The Call of the Eternal: The Ponderings of Yaj Ekim

The First Page

We are all created of the same source,

By whatever name you might wish to call it.

Our sense of individuality is merely a fleeting illusion,

Born of the attachment of consciousness to mind-body-spirit.

In reality, we are all equally the same awareness permeating all things.

All dualistic notions are vain delusion fabricated by imagination.

Yes, it all seems real and true enough at any given moment,

But if you fully contemplate the ever-present now,

You will discern that this state we call life,

Is really nothing more than a very temporary,

Touchy-feely, three-dimensional, sensory reverie.

The indivisible, absolute mystery, pretending existence.

* * * *

Everything comes and goes, appears and disappears,

Changes in each and every inexplicable moment.

A magical mystery tour of bewildering origin.

And to those many so full of themselves,

Unable to perceive the unfathomable,

That every moment beckons their attention,

How did the mindboggling become so mundane?

* * * *

Discern the indivisible awareness prior to all attributes,

All genders, all languages, all ideologies, all creeds, all geographies,

All families, all friends, all acquaintances, all antagonists,

All anything, all everything, under any given sun.

Discern that which is solely awareness,

Unblemished by any perception,

Born of conscious design,

Mortal or otherwise.

* * * *

Every existence is entirely unique,

In this grand, magical theater of time and space.

The unfolding of the song of mystery is a creation extraordinaire,

In every way, shape and form into which the mystery,

Has spontaneously, choicelessly unfolded.

You are one of countless dreams,

All witness to the totality,

That which is prior to all perception,

That which is absolute, both within and without,

That which is real, that which is true, that which is ever You.

No religion, no creed, no dogma in this world, or any other, speaks for that which is god.

They are all like blind men arguing over their limited perceptions of the elephant.

The dream is ever a mystery; none have ever owned it, and none ever will.

* * * *

You are neither the world nor the universe.

You are the indivisible that is witness prior to all creation.

You are the infinite awareness, the singularity,

Of all that is, and all that is not.

* * * *

Immortality is not found in the body,

Nor in the time-bound legacies of history books.

It is ever in the seamless awareness of the indivisible moment.

It is the eternal You, that peers out through the senses,

Into the dreamtime they and mind create.

* * * *

Every instant is an orchestrated streaming,

Of creation, preservation, destruction,

The trilogy of dreamtime’s ever-present dynamic.

Name it whatever you will, the source of this boundless mystery,

Is equally the same for the smallest as it is the greatest.

This ephemeral awareness belongs to no one.

It is the ether that permeates all things, transcends all things.

There are no individuals but in the imaginary reveries,

Of the ever-changing theater of consciousness.

Prior to consciousness, there is only You,

In the greatest, most profound sense.

* * * *

Those who can still their minds in detachment,

Are far more powerful than those who so many consider great.

For they do not fear death, they do not fear oblivion.

They are one with the source of all things.

Our kind seems headed,

Toward an unprecedented cataclysm,

And in the grand schema of things, does it really matter?

Each of us answers that eternal question in the way we carry out our daily lives,

But it is synergistically, that the dice are cast and futures told.

So down the fated river we bob and weave,

All alone, all together,

Players in the history of mind.

* * * *

Humanity is a species fixated on the past,

On history, tradition, ritual, formula, this concept or that.

How challenging it is to view the streaming moment with fresh, clear eyes.

Our narcissistic vision is veiled by all we think we know.

We are blind to the mystery of Eden.

* * * *

Discerning the nature of truth,

Is not about comfort.

It not about pleasure diluting pain.

It is merely the essential point of eternal singularity,

From which all creation springs, and to which all creation succumbs.

Far too simple for all the thoughts, spinning ever again,

To decisively grasp the inexplicable.

* * * *

All purpose, all meaning,

Is the fabrication of consciousness.

The nothingness from which all things spring,

Is indivisibly absolute, with neither cause nor direction.

How can there be any permanence in manifest time and space,

In that which is no more than a sensory figment of temporal imagination?

* * * *

To declare yourself either believer or atheist,

Implies that you somehow know something to be true,

In the ultimate who, what, where, when, why, how conundrum.

Something that in reality cannot be known by anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Belief, faith, and hope are useless, delusional security blankets;

Vain pacifiers of the mind’s fear of the unknown.

An agnostic vision is the only truthful, accurate stance.

Even Self does not know how this amazing mystery came to be.

The nowness that is, has ever been, will ever be, is all any can truly know.

History is about individuals and all their groupings,

The synergies of every blend of cooperation and competition,

All played out on an eternal stage, indifferent to existence or extinction.

* * * *

It is really all about patterns within patterns within patterns.

Infinitesimal, miniscule, tiny, small, medium, large,

Huge, immense, practically infinite patterns.

Patterns of all the swirling elements,

Of earth, air, water, and fire,

All grandly, indivisibly woven together,

Within the infinite quantum-ether-hologram-matrix-mystery.

Everything dancing its interpretation of Self away,

From every little way, unto the greatest.

* * * *

The quantum is the building block of the mind.

It is the nuclear cornerstone, the infinite creator,

Of the timeless, sovereign, immortal indivisibility.

* * * *

We each play out our little role,

In the unfolding dreamtime of future-past.

After the ending, it will be as it was before the beginning,

But for the unfolding now, it seems real enough to do whatever calls us,

In that which is, in the largest sense, the song of god.

It is from the grass roots,

From those who recognize the only truth,

From those who see the oneness of all things small to great,

From those who distinguish the harmonic singularity stretching across all eternity,

The grand source that is prior to all dogmas, all creeds, all religions,

The many beliefs that are idolatrous and self-serving,

It is from that utterly effortless ground,

That true religion flowers.

* * * *

There is no deeper, there is no greater,

There is nothing but the ever-streaming awareness,

That has played out every fleeting moment that has ever passed,

Within and without the only observer, the only witness there has ever been.

You.

* * * *

Abandon ye all futures, all pasts, all wants, all dreams, all hopes.

Right here, right now, in the awareness of the ever-flowing present moment,

Is the eternal life you pursue, the only existence you will ever have.

But you must die, in the most figurative sense, to discern it.

It may not be politically correct to say it,

But the squarely-faced reality is that every human being,

Is a biological organism, as is every other living thing on this spinning orb.

