scratches on the timeline that we are, nobody is really remembered long enough to get all pretentious.

 

* * * *

Why identify your Self with a mass, a glob, a blob, of protoplasm?

 

* * * *

A mystery, engaged in a dream.

 

* * * *

In a crowd, walk alone.

 

* * * *

You are witness to the infinity of absurdity.

 

* * * *

Unfurl into that momentary awareness.

 

* * * *

Is awareness very large, is awareness very small, is awareness even a smidgeon at all?

 

* * * *

Sometimes any choice is the choice, sometimes no choice is the choice.

 

* * * *

The mystery is the master of possibility.

 

* * * *

Always feel free to return to the ground zero of awareness.

 

* * * *

Quantum is as quantum does.

 

* * * *

Your consciousness is unique to you, your awareness, common to all.

 

* * * *

Time does not exist, but passes very quickly.

 

* * * *

Turn on the disinterest, switch off the senses, be the momentary, timeless awareness.

 

* * * *

Half full, half empty, that glass shattered a long time ago.

 

* * * *

The truth is right now, right here; what more do you need to know?

 

* * * *

Human folly is the depth of unfathomable.

 

* * * *

Dang, you just saved the universe, and no one was watching.

 

* * * *

Another day in the dream that quantum built.

 

* * * *

Where is time in a moment?

 

* * * *

The dream, the illusion, only seems real in the given moment.

 

* * * *

Destiny is, each and every timeless moment, choreographing your arrival.

 

* * * *

The sands of time have got nothing to do with anything.

 

* * * *

To consider duality more than a concept devised by human vanity, is as absurd as absurd gets.

 

* * * *

Give your Self over to what You really are, and are not, in this eternal moment.

 

* * * *

Arguing whether or not some deity on high created this dreamtime, is so yawn.

 

* * * *

You are forgotten by eternity every moment.

 

* * * *

You call that Truth?!

 

* * * *

Duality is a concept, not a reality.

 

* * * *

It does not take much time for shysters to put distance between sheeples and truth.

 

* * * *

The you, you imagine real, is not, was not, will never be, the You, prior to consciousness.

 

* * * *

Truth is not in any thought about it.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the genius within all life.

 

* * * *

Duality makes absolutely no sense, whatsoever.

 

* * * *

When the dying is all said and done, only the awareness remains.

 

* * * *

If you think life is monotonous, imagine eternity.

 

* * * *

If time was real, you would not need a machine to travel it.

 

* * * *

Eternity is only as boring as the mind you give it.

 

* * * *

Why would any deity not want to experience everything for itself?

 

* * * *

Gaze out into the cosmos, and the eye peering back is ever your own.

 

* * * *

The maelstrom of imagination rolls on and on with impunity, through the oblivion of awareness.

 

* * * *

How can truth ever be bound to any tribal mindset?

 

* * * *

Consciousness, a.k.a. imagination, is far too ephemeral to last long in eternity.

 

* * * *

Be the immortal stillness.

 

* * * *

The challenge is getting through this dreamtime without making it personal, without taking it personal.

 

* * * *

Awareness can only, with great effort, regain control from the usurper, imagination.

 

* * * *

It ain’t awareness that’s moving.

 

* * * *

What is death but the return to the undivided attention of eternity.

 

* * * *

Ascertaining truth is not a tribal-committee-groupthink choice.

 

* * * *

Root for awareness; bet on imagination.

 

* * * *

The abyss is not near as entertaining as Never Never Land.

 

* * * *

What is long ago, what is long hence, in the relativity of the timelessness of eternity?

 

* * * *

Make awareness the default setting, and serenity will reign within.

 

* * * *

All by your alonesome.

 

* * * *

You are found in space.

 

* * * *

Awareness, impartial witness to all creation.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the ever-presence.

 

* * * *

There just is not enough money or entertainment or pleasure in truth to make it popular.

 

* * * *

Call it Genesis, call it Big Bang, call it whatever, same mystery.

 

* * * *

As pilot fish are to sharks, imagination is to awareness.