We may function at a more complicated degree of consciousness,

But the fundamental rules of the game are ever the same,

And are applied equally for each and every one,

In every way, every singular moment,

Of every singular existence.

* * * *

The mystery creates all of us equally buck-naked,

Same as every other life form across the entire garden.

It is only our kind who get all vain and embarrassed about it.

* * * *

The senses are the windows to any given universe,

But it is the mind that unlocks the door to eternity.

* * * *

Strolling the infinity within,

Does not require anything special.

Wear anything, or nothing, if you prefer.

Sit, lay, stand, walk, or sprint anywhere you please.

Name it whatever comes to mind, if you must.

It is always the same, ever unchanging,

Ever here now, to delve or dive into,

The source prior to all dreams.

* * * *

The challenge is to grasp and release,

Any given moment, at the same moment.

To flow with the ever-streaming, eternal reality,

Rather than the erratic stop-and-go,

Of the mind chained in time.

Discern the no-mind,

The awareness prior to consciousness,

To clearly perceive the evolving creation with a divine eye.

* * * *

Tag the immeasurable, the indivisible, the unknown, however you will,

It remains forever untouched, untainted, immaculately eternal.

The dream of consciousness is but quantum vibration in the ever-present now,

An imaginary configuration of the human mind, snared in the web of its own sensory creation.

What would it be like to never see anybody, anything, ever again?

To retire forever into the abyss, and never re-emerge into consciousness.

No more desire, no more fear, no more dread, no more worry, no more sickness,

No more injury, no more caring, no more bother, no more death or taxes.

And, of course, no more beer, wine, drugs, sex, or rock and roll.

To die for all eternity, or come back for another round,

Will that yay or nay decision be the last box,

On some Pearly Gate questionnaire?

Or do you just sign in or out as you please?

* * * *

Though we are all of the same formless origin,

Each of us is snared in an individual narcissistic reflection.

No one will ever interpret the mystery through the same looking glass,

So even the choir quibbles over this and that, that and this.

Less painful just to remain alone, inwardly still,

But it would seem few of us are willing,

To be quite that anonymous.

Your proud, relatively brief mortal existence, is naught but an infinitesimal scratch on a linear timeline,

Born of an immeasurable mystery, by whatever metaphor you might choose to describe it:

Creation, genesis, big bang, or turtles all the way down, turtles all the way up.

Stardust playing out a paradigm, invoked by the happenstance of human consciousness.

* * * *

What a challenge for the mind evolved of time,

To be completely attentive, totally engaged, to the given moment.

The moment that has always been, and will ever be,

Exactly as it is, right here, right now.

* * * *

Is a wave a wave, or is it water?

Is a beach a beach, or sand?

Is a bracelet a bracelet, or gold?

Is anything its ephemeral appearance,

Or the quantum matrix in which all forms dance?

* * * *

Forget everything, and the awareness is all that remains.

* * * *

Why pretend to know what can never be known?

What point is there to faith in some imaginary deity, some heaven,

If you cannot even manage to perceive the eternity playing out before your very eyes?

Karmas and heavens and hells, are imaginary notions,

For those who believe they should feel dread or guilt or shame,

For being born into an existence in which they had absolutely no choice.

* * * *

Learn from your everyday world; learn from your everyday universe.

Learn from fear to be fearless; learn from desire to be desireless,

From destruction and death, grasp your timeless immortality.

* * * *

So, you believe You are this body,

This mortal vat of bones and flesh and goo.

To be clear on this notion, are You the infant body,

The child body, the adolescent body, the young adult body,

The middle-age body, the senior body, or the one,

From which You peer, this very moment?

And how sure are You, really,

Of that fleeting, transitory novelty?

* * * *

You are this passing moment,

And it is here and gone, before You even know it.

It is that simple; all this is but a quantum dream, a quantum illusion.

There is nothing more.

* * * *

Everything before now, everything after now,

Is the ever-transitory movement of imagination.

The ground of awareness is still, ever watchful.

The eternal witness, watching its Self dream.

* * * *

It is the divide within, that You must make whole.

It is the war within, with which You must make peace.

Awareness is seamless; without rends, without adversaries.

It weathers the assaults of the mind-body in time, without effort.

Bound by no dream, it is indifferent to life, it is indifferent to its end.

It is You in the truest sense, permeating all that is, all that is not.

You can only know, You can only witness, the dreaming the mind-body perceives.

But realize, your version is but one reflection, one resonance, one facet,

Of this infinite, mysterious, ever-kaleidoscoping crest-jewel.

And of its unknown origin, You can only experience,

The infinite nothingness, at the core within,

And awaken to the clear certainty,

That it is really all You.

* * * *

Challenging to stay with the momentary awareness, the momentary nowness,

Without the movement of thought kicking back into overdrive.

The inner and outer chatter is ever an enticement.

Sages talk a great deal of detachment,

Of dying to the world,

But even they can be entranced,

By the sensory spin of the given day-to-day.

* * * *

There is absolutely no evidence of a distinct deity.

Hope, faith, conjecture, speculation,

Are born of fear and dread,

Of divisive, dualistic perceptions,

And only encumber the inquiry into the truth within.

* * * *

Who cares who wrote whatever?

What is most important is what was meant,

And what it unravels in the exploration of consciousness,

And the timeless inscrutability of awareness, from which it ever emanates.

Besides which, they were, after all, in the greatest sense, all You,

Belied by countless other disguises, as is yours to them.

To be solely the awareness, completely alone, effortless,

Is a suspension of thought, a disinterest in the ever-churning world.

A state of quietude, stillness, serenity, grace; interesting only if you are truly content,

To be done with all the many things your version of the universe offers.

No, it is not easy to let go, to be in the world, but not of it,

Even for the briefest of these mortal times.

* * * *

Ultimately, all sense of identity is absolutely meaningless.

Endure in the world of mind for as long as you will,

And then cast your Self free of all constraints.

* * * *

As fresh as the eternal moment forever is,

The memories which filter through it, are ever old.

The more we know, the less we see.

Truth is truth is truth is truth,

Unbound by any fabrication of consciousness.

Awareness is, indeed, witness to the mysterious majesty of all creation,

But nothing that is conceived can ever be proclaimed,

As the truth only truth can be.

* * * *

Forget your body, forget your life,

Your geography, your culture, your religion,

Your politics, your education, your friends, your family.

Forget absolutely everything, everyone.

Breathe in, breathe out,

The awareness before time.

* * * *

I am the Truth, the Life, and the Way,

And so are You,

And so is everyone and everything else,

And so is each and every part and particle of dust to the farthest shore,

And the infinity beyond all pales.

This is what it is really all about.

It is all You.

There is nothing more, nothing less.

There is no greater state than the timeless simplicity of awareness,

The reality through which all dreams play out,

In any given dimension.

* * * *

This brief little dream is just a speck,

Of the totality which reigns all dreams, all forms.

It is merely a rippling of a distraction from your eternal nature,

The truth of which You are always, whatever the form.

* * * *

You are older than the stars, younger than the moment.

* * * *

No one really knows anything about who,

What, where, when, why or how they are here.

Why pretend to? Why manufacture any belief system,

When vulnerable, agnostic wonder, is the most honest stance.

* * * *

The manifest theater is based on constant change,

Constant movement, constant consumption, constant evolution.

Only the ever-present indivisibility of the quantum essence, remains the same.

At what point, did You begin losing your innocence?

At what point, were You drawn out into the manifest world,

Into believing it real, into believing You are this cloak of identity,

You have so diligently, and with such utter conviction, worn ever since?

The other has shaped You into believing You are an identity,

But it is only Your collusion which makes it so.

The key to real freedom,

Is discern the indivisible source,

And then surrender to that awareness,

The timeless witness prior to consciousness.

* * * *

Dreamtime … dreammind … dreamjourney … dreampath …

Dreampast … dreamfuture … dreamnow … dreamfate …

* * * *

You are not what you know.

You are not what you do.

You never have been.

You are only what You are,

Have ever been, and will ever be.

The drop is within the ocean, and the ocean within the drop.

The writing is within the writer, and the writer within the writing.

The painting is within the painter, and the painter within the painting.

The sculpture is within the sculptor, and the sculptor within the sculpture.

The garden is within the gardener, and the gardener within the garden.

All creation is within its creator, and the creator within all creation.

* * * *

You can only perceive the source You ever are,

By being the very motionless awareness.

Eternal life is right here, right now,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *

Trying to meld a nondualistic view of this immeasurable mystery,

With the egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric collusions born of time,

Requires way too many rationalizations, compromises, and contortions.

Just because some falsehood bears the authority of tradition means nothing.

Give no weight to what is unnecessary; travel the journey that calls You.

All organized religions, cults, sects, creeds,

Are really about dogma, limitation,

One groupthink or another.

Even in a large gathering,

Real religion is a solitary act,

Unfolding each and every moment,

Unattached, without any care, any concern.

* * * *

Your body is not really yours at all.

It is merely a temporary biological casing,

From which You witness the mystery of creation.

Consciousness is in charge; You are just along for the ride.

This insight into the singularity cannot be forced; You either discern it, or you do not.

So, there is absolutely no point in creating any dogmatic belief system,

Except to continue playing out the meaningless theater,

To which all middlemen and followers defer.

* * * *

Dogmas are generally more about,

What you are not supposed say, think, or do,

Truth includes absolutely everything,

Ever said or thought or done.

* * * *

Why venerate anything imagined?

Why not just be in the here and now,

Free of all imaginary constraints?

* * * *

Every moment is in itself absolutely effortless.

It is consciousness that manufactures all struggle.

Every life is a one-time affair,

A kaleidoscoping outcome of the given seed.

And each and every seed is a blueprint, a pattern, a potential,

Which is ever filled with the same quantum source, the same dynamic essence,

From which the unfolding creation has ever been fashioned,

But none ever formed the same way again.

* * * *

This eternal moment, this stillness of awareness, is all there is,

No matter the form, no matter the time, no matter the context.

* * * *

What You really are, has absolutely nothing to do,

With any memory, any thought, any idea, any concept,

Any movement of imaginary notion, whatsoever.

* * * *

The grand theater, and everything in it,

Is the dream of the mind-body.

You are the awareness,

The witness,

Which discerns all,

But is none of it, all the while.

* * * *

You are not the body; the body is not You.

You are the eye, out through which eternity peers.

* * * *

Atoms, molecules, particles, quanta,

All just names for that which can never be seen,

But are nonetheless the building blocks, the underpinnings,

The bedrock upon which all creation is founded,

The infinite nothingness,

Upon which the manifest is spun,

The stage upon which You witness your Self,

Playing every form across the dream of time and space.

* * * *

We are all that which is of the elysian divine;

Merely moving about in different guises;

Identified by different names, speaking different tongues;

Playing out different realities, on different stages, of the same mystery.

The mortal body is the sanctuary, the temple, the portal, in which awareness immortally resides.

It is ever-changing, replete with every sort of irregularity, and fated to one day dissolve.

But for a relatively brief perception of time, always within the unending moment,

There is the opportunity for the temporal consciousness, the dream weaver,

To play out whatever capacity and limitation and inclination allow.

* * * *

The mind-body is but a transitory dwelling; chaff,

From which the kernel drops into the ground,

From which the drop returns to the ocean,

From which the self merges into Self,

From which the persona dissolves,

Into that which is timelessly absolute.

* * * *

Awareness is prior to all things,

Born of thought, born of passion, born of time.

All naming is ultimately meaningless.

Even the greatest song of god,

Is fated to be forgotten.

* * * *

Still searching here, there, everywhere,

For something that really, really, really matters,

When over and over, it is again and again, more than evident,

That nothing really does, nothing really ever has, nothing really ever will.

Picture this immense cosmos an immeasurable matrix,

And all we organisms, from small to great, wandering about,

Breathing in and breathing out, consuming and being consumed.

Earth, air, water, fire – indivisibly intertwined throughout the heavens,

Creating-preserving-destroying, through all beginnings, through all endings.

A god-eat-god creation, which all are equally witnessing, in every way imaginable.

* * * *

All that striving, all those memories, all those thoughts,

All those relationships, all born of the mystery’s quantum mirage;

You are not any of them, and You never have been, really.

You are the clear space, the heart of awareness,

Absolute, sovereign, beyond compare.

* * * *

Some want to spend their lives,

Preoccupied with loving or hating others.

What difference, really, in the ultimate dream of it all?