 

* * * *

The real You, the awareness You, is not, has never been, will never be, the imagined you.

 

* * * *

If you believe your imagination has any reality, whatsoever, you are a prisoner of its dream.

 

* * * *

The world does not revolve around you; it kaleidoscopes within the timeless eye of awareness.

 

* * * *

As you scan this, gazillions beyond gazillions of moments, have streamed before the awareness you are.

 

* * * *

Do not focus upon breath, focus upon mind, into which the mystery simultaneously enters and exits.

 

* * * *

What is that deep sorrow that haunts so many, but the schism between imaginary self and absolute Self.

 

* * * *

There is no world, no cosmos, no dream, whatsoever, but the one you imagine right now.

 

* * * *

Nothing that has ever happened has had any bearing on the eternal moment.

 

* * * *

Imagination knows nothing but what it formulates; of the unknown it can only speculate.

 

* * * *

The timeless awareness is not you, it is You.

 

* * * *

What is the point of rhetoric as far as awareness is concerned?

 

* * * *

Would you have been a human being if you had been alone from birth.

 

* * * *

You must listen very closely, to hear the eternal silence.

 

* * * *

Goals can blind you to the process, the now playing out one eternal moment at a time.

 

* * * *

Neither cosmos nor world slowed one iota for that death, either.

 

* * * *

Odds are, imagination has the better of you, of all our kind, for whatever dreamtime remains.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the life force; genesis, merely the means.

 

* * * *

Where is there any direction in the stillness of the ever-present awareness?

 

* * * *

Serve the awareness, serve the moment, serve the matrix, serve the mystery, there is no other.

 

* * * *

From the whole, an infinity of parts.

 

* * * *

Lost in space, lost in time, lost in mind, You are found.

 

* * * *

To be awareness is thinking without thinking.

 

* * * *

Swimming is letting the mystery caress its Self however the body moves.

 

* * * *

There are those who seek, and those who find, and a cosmos between.

 

* * * *

Dead before your time.

 

* * * *

Most minds are more attached to their stories, than they are the truth from which all stories come.

 

* * * *

What is it to be fully immersed in the momentary awareness, but the end of curiosity.

 

* * * *

The moment is the wave of time and space coursing through eternity.

 

* * * *

Will there ever be an end to the ways we measure this quantum illusion?

 

* * * *

Life and Death are creations of the quantum kind.

 

* * * *

Who can ever really know any time but their own?

 

* * * *

Assuming time can tell, what would it say?

 

* * * *

What is any mind but the playground of awareness.

 

* * * *

Awareness can do nothing more than witness; it is the unborn-undying, sleepless eye of eternity.

 

* * * *

Awareness has no attributes to measure; to even call it infinite or infinitesimal is absurd.

 

* * * *

Any fallacy, any delusion, any lie, can only usurp the truth in undiscerning minds.

 

* * * *

We are all very much alone, together; be and allow, the highest law.

 

* * * *

Just a dream, nothing more, nothing less.

 

* * * *

All alone, together, talking to our Selves.

 

* * * *

Prisoner of time, prisoner of space, prisoner of mind, discerning detachment, the only key.

 

* * * *

You are the mystery, not this mundane fixture, to which you are so attached.

 

* * * *

Eternity is indeed magical, but it does not take magic to see it.

 

* * * *

How free the mind of a universal child.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the ocean, in which all drops are indivisibly one.

 

* * * *

The mystery is but a hair’s breath from oblivion.

 

* * * *

Eternity is closer than you think; certainly, far less than a heartbeat away.

 

* * * *

So full, so empty, an imaginary destiny plays out.

 

* * * *

Eternity is not a circus; certainly not the one so many two-leggeds make it.

 

* * * *

What can reincarnate in the unborn-undying timeless awareness, but figments of imagination?

 

* * * *

It is a mystery, for everybody, and nobody.

 

* * * *

Prior to consciousness, prior to imagination, prior to quantum, prior to om, you are.