Perhaps that which is the quantum source, both angel and demon,

Merely seeks to play out every possible experience,

The menu of consciousness offers.

Who knows, really?

Any of us can only extrapolate,

The given dream, to one speculation or another.

* * * *

You are solitary witness,

To the boundless source and all its play.

What else can there be, but this fundamental You, really?

Everything is nothing more than a kaleidoscoping dream of quantum design,

Inexplicably created by the grand mystery, to experience,

A manifest fling of the galactic dice.

Humankind has expended a great portion of its recent so-called civilized history

Battling over the electromagnetic spectrum: wavelengths, frequencies, vibrations, light, sound.

Continuously struggling, arguing, destroying – over what is but a mere sliver of the indivisible mystery,

That our sensory dwellings are capable of perceiving, in the patterning of all things manifest.

How baffling, that we have not fathomed a greater vision of our place in it all.

* * * *

Nature is what works,

And what does not, evaporates into oblivion.

Good and evil are nothing more than constructs of human consciousness.

There was never any such thing in this whirling garden orb,

Prior to the emergence of dualistic notion.

* * * *

There is no such thing as time; birth, life, death, are but a dream.

There is only awareness; the You, that has ever, yet never been.

* * * *

Here now is the only religion.

We are all transience, all immortality,

Intertwined, in consciousness, in imagination.

* * * *

No need to make pompous tripe about the mystery.

The challenge is merely to see, to comprehend,

That it, is everyone and everything, including you

And then decide how to play out the pretense of free will,

For whatever dreamtime remains, in this inexplicable mortal sojourn.

Death is merely evaporating, back into the nothingness, that nothingness ever is.

The passionate mind must be at rest,

To discern the vastness within and without.

There are many techniques, many means, many ways,

To approach realizing this attentive, vulnerable, state of awareness,

But the upshot, the bottom line, the bare essential, the brass tack, the nut and bolt,

The down-and-dirty-nitty-gritty-crux-of-the-matter, the sine qua non,

Is that the mind stills, until only the witness remains.

* * * *

It is only through the unremitting movement of consciousness,

That you separate yourself from the infinite upwelling.

A mystery brand-named by so many sounds.

Awareness is the same essence,

For all creation, from small to great.

* * * *

Abiding in thought, in the metaphors of persona,

In the imaginary pretense of little self, is a form of death.

To die to all the fabricated concepts, all the notions of this or that,

To live attentive to the very present, timeless awareness,

Is to immerse in the eternal life you truly are.

Looking back to the first rays of conscious memory,

Is it not apparent you were absoluteness from the very beginning?

But because you were immersed in a morass of delusion,

You fell into the snare, as the young ever do.

Illusion sweeps all into its net,

And only the rare few,

Free themselves,

And return to the open sea.

* * * *

This moment will have to be enough,

Because it is all you have got,

And there is no way,

It is ever going to be any more,

No matter how thick the layer of delusion.

* * * *

Existence is a countdown until your inexorable return to oblivion,

Until the complete and utter annihilation of your universe.

Death is just tapping the Ruby slippers, and going back to Kansas.

Charon transporting you across the River Styx, to the nothingness of Hades.

However storied, the void is from whence you came, that to which you inevitably return.

Realize it or not, you are a particle of the grand mystery,

Of that indivisible essence, which many call god.

Perhaps acting out some demonic role,

But a shard, nonetheless.

You have only to look within,

To discern the infinite awareness,

Prior to the dreaming of time and space,

From which all have, only in imagination, splintered.

* * * *

And now, you are here …

And now …

Everything is a story.

There are no greater or lesser stories.

All are imagined in the movement of consciousness in time.

None abide in the eternal now.

* * * *

The real mystery,

Is how so many tolerate,

What took place tens, hundreds,

And so often even thousands of years ago,

To regulate their existence today.

What would you be doing,

If it was just you,

All alone?

We may all be one at the indivisible quantum level,

But we are all still bound by the limitations of the mortal dream.

Confined in a container whose primary directive is to play the monkey-mind.

Some may completely give themselves over to perpetual agape,

But for most, it is ever a moment-to-moment challenge,

To resist all the passions mortal cuisine offers.

* * * *

We are certainly intoxicated by all our noise and busy-busy,

But zip up a few hundred meters, and stillness reigns.

The unknown is not bound by blah-blah or bling.

The mystery will spin on, with or without us.

* * * *

The universe is a touchy-feely mirage,

Inspired by the senses, wielded by imagination.

A momentary three-dimensional play.

Nothing more, nothing less.

* * * *

Eternity is awareness now.

Time is the wake of memory.

The future is all possible paths.

Free will looking forward,

Fate looking back.

* * * *

Only you know your own narrative,

And even that is but a vague perception,

Of what may have really happened.

* * * *

An impromptu theater … nothing more … nothing less … nothing but.

The unknown playing its mystery out, in any and every way,

The dreamtime of imagination sets into motion.

And stardust somehow came into existence.

It could never more than speculate, how it all came to be,

But rather than be happy and content, not knowing,

It managed to argue, to struggle, to battle,

Over everything imaginable,

Forever more.

* * * *

Awareness, the underlying formless.

* * * *

The quantum mystery is you, and you are it.

You witness it, and it witnesses you.

You meditate upon its infinity,

And it, upon your temporal limitation.

How could the indelible indivisibility be else?

The daily challenge is just being in the ever-kaleidoscoping moment,

Experiencing, observing, processing the timeless immediacy,

Of whatever is streaming by, both within and without,

As clearly, as exactly, as acutely, as possible.

Eternal life is not for the inattentive.

* * * *

How bound humankind is,

By the deep dread of death and oblivion.

The movement of consciousness whirls every direction,

To avoid discerning the primal essence,

That is the source of all.

* * * *

All you think has happened, never really happened.

Dreams are only dreams, no matter how real they seem.

What you truly are, is nothing mind can ever begin to know.

Inhale … exhale … inhale … exhale …

Each breath streaming without break into the next.

Eternal, absolute, indivisible, complete, essential, every moment,

From the launching of temporal impermanence,

To its most certain conclusion.

* * * *

Neither forward nor backward, toward nor away,

Space-time is but a flickering of imagination,

Born of the eternal now, forever unknown.

* * * *

So many experiences, so much history, so much knowledge, so much blather.