 

* * * *

All creation, all art, is the manipulation of quantum by imagination.

 

* * * *

Not all mysteries are solvable.

 

* * * *

Every life form, a quantum algorithm.

 

* * * *

How else should-could-would the mystery, the awareness, explore its Self, but through illusion.

 

* * * *

Why would awareness ever need to worship its Self?

 

* * * *

The quantum cosmos created you, and you, it.

 

* * * *

How can awareness, how can the moment, how can eternity, be anything but pure?

 

* * * *

Nature is the wonderland of quantum mechanics.

 

* * * *

You are the heart of awareness, the centerlessness of all there is, and is not.

 

* * * *

Every moment, same mystery.

 

* * * *

Could it be, the mystery is really just an eccentric scientist of the Hollywood fiction genre?

 

* * * *

The quantum designer, the designer quantum.

 

* * * *

Imagination has held awareness hostage since who can more than speculate how long ago?

 

* * * *

What is meditation but steeping in awareness.

 

* * * *

Large-minded thinking, small-minded thinking, pass through awareness the same.

 

* * * *

Every mind, an Atlas holding up its world, its cosmos, its genesis.

 

* * * *

Jumping with great glee into the abyss is a leap relatively few will ever consider, much less take.

 

* * * *

If time and space were real, you would not need imagination to travel it.

 

* * * *

Consciousness gives awareness focus; it does not control it in any way imaginable.

 

* * * *

What dreams are, what dreams have been, what dreams are yet to come, only awareness knows.

 

* * * *

The same awareness is equally within all things; a little humility, a little compassion, please.

 

* * * *

The matrix is all, but all are not chosen.

 

* * * *

Imagination’s infinitely multi-faceted spectrum is the power of the mystery.

 

* * * *

How can you measure the moment long enough to call it time?

 

* * * *

History, history, and more mystery.

 

* * * *

Science ever seeks the truth of the quantum illusion; beyond the veil, there is no knowing.

 

* * * *

Become king of your universe.

 

* * * *

How can the indivisible quantum matrix ever be tainted by imagination.

 

* * * *

The mystery has no need of a personal you.

 

* * * *

Those moving clock hands do not make time real.

 

* * * *

You can only be as formless as attention allows.

 

* * * *

What universe can exist without sentience?

 

* * * *

Awareness, aware of itself, what need for anything more?

 

* * * *

It is a mystery, immaculate from the depths to every shore, and it has no name.

 

* * * *

If you must worship, bend a knee to the mystery you are, the mystery all are.

 

* * * *

The road less traveled is a road traveled very much alone.

 

* * * *

The indelible awareness within is the eye of eternity.

 

* * * *

Memory is your personal theater, your personal world, your personal universe.

 

* * * *

This moment, right here, right now, eternity in a nutshell.

 

* * * *

A philosophical quest, any quest for that matter, requires a curiosity for truth.

 

* * * *

There is only awareness, nothing to worship but Self.

 

* * * *

Everything to alone see, nothing to be.

 

* * * *

Might may make right, but it does not make truth.

 

* * * *

Your mind is as infinitesimally infinite as any universe can be.

 

* * * *

Everything is in your head, and your head very much alone.

 

* * * *

It all seemed so real at the time, but did it ever really happen, this dream?

 

* * * *

Art is the mystery to which imagination aspires.

 

* * * *

Do you live your truth? Or their lie?

 

* * * *

Stilled consciousness bares the presence of awareness.

 

* * * *

Outside is in, and inside, out, in the indivisible realm.

 

* * * *

How can time, something which does not exist, ever be wasted?

 

* * * *

The dispassionate awareness sees it all.

 

* * * *

Awareness is a subtle beast, not fit for idle consumption.

 

* * * *

How can the unseen, how can the unknown, ever be duplicated by imagination?

 

* * * *

A gazillion tomorrows will all transpire in the same awareness, the same eternal now.

 

* * * *

What is Alzheimer's but becoming the abyss

 

* * * *

It is the eyes that create the universe of light.