Nothing more than the filter of imagination given daily reality,

Cloaking the ever-present now from its Self.

Human beings quarrel over this and that, and that and this,

As if anything anyone declares or does really matters,

Any more than whether a river trickles or roars.

The ineffable mystery is what it is, has ever been, will ever be,

And nothing can ever add or detract from its unfathomable, indivisible nature.

The only thing that is perhaps even the least bit relevant,

Is our relationship with the countless things,

Its indelibility has made manifest,

Including ourselves.

* * * *

What are the imaginary dualities to You,

Who is the fundamental awareness in all things.

You, who is serene witness to all creation.

Known or unknown, done or undone,

Oblivion is your singular nature.

What is not to appreciate about the reality, that That from which you are created,

Is absolutely indifferent to your vain pretense of an existence.

Oblivion is the destiny of all creations.

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

* * * *

Settle for creed, and you will live out existence,

According to the will of some other or another,

None of whom really know any more than you.

* * * *

This moment would know no other moment,

If not for the play of memory,

Founded upon a neurological mutation,

That began evolving when Eden was but a garden.

There is only past and future in the movement of consciousness.

The senses pull you out into the world,

Into an inexplicable, seemingly inexhaustible universe.

You journey this way and that, entranced with all there is to know and do,

But the ultimate journey is into the source of all journeys,

Into the totality of the indivisibility within.

* * * *

In the ether of the quantum matrix, the four elements,

Stream all about the awareness you truly are.

They cannot bind nor compel but through attachment,

To the ephemeral, vaporous, mesmerizing reverie they inspire.

* * * *

Your universe is you.

What point judging,

What you have created,

And every moment sustain?

* * * *

All differences are imagined.

Prior to consciousness,

It is all you,

One,

Eternally alone,

Free of all mortal constraints.

* * * *

Deeper and deeper, ever deeper,

Into the indivisible abyss of the primal source.

There can be no end, to that to which, there was never a beginning.

* * * *

If it is peace, tranquility, serenity, harmony, equanimity, stillness that you pursue,

It is not in these words, nor any others, in which it will be discerned.

Only in the sanctity of the awareness of your true Self,

Will you find that for which you long.

The reward for services rendered,

No matter for good or ill, is certain death.

Our fear-ridden, superstitious species manufactured,

Deities, heavens, hells, reincarnation, every conceivable notion,

Just to cope, to endure the unavoidable, intrinsic oblivion.

Too excruciatingly real to face it being all for naught.

* * * *

Most yearn for simple, clear, engraved-in-stone messages.

Canons, laws, rules, codes, policies, procedures that they can live by.

Not easy existing in a universe interwoven by relativity.

There are no absolutes but the absolute.

* * * *

What is emancipation but a quality of mind,

Free of any and all encumbrances, any and all notions.

Unfurl your essential, unconditional sovereignty,

Into the stillness of untainted awareness.

* * * *

The tree of knowledge,

Is a cacophony of imagination,

Allowed every direction and meaning.

The indivisible totality, that which is, and is not,

Is indifferent to all that is, and is not.

* * * *

What can a passing wave,

Know of its Self?

A swell, a whorl, a crash,

And foamy dissolution into the next.

Any given container is but a temporal instrument,

Out from which the solitary witness peers.

* * * *

Happiness, sorrow, anger, hate, joy, love,

Emotions of any rhyme or reason, thoughts of any caliber,

Passions of any variety, what are they to the awareness you truly are, really?

Put behind you all the teachers and teachings in which time has played,

And discern the fundamental reality they reveal within you.

They are but ambiguous, imaginary ghosts;

You are the oneness abiding dreamtime’s here now.

* * * *

Truth is a state, a quality of beingness,

The momentary, timeless, ephemeral awareness,

Not a vain assertion of consciousness.

* * * *

It is ever and always the same awareness within.

Only the play of imagination cloaks it otherwise.

* * * *

For those earnestly subscribing to the scientific model,

Everything, every moment, is an on-going experiment.

We must all play out the consequences of the given dreamtime.

Heaven or hell, same moment, just different qualities of mind.

* * * *

You are the sky, not the weather;

The awareness, not the elements.

All is just distraction from what is.

* * * *

Sooner or later, our little creation will crash and burn.

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

Just be ready to roll with the punches,

When Mother Gaia lays down her one and only law,

And proves beyond any doubt, what has always really been in charge.

Neither male nor female,

Good nor bad, right nor wrong,

Light nor dark, high nor low, near nor far.

Awareness is without principle.

* * * *

Same old, same old,

Or same new, same new?

Just a quality of mind, an attitude,

Played out each and every fluid moment.

* * * *

All the pleasures of mind and senses,

Do they really even hold a flickering candle,

To the equanimity of pure, unadulterated awareness?

* * * *

Why would not the source permeate every part and particle?

How small-minded to even for a moment imagine,

Anything could be anything but indivisible.

How long are we going to quarrel,

Over which dogma is true,

Which version of the mystery is real,

When the only thing that has ever really been argued,

Are the imaginary notions born of one geographical assumption or another.

* * * *

The awareness at the source of all manifestation will ever wander along,

With whatever dream consciousness wishes to play out.

Creation, preservation, destruction,

You choose.

* * * *

The ultimate reality is, that each and every one of us,

Has the opportunity to discern the mystery we all equally are.

But the conditioning, the mindsets, the traditions, the dogmas, the memes,

The identification of consciousness with the mind, the heart, the body, the world, the universe,

Have humankind locked in a stranglehold, entirely of its own imaginary creation.

We are on a sure and unwavering course toward self-destruction,

An unfolding well beyond the point of no return.

What will come of it, is the pulp of dystopian fiction.

What will it be like to never have to bother,

About this human or any other mortal condition ever again?

No meaning, no purpose, no desire, no fear, no pain, no suffering, no ego, no vanity.

No physical, no mental, no emotional concerns, one way or another.

Nirvana, serenity, bliss, call it what you will,

Just die to it all now.

* * * *

Long before it was ever said and done, you were on your own.

After it is said and done, you will be on your own.

And while it is being said and done,

You are on your own.

* * * *

Everything manifest,

And the time through which it wafts,

Is the complete and utter construction of imagination.

For in the nowness, there is only eternity,

And the witness abiding all.

Both believer and atheist,

Pretend to know there is or is not a god.