 

* * * *

Time for another round of contemplation of non-existence.

 

* * * *

Truth: Do not settle for less.

 

* * * *

A mystery born of mortal slime.

 

* * * *

You are awareness playing a role, not a role, playing awareness.

 

* * * *

You, Mystery.

 

* * * *

When outside becomes inside, what’s a mystery to do?

 

* * * *

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

 

* * * *

Isn’t it mystery enough without imagining all things absurd?

 

* * * *

The coupling of mind and quantum is a marriage made in heaven.

 

* * * *

It is imagination from which the awareness you are must detach.

 

* * * *

Awareness is without hunger.

 

* * * *

Just because you will something only makes it so when the quantum theater allows.

 

* * * *

Your universe, your call.

 

* * * *

Any quantum divide is but an imaginary demarcation.

 

* * * *

Build a cosmos, and others will come.

 

* * * *

Existence is mysterious enough without fabricating endless bullshit.

 

* * * *

It all goes by in its quantum-quick timeless way.

 

* * * *

Time and space are constructs of the imaginary mind, steeped in mystery.

 

* * * *

Imagination’s turf is a quantum matrix of sensory proportion.

 

* * * *

Is it space and time through which you travel, or the moment?

 

* * * *

How can earth’s time and space mean anything beyond its gravitational reach?

 

* * * *

Square zero is an alonely place where be-ers be, and become-ers never tread.

 

* * * *

Without imagination, where is time?

 

* * * *

The moment is intangible; how could time be any more?

 

* * * *

Differences are not the quantum reality.

 

* * * *

The mystery is a banquet, in which full is empty, and empty, full.

 

* * * *

Let go your world, your universe; be eternity.

 

* * * *

It can never be more or less than the mystery it every moment is.

 

* * * *

The drop is whatever puddle, pond, lake, river, ocean, cosmos, mystery, the metaphor calls.

 

* * * *

What is eternity? A moment? An hour? A day? A life? Forever? All of the above?

 

* * * *

Through attention to the awareness, you wrest your mind from its imaginary yoke.

 

* * * *

A quantum ramble.

 

* * * *

Makes for a happy universe, knowing humankind will never infect another solar system.

 

* * * *

How can it not be the same mystery in every thing in every where and when?

 

* * * *

Is not the mystery before your eyes magical enough?

 

* * * *

Every blink, a universe undone.

 

* * * *

The indivisible individual is a harbor of doubt.

 

* * * *

The awareness is you, not yours.

 

* * * *

Who said this mystery has to make sense?

 

* * * *

In awareness, you give it no thought.

 

* * * *

Another memory swept up in the river of time.

 

* * * *

We reserve the right to destroy ourselves without interference from the universe.

 

 

Breadcrumbs

 

I am alone.

I have always been alone.

I was born alone, I live alone, I will die alone.

There has never been even one moment when I was not alone,

When I was not the pure awareness, when I was not the unborn-undying moment.

It is a wondrous state, given over at times, to many worldly distractions, but ever alone, nonetheless.

How the many others that come or go, that think of me, is utterly inconsequential.

And how I discern them, is but as clouds drifting across a sky.

There is no meaning, no purpose, no raison d'être,

But what the imagination imagines,

In all its many imaginings.

It is but a dream.

I, alone, am.

 

* * * *

These writings are an offering, a gift, to the eternal life within all creation.

Am I the delusional one for spouting all these thoughts? Or you, for not discerning it?

Or perhaps both, for ever having engaged in this fantastical, utterly improbable dreamtime, at all.

 

* * * *

I am not Krishna, nor Lao Tzu, nor Buddha, nor Jesus,

Nor any other mythological figure born of the human paradigm.

I am Michael, lord and master of this most-sanctified dreamtime mystery.

 

* * * *

This soliloquy is as whole a metaphorical elephant, as this lingual frame of reference can muster.

I being but one of who-knows-how-many scribes expounding the greatest revelation.