But that you are is really the only fact worth considering,

And of the source of this infinite mystery, no one can really know anything.

Of the ultimate truth, the most earnest remain agnostic.

* * * *

Ignorance has always worshipped one rock or another.

Intelligent design is a far more infinite source,

Than any dogma will ever ascertain.

* * * *

Surely, that which is mystery, that which is truth,

Is far, far greater, than any vanity would ever allow.

* * * *

My story, your story, his story, her story, our story, the story.

All simultaneous; all absolutely, indivisibly, eternally imagined.

The journey of awakening to the indivisible seems an individual struggle,

An awareness of the vast totality to which the human species,

May or may not be capable of collectively partaking,

Before the temporal dream of consciousness,

Reaches its inevitable conclusion.

Oh well and so it goes.

Never really mattered anyway.

* * * *

What is human history but ceaseless struggle,

Over whose imagination should reign the moment.

Who was the very first to come up with the fanciful notion,

That we two-leggeds might someday, somehow, all come together,

Into one big happily-dancing-Age-of-Aquarius family?

Out-and-out balderdash, to be sure.

How much attention can be focused on any given dream?

The senses furnish an all-but-infinite, ever-streaming, lightshow of a universe,

And from that, even the sharpest of minds, can only briefly harbor,

The vaguest perception, of a very finite existence.

* * * *

The perceptions of any given moment,

Are quickly recorded into subjective memories,

Wherein time is contrived and projected,

Into what dreams may come.

This we call living.

* * * *

What moment is not creation?

What moment, not preservation?

What moment, not destruction?

* * * *

It takes a great deal of mettle,

To doubt to the essential core of awareness.

Immortal fare is not for the meek who will inherit the earth,

And the dreaming it every moment inspires.

* * * *

Existence as it is known, is nothing more than a foggy swirl of perceptions.

Eternal life is timeless awareness, free of memory, free of known.

It is the end of passion’s craving for any form or concept.

There is tabula rasa, an uncarved block, an unrippled soul, within,

But the imaginary, make-believe you, formed of consciousness,

Must become very still, very quiet, for its awareness to reign.

If you truly seek heaven on earth,

You must fathom it within and without,

The ever-streaming here and now.

To fathom complete and utter freedom,

One must be very at rest in the momentary awareness.

Eternal life is not for those still seduced by the dream of manifest time.

Knowledge cleaves the enigmatic mystery of consciousness,

Into every sort of dualistic conception under the sun.

The forbidden was harvested, and Eden lost.

Fallen monkeys, indeed.

And this pillaged garden will hobble on,

For as long as humankind survives its memories real.

* * * *

What can the tabula rasa know of original sin,

Until the neuron trail is packed full,

Of monkey-mind blather?

* * * *

You could do this,

Or you could do that.

Or that or this or this or that.

Or you could just stay at home alone,

And do absolutely nothing.

It is your dream,

To play out as you will.

Any Supreme Being must surely be an amalgamation of all the greats:

Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Superman,

Harvey, Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, and Captain Hook.

Much easier to accept any given phantasm,

Than to doubt to the nth degree.

* * * *

This moment, this very moment,

Is all you really have.

Use it wisely,

For it is already gone.

* * * *

To gaze out into the sensory theater,

And recognize nothing,

And look within and discern the same.

It is to that, which all who hear the call, unknowingly aspire.

* * * *

The one thing of which You can be very certain, across all time, across all space.

Is that You are not at all separate from anything, in any way, at any moment.

How do You discern this? Because You are the dreamer dreaming it all.

You are the seamless, singular awareness, the one and only reality.

The atheist is as misguided as any believer.

All assertions are but the self-deceptions of imagination.

Agnostic |agˈnästik| noun: a person who believes that nothing is known,

Or can be known, of the existence or nature of God,

Or of anything beyond material phenomena;

A person who claims neither faith,

Nor disbelief in God.

* * * *

You are awareness.

The rest is imagination.

Life is surfing within a dream,

Until the wave crashes.

* * * *

All anyone really knows, is what they, or somebody else, thought up.

All things fashioned of consciousness are nothing more,

Than the effervescence of imagination,

In the stardust of mind.

Why be at all concerned or bothered,

About awakening smoke to its ephemeral nature?

Is it any wonder that those rare few who realize their true nature,

Become very silent, very still, even in the greatest din?

* * * *

Every life form that is born of this mysterious essence,

Creates and experiences its own finite universe,

With the same awareness inherent in all.

We are all That which never sleeps,

Is never born, and never dies.

* * * *

The world is teeming with every sort of absurd claim.

The only real marvel is that we cannot discern,

All are ultimately of the same mystery.

* * * *

What difference between a moment ago,

And the one just before you were conceived?

All figments within the ether of an indivisible matrix.

* * * *

The body is not You; You are not the body.

You have no body, you never have, and you never will.

The mortal container is merely a fleeting means to one end or another.

A formless, indivisible infinity, without foundation,

Without beginning, without conclusion.

Awareness is the cradle,

From which all things rise into being;

The coffin to which all things are one day laid to rest.

Knowing You are solitary witness to Your version of the theater,

Discerning You are awareness manifest, how will You play out your role?

Will You be angel, or demon, or some spontaneous blend between?

It is Your reverie to do as Your desire, Your law, dictates.

Be it heaven or hell, or some purgatory between,

It is Your creation, and Your will be done.

* * * *

Every point and particle of this reverie,

Is ultimately to fully perceive the singular truth,

That You are the eternal upwelling, that You are That I Am.

By whatever arbitrary sound You may describe it,

That Truth … that Life … that Way …

Is the awareness You ever are.

* * * *

Who cares if there is but one lifetime or many?

In reality, the ultimate source, the You,

You really are, has been all.

And this existence,

Is the one and only one,

To which attention need be given.

It is in this moment that all futures are created.

* * * *

Wrangling over which notion of divinity reigns supreme,

Is for those many who have not yet put away childish things.

* * * *

Oblivion is the end to all lies, all fabrications, all self-deceptions.

It is the vital source, the essence prior to all becoming.

It is the experiencing prior to all experience,

The intangible prior to all that is tangible,

The awareness prior to consciousness,

The actuality prior to all that is imagined,

The substantial prior to all that is insubstantial,

That which is prior to all context, prior to all manifest dreams.

The big lesson humankind is still hard-pressed to learn, hard-pressed to even begin to grasp,

Is that absolutely everything is connected at every level across the board.

Each and every particle working, playing, dancing together,

Every simultaneous, unrehearsed moment,

To create this grand dream.

That so many take it all for granted,

And deceive themselves and others in so many ways,

That we have become so absurdly disjointed, is folly beyond the pale.

* * * *

From the quietude of boundless slumber, awareness awakens,

And gazing into the pool of memories, stokes the dream into another day.

Dust to dust, a few breaths, a few thoughts, between.

Let the vanity have its way.

Time-bound inner chatter is the consequence of inattention to the eternal moment.

A mind naturally becomes still when it is absorbed in whatever is happening.

There is no method, there is no how, merely a focus akin to a laser beam.

* * * *

We are all in the ultimate reality the same pure awareness.

It is neither yours, nor mine, nor anyone else's.

It is simply consciousness playing out,

The ethereal moment’s imaginary potential.

* * * *

To be born again into the source of all things,

Is to discard everything and just be,

The stillness of no-mind.

Be … still.

* * * *

Are you a body, experiencing awareness?

Or awareness, experiencing a body?

Or perhaps, both and neither?

* * * *

In all the incalculable star systems strewn across whatever infinity entails,

There may be many worlds, many dimensions, packed with life forms of every variety.

And yet, ours may be the only one with consciousness as we perceive it,

And, much to our chagrin, we will very likely never know.

All dogmas discuss, debate, battle, over imagined facets of the same origin.

Different metaphors, different archetypes, different interpretations,

Different sounds, different principles, different speculations.

Different this … different that … different whatever.

All struggling over the same eternal source,

The same inexplicable fountainhead,

Over and over and over again.

* * * *

That You are one with all, is not something to be taken vainly, narcissistically,

But as something to be discerned at the very essence of Your being.

The kingdom is the sovereignty of the indivisible source,

Within all things both manifest and unmanifest.

The eternal matrix is all-inclusive,

Including even You.

* * * *

There is only one awareness,

There is only one consciousness,

Splintered into an endless array of forms,

Playing out every prospect imagination deigns.

A capricious ocean of surging tides and crashing waves,

But an ocean, nonetheless.

* * * *

‘Supreme Being’ is being, in the most,

Omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent way.

It is less about some imaginary, individual deity,

Than it is the austerity of pure, unadulterated awareness.

Agape is the indivisible, unconditional, impersonal indifference.

That which we call god, is the quantum essence which is never born, and can never die.

But if there were a personalized supreme divinity, that so many have imagined,

He, she, it – or whatever – would more than likely be bored to tears,

Having to daily endure the ceaselessly predictable inanities,

Of our two-legged, thumb-wagging, tool-making, monkey-mind kind,

And the ongoing devastation, of what is very likely one of eternity’s greatest creations.

* * * *

The is absolutely no rhyme or reason to suspect, much less believe,

There is some sort of supreme being outside your Self,

Or at least one that does not also include You.

How could any of this be happening,

Without Your participation,

To the very core of Your beingness.

Any duality is false, from all beginnings, to all ends.

* * * *

In youth, life is full of vitality and learning,

But mortal reality – injury, illness, aging, death –

Gradually erode the many illusions of blissful ignorance.

Questions arise about the ever-changing light show of the universe.

And those who give it earnest and unwavering attention,

Discern the awareness, and its immortal nature.

* * * *

How is it anyone truly believes some sort of alien race was required to create our kind,

Or set us on some sort of long, winding, convoluted, evolutionary journey?

How is it anyone could gaze upon this astonishing garden planet,

And not assume it entirely capable of being the source,

Of all the innumerable life forms it sustains?

It is a curious thing that so many require the belief,

In some outside intervention, to explain the mystery they are.

By the time you recognize and react to any given memory,

Awareness has already moved on to the next,

And the many nexts beyond that.

And on and on,

An eternal, immortal sprite,

You can never touch, never catch, only be.

* * * *

Sometimes it is heaven, sometimes it is hell.

Consciousness is flip-flop like that.

Awareness does not care.

* * * *

That which is mystery is within,

To whatever degree you feel called,

To discern the infinity beyond all pales.

* * * *

It seems more than a little curious,

That so many would choose dogma and idolatry,

Over the infinite treasure in all things, in all places, in all times.

What is heaven but hope, and hell, dread.

The nectar of awareness is prior to both.

* * * *

You see only what you perceive.

You see only what you know.

You see only what you believe.

Everyone is but a frame of reference.

* * * *

What desire, what fear can there be,

If you are immersed in the awareness,

Of the unfolding ever-present moment?

* * * *

All dogma, all vanity, all everything,

Ripples from consciousness, not awareness.

From mind, not that which is witness to all creation.

Who, what, where, when, why, how … does any universe come into being,

But through the awareness of the observer, the beholder, the witness.

All based on structure, sensory input, capacities and limitations.

Every creature small to great resides in a cosmos of its own weaving.

* * * *

Ultimately, there is no evil, there is no sin, there no dark side.

There is only corrupted, twisted, perverted consciousness.

There is only the veiling, the muddying of awareness.

There is only ignorance and delusion and duality.

Evil does not truly exist in any way or shape or form,

But through the vanity-vanity-all-is-vanity of imagination.

* * * *

All vanity is absolutely insignificant to that which is prior to time.

The entire quantum universe is but an immeasurable, timeless ocean,

In which all manifest forms appear and disappear in the smelter of what is.

You are simply one witness, playing out a mortal reverie, for but a brief while.

The senses offer an ever-kaleidoscoping, timeless universe.

Why be overly concerned about where it has been, or where it is headed,

When the ever-present nowness is in itself so extraordinary;

A mystery to be witnessed however any wills.

* * * *

Once a placid, winding river,

The roar of the falls is now very near,

And resounding nearer each and every moment.

Who will survive the chaotic mayhem,

In the harsh rocks below?

Who will journey,

The waterway of history,

Beyond the coming Great Fall,

And what stories will their destinies tell?

Waking up to yet another dreamy day,

Trapped in a body racked with one bother or another,

The mind willy-nilly between agony and ecstasy, exasperation and rapture.

Curious how thought can play the gamut between amusing and tiring from one moment to the next.