Whose handiworks will persevere in the ever-shifting dunes of dreamtime,

Will perhaps be referenced as some future historian’s footnote,

Or perhaps, stacked with other esoteric works, on some obscure bookshelf.

Assuming humankind even survives long enough for history to be available for viewing.

 

* * * *

It is not about me, it is not about this temporal identity,

It is about the awareness, that which I call, for the lack of a better word, god.

Lower case, to keep it generic for marketing purposes.

 

* * * *

This entire adult life has been spent observing, imbibing, exploring, inquiring, whatever came to the door;

To very gradually, very unpretentiously, very unintentionally, very scientifically,

With great naïveté, wander into this eternal conclusion.

It is as honest as honest can be.

 

* * * *

Forever is an imaginary state of time born of mind.

 

* * * *

Neither space nor time can exist in the stillness of awareness.

 

* * * *

Welcome to the clubless-tribeless-groupless aloneness.

 

* * * *

Eternity is bound by neither space nor time.

 

* * * *

Imagination cannot root in the stillness of awareness.

 

* * * *

Spacetime is but a kaleidoscoping mirage in the eye of awareness.

 

* * * *

Still mind, eternal mind.

 

* * * *

There is no way could I have lived a domesticated existence,

Of commitment and compromise and responsibility and indebtedness.

In giving my dream over to the mystery, in wandering the path of least resistance,

I may well have experienced, may well have possessed, more than all my ancestors combined.

I may well be the wealthiest, freest microorganism, this Petri dish world has ever seen.

And the only one who has witnessed it, in the way these many pages describe.

And despite all the virtuous intentions, they will not change a thing,

And neither the Reaper, nor the Ferryman, will know, or care.

 

* * * *

There it is, you finally saw it, and not for the first time today.

 

* * * *

The mystery has used this frame of reference to its own ends.

 

* * * *

I have always cherished my aloneness,

But have had many male and female friends throughout my time.

Workplaces, coffee shops, bars, and health clubs, have always been good venues to meet people.

The company of strangers, with some moving from acquaintanceship to friendship.

One never knows where a first spontaneous conversation will lead.

Sometimes, never again; sometimes, ever more.

 

* * * *

From any and all perspectives, that in this mind occur, the mystery is fathomed, one ditty at a time.

 

* * * *

How can the mystery be anything less than what I,

In all my limitations, all my shortcomings, herein over and over expound?

How could it truly ever be any man-imagined, dualistic invention-notion-concoction, heretofore devised?

That humankind clings to all its idolatries when the truth of awareness is so Self-evident.

Is an irony permeated by paradox, a paradox permeated by irony,

That will boggle me to my last dying wheeze.

 

* * * *

Another blurb, another story, another manifesto, for the sands of quantum to wash away.

 

* * * *

Am I something of a true believer, a cheerleader, for the mystery? Zeig heile, mein Mystery?

 

* * * *

I have studied many writings, many philosophies,

But I have never joined any so-called spiritual groups.

I have never much cared for allowing any collective mindset,

To orchestrate, or to usurp in any meaningful way,
What are my choices, and mine, alone.

A solo act, from the get-go.

And to the best, my ability allows,

I hopefully have not laden the unknowable future,

And anyone draw to awaken, with anything less than total veracity.

From a laptop, I opine all seekers to sally forth through as little muddle as possible.

Eschew all cultures, traditions, tribal mindsets, groupthinks, that ever strive to own You, in all or part.

 

* * * *

“No friggin’ way am I going back to that insane asylum!”

Jesus cried out, when he was told by Daddy it was time for the sequel,

So, as often happens, the ne’re-do-well, who did not show up for the board meeting,

Is named by the chair, to suit up, sally out, and try again to awaken the masses from their slumber.

Thank the mystery, that he was not allotted any absurdities to mesmerize the sheeples anew,

Nor stand up before awed throngs, reciting the Lord’s Prayer through a microphone,

And, Jesus, yes, you guessed it, he is off diddling Mary; no, not the mother.

Yup, right again, Daddy is with Mommy, over in the bouncy cloud.

 

* * * *

I may be mistaken about all this, but do not see how.

In every way truth can be comprehended: from rational to irrational,

From to realistic to delusional, from absolute to relative, from infinite to infinitesimal,

From sensible to absurd, from ironic to paradoxical, from white to black,

It all melds into a unified certainty that cannot be undone.

It is this acuity, both deliberated and intuited,

That doubts all other contenders.

 

* * * *

I only sound somewhat intelligent, somewhat linguistic, somewhat sage-worthy.

There has been a great deal foolishness and stupidity and vanity, gone through this dreamy mill,

To toss so many thoughts into a space-time, I can never more than imagine.

Things that none but I, would ever even bother to know.

And even I, were there any choice.

 

* * * *

There are many individuals who I do not like,

And there no doubt a fair share who do not much care for me.

Why I bothered composing all this blather is a pirouette of irony and paradox.

I really do not care even one iota if the human species goes extinct.

What a sigh of relief it would no doubt be, for all nature,

To at last be free of our cancerous malignancy.

Alas, that all the domesticated creatures,

Will have to up their ante to survive

The neo-Darwinian reboot.

So it goes, ad infinitum.

The cats will likely get by,

But good luck to the rat dogs.

 

* * * *

There is a point in the creation of any given aphorism, when the final draft, is complete.

There may be changes another time, but for that right-there-right-now,

The deed is done, and done well enough to sally on.

It is that moment of completion,

That zen-ish realization, that calls every artist.

That exact right time, right place, to adjourn, no matter the genre.

 

* * * *

What a thing to witness such a cataclysmic unfolding in the history of this garden orb.

With or without life on board, it will spin along until, eventually,

The mystery sees fit to consume it entirely,

And then, presumably, speculatively, spit out something new,

Assuming, of course, that some form of imaginary perception is there to witness it.

 

* * * *

Dang, I just saved the universe, and no one was watching.

 

* * * *

What a thing it is, to have been given the opportunity,

To consciously witness the mystery so intimately.

 

* * * *

Regarding these many thoughts, they are how I see the mystery.

They are my response to the infinity of vagaries in this quantum theater,

As directly and clearly and poignantly articulated, as this frame of reference allows.

As this astonishing dream, this dumbfounding dream, seems to have been programmed to do.

To daily, with Sisyphean effort, push the boulder up the mountain, is not the chore many would think it.

As Camus concluded in his Myth of Sisyphus essay: Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity

That negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well.

This universe, henceforth without a master, seems to him neither sterile nor futile.

Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, n itself forms a world.

The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart.

One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

 

* * * *

Is it really some ‘me’, some ‘myself’, some ‘I’, who is reading this?

Or is this sense of ‘me’ really nothing more than programmed imagination?

Imagination shrouding the awareness timelessly witnessing this sensory-mind dream.

The awareness eternally witnessing dreamtimes in all sentient beings in which mystery harbors.

What is there to say, but that these musings have all willy-nilly bubbled into the abyss of this mind’s eye,

And then step-by-step morphed from that emptiness, to paper to screen to world-wide web.

Oh, that I could somehow see how they play out in the epoch decline and fall,

That all existence will endure through the dreamtime ahead.

I would hazard a guess that most writers,

Most artists, most creators, of any and all persuasions,

Feel much the same as they watch their creations drift into a future-past

They cannot more than in imagination play out, all the twists, all the turns, of possibility.

 

* * * *

Imagination entices me to play its game,

By continually bubbling up aphorism after aphorism.

It is an object lesson in the futility of even for a moment wondering,

Whether or not awareness in human form, can ever change course in any profound way.

Can ever be free of the occupier, consciousness, and its imaginary theater, permeated by vanity and greed.

A prison guard who taunts me every moment, with every conceivable absurdity.

 

* * * *

Playing in this touchy-feely sandbox does not mean I am not entirely alone all the while.

That all others are but apparitions, dancing about all around me,

In a magical holodeck of quantum design.

Perfectly choreographed by the sensory mind,

In all its quantum-chemical-electrical-biological glory.

It may be delusional, but it is a madness that makes it tolerable.

 

* * * *

I root for awareness; but bet on imagination.

 

* * * *

The abyss is not near as entertaining as Never Never Land for this Peter Pan.

 

* * * *

These writings are entirely stream of consciousness.

As haphazard as haphazard can be in this patterned theater of the absurd.

Far, far, more than enough, to befuddle those who will never begin to discern, never begin to comprehend,

The unfathomable, ineffable, indivisible mystery, they every moment are.

 

* * * *

I write because I have no interest in being on any stage,

For more than occasional, serendipitous, impromptu performances.

Dancing these carpal-tunneled fingers on the keyboard – me, my own audience –

Is the most enjoyable aspect of this exploration of the mystery, of this philosophical manifesto.

Mein kampf, if you will.

 

* * * *

I enjoy science and all the other intellectual pursuits as much as the next Joe Everyman,

But there is a point of diminishing returns we have long since passed.

When will we finally see the meaninglessness

Of the infinity of zeros on either side of the decimal point?

 

* * * *

This is the honest, unsheathed truth, as seen through this very human mind’s eye.

Feel free to compose your own thoughts, your own opus, if you have anything clearer to say.

The inquiry into the mystery is a solitary, inward journey, not a race, not a competition, not a possession.

If rhetoric is the vehicle, then a corrupt idea may well be in play, and tacking on is the best bet.

Try not to scribe anything that requires persuasion, else it likely not be true, either.

Please note I may well be blind to many of my own transgressions,

So, please proceed with some caution in these halls.

 

* * * *

I walked among you –unnoticed, unobserved, undetected, invisible –

Because I was no different than you, because I was the same mystery as you.

A student of life, a philosopher, inspired to experience, to learn, whatever life offered.

And the resulting thoughts are my gift to whoever’s fate it is to find them.

Written for those who hunger for that which is prior to more.

For those ready to discern the mystery within all.

 

* * * *

So much left to do in this ever-expanding philosophical project.

Anyone interested down the road is welcome to do with it what they will.

There are no family, there are no friends, there is no following, tethered to its fate.

What happens to it is entirely up to the mystery from whence it came.

 

* * * *

I serve the awareness, and the matrix, whose quantum magic gives us the illusion of space and time.

 

* * * *

I serve the awareness, I serve the moment, I serve the matrix, I serve the mystery, there is no other.

 

* * * *

Lost in space, lost in time, lost in mind, I am found.

 

* * * *

All the magical creatures, all the folktale characters, would do well to disclose themselves to me,

For they would have no greater advocate, no greater truthsayer, no greater promoter,

To declare their reality be true, to the world of skeptics, to which I am liege.

 

* * * *

So much already said, already written,

Across all times, across all spaces, come and gone before.

How can this life work ever be known, ever have any meaningful impact?

How can the species ever change its evolutionary context, its genomically induced patterning?

How can a species compelled, bound, to a narcissistic-hedonistic paradigm,

Ever hope to survive a universe that has never cared

About anything ever created?

 

* * * *

The Man from QUANTUM.

 

* * * *

Fingers dancing away on the keyboards of a couple Apple MacBook Pro laptops.

Alone, relatively free of the constraints of any distracting obligations to any individual, any group,

I freely contemplate, freely explore, freely scrutinize, anything that wanders into mind.

This is an opus – as earnest, as sincere, as serious – as this dreamer can muster.

Be sure not make it about me, for I am you in but another reverie.

 

* * * *

Yes, yes, I get it, I get it, anything may well be possible:

Gods, angels, demons, ghosts, vampires, zombies, goblins, fairies, aliens,

Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Cupid, Saint Patrick, Father Time … and yes, Jesus, too.

But how can you expect me to not want it validated by a number of reliable witnesses,

Including my Self, the most sober, reliable, earnest, truth-seeker, I know,

Before I go all-in-ape-shit-true-believer on any nonsense?

“Show me,” declared the man from Missouri.

 

* * * *

The eternal philosopher, historian, anthropologist, scientist, mathematician,

And any other academic arenas this mind was drawn to reconnoiter,

All together, pervade the ever-expanding frame of reference.

So full, so empty, an imaginary destiny plays out.

 

* * * *

It is a curious thing, these many years of so many thoughts coming to mind.

Not sure how they come, how they keep coming, so often, and with such lucidity.

Starts any given time and space, usually with a pen scribbling onto a blank index card,

And then on to Microsoft Word on the MacBook Pro, with all its cherished accoutrements:

Google search, spellcheck, dictionary, thesaurus, and a knack for word association.

All the drafting and newspaper layout make for the spatial machinations.

 

And … Voilà!

 

* * * *

A quixotic quantum manifesto, very much indeed.

My itty-bitty part in the grand théâtre of dreamtime.

My little contribution to the grand théâtre of dreamtime.

My little celebration of the grand théâtre of dreamtime.

My little salutation to the grand théâtre of dreamtime.

 

* * * *

I be quantum matrixing.

 

* * * *

Someone could spend years, perhaps a lifetime, reading and re-reading,

All that I have written and posted on a variety of online platforms,

Including the works of other thinkers across space and time.

There is no shortage of material for any whose fate it is to witness.

 

* * * *

Yes, yes, yes, for someone so into the stillness of awareness,

I sure do babble on, and am not too good at sitting still, either.

 

* * * *

Just writing for writing’s sake.

Have posted it on the internet for anyone interested,

But have no concern about whether or not anything ever comes of it.

Ramblings of a mind bent by serendipity toward observing and writing about the mystery.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

If parts of this body of work are someday translated into other languages,

Who can ever truly know whether or not the interpretations of the sundry frames of reference,

Are even remotely close to what was intended, envisioned, by this quantum mind,

In the context of the original window of the dream called time.

Beware all translations; especially your own.

 

* * * *

Always more than a little beyond amazing to watch the tiny seeds of a thought

Evolve from scratch paper to screen, into what you are now reading.

The wonders of this modern age have been invaluable partners

In their bringing this mind’s frame of reference, its vision of reality,

To all who have the ears to hear and eyes to see this mystery for themselves.

How fortunate I feel to have been witness to this opus, no matter what becomes of it.

 

* * * *

A peasant who became king of his universe.

 

* * * *

How this philosophical work has scribed itself in the second half of this dreamtime,

Has been a beyond-all-pales, unanticipated, unsought, uninvited, please-no-not-me, sort of destiny.

What a remarkable expedition to be fashioned into a herald of this ineffable mystery.

Yet another thinker leaving a long and winding trail of breadcrumbs,

All pointing to the unknowable within and without.

 

* * * *

I am incapable of believing anything other than it is an insoluble mystery.

 

* * * *

I serve what my vision, my awareness, discerns.

 

* * * *

Seemed so real at the time.

 

* * * *

Time for another round of contemplation of non-existence.

 

* * * *

I, Mystery.

 

* * * *

Truth is truth, no cherry-picking.

 

* * * *

My universe, my call.

 

 

The Corollaries of Yaj Ekim

 

Friedrich W. Nietzsche

Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster,

for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:

You are the abyss, gazing into its Self.

 

* * * *

Genesis 1:27

In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.

Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:

You are imagination, imagining this mind-body, this slab of meat, real and important.

 

* * * *

Ancient Proverb:

Might Makes Right

Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:

Might may make right, but it does not make truth.

 

* * * *

Rumi:

You are not a drop in the ocean; you are the entire ocean in a drop.

Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:

You are not a drop in the mystery; you are the entire mystery in a drop.

 

 

The Standard Ripostes

The Scribe’s Go-to Responses to This and That in the Day-To-Day

 

It takes a matrix.

 

 

Possible Last Words & Epitaphs

 

Truth serves all purpose; truth serves no purpose.

 

* * * *

Infinity is not a number