What ceaselessly pointless vainglorious absurdity, this much ado about nothing.

The appeal of ever returning to this manifest dreamtime,

Has pretty much run its course.

* * * *

There is nothing more than this ephemeral now

That can be more than witnessed as a fleeting dream.

Consciousness may play out every distraction imaginable,

But it will never be anything more than the wind of its own design.

Awareness has no bond to time and space,

Other than to witness its ever-kaleidoscoping nature.

How can that which is indivisibly eternal,

Ever be bound by any creation?

* * * *

Sometimes serious, sometimes absurd,

Sometimes intelligent, sometimes foolish,

Sometimes divisive, sometimes incisive,

Ever eternally, inscrutably indivisible.

A mystery no matter how long it is,

A mystery no matter how short it is.

How many worship some imaginary deity, praying for blessings, for forgiveness,

And then spend every other moment possible in one pursuit or another,

Lying, cheating, thieving, even plotting murder and mayhem,

Never discerning their hypocrisy and self-deceit, or just not caring.

* * * *

How much of your life do you worry over this or that?

How many problems do you spin from practically nothing?

How concerned do you get over everything from micro to macro?

To be free in the unruly mind, you must be utterly insecure,

Completely undisturbed, absolutely vulnerable.

* * * *

Sometimes the absurdity makes you laugh out loud,

And in other moments, you are so serious and sorrowful,

That you wail and curse to the vast quagmire of imagination.

* * * *

You need not participate in any mindset, any groupthink, large or small.

Cleanse your mind, your awareness, of all memes, all inventions, all fictions,

All contrivances fashioned of imagination’s perpetual collection of absurd notions.

Stand alone, and be as inwardly free, as the moment before you were conceived.

All the idolatry in the world,

Will not transport anyone any nearer to god,

Than they each and every single one already every moment are.

All scriptures, all dogmas, all images, all symbols, all intermediaries, all assertions,

Are but empty, meaningless, untoward, even tragic distractions.

* * * *

Change is the lie.

Truth is eternal, indelibly indivisible,

As still as still can be.

* * * *

All consciousness is of arbitrary design.

The only absolute is the eternal awareness,

Prior to all dreams born of a sensory nature.

* * * *

A drop alone is merely a drop,

But all together they compose a mighty sea.

Such is the nature of awareness, and the infinity of universes,

Made manifest in the ever-kaleidoscoping creation.

* * * *

You truly yearn to know, to touch that which is god?

Then just be very, very still, and in the effortless awareness,

You will discern the true nature permeating all from small to great.

* * * *

The foundation of any religious groupthink is one dogma or another;

All for the longing for something that is not, never was, and will never be.

It requires a timeless mind to discern the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

You who have discerned truth, know it to be you, know it to be me,

Know it to be everything within, everything without.

No need for words, no need for dogma,

The awareness is all.

* * * *

All great seers of the ultimate reality,

Are simply incisive knowers of themselves.

Anyone can apprehend it, if they have the insight,

And an unrelenting, unwavering, blade of discernment.

This is yet another conscious articulation of an age-old inquiry.

Indeed, there is nothing either new or old, under this or any other star.

It really does not matter, one speck, one smidgen, one iota,

What anybody thinks or believes about anything.

You have always been nothing more,

Than the awareness of the eternal present,

Never the dream born of the mind bound in time.

* * * *

Find a space where you can sit quietly, alone.

Ignore the ever-churning sensory theater.

Allow the thoughts to pass without interference.

Observe completely the beingness throughout the passing.

That simple awareness, that nowness, is the eternal, original nature.

To abide in the essential ever-fleeting moment, the mind still,

Is liberation from the fabrications of false identity.

Any given body is merely the outcome of a seed,

A container to which so many become,

More than a little attached,

Despite the oblivion sourcing all.

* * * *

Move prior to concept, to form, to struggle.

Be simple, carefree, serene, tranquil, absolute, sovereign.

For those lacking discernment, the ceaseless inventions of dualistic notion,

Are but the quagmire of knowledge, of opinions, of beliefs,

Absorption in the voracious mind-body identity,

In the ever-beckoning sirens of desire.

All merely distractions,

From the timeless awareness,

The every-moment one-and-only reality,

Within and without all creations small to great.

Nothing is forever.

Every moment is torn from your grasp.

Every form, every thought, every context, inevitably evaporates,

Into the oblivion of the timeless unfathomability.

* * * *

Why anyone would believe in a deity,

That wants them or others to suffer,

Is perhaps the only real mystery.

* * * *

Gaze out into the infinite vastness,

Until you discern it swirling,

Within your own eye.

* * * *

For any given life whose destiny it is,

To awaken to the infinite, indivisible nature,

The universe woven together by the mind and senses,

Is merely a means to the ending of time.

No one can more than point the way helping you see this.

All must discover absoluteness within themselves, very much alone.

Those who own it already can only say a few words,

And beckon you dare the journey.

* * * *

Always remember that all metaphors,

No matter how accurate or profound they sound,

Are not, have never been, will never be,

The reality of the given moment.

* * * *

Awareness is not a belief system.

It is that which is prior to consciousness,

And requires nothing but unconditional attention,

For you to be both its master and its servant.

The human theater is fueled and driven by vain, limited thinking.

In the ultimate perspective of the essential nature, who can more than speculate,

Who was who, what was what, when was when, where was where, why was why, how was how.

To pretend to know anything, is nothing more than the arrogance of ignorance.

* * * *

Wherever you go, whatever you do,

Whatever light show is played out in time,

The oneness You really are, is touched by none of it.

All forms are different containers, appearing to be so diverse,

Yet all filled and surrounded of the same infinity.

* * * *

If this orb was considered a small lifeboat upon an infinite sea,

The prophets, the mystics, the seers, are those who dive over the side,

Explore the unseen depths, and climb back aboard to share their discoveries,

With those clinging passionately to the vain, illusory safety of their berth.

Many, perhaps most, will very quickly turn away and refuse to listen.

Some will quarrel, scoff, or curse, praising imaginary clay gods.

Some will avidly listen, and then label themselves followers.

Some will timidly test the unknown and find it too cold,

Or, worse yet, misguidedly think they, too, have it.

Some, seeing what needs be done, will dive in,

Perhaps to one day also return awakened,

Emptied by the realization of the indivisible.

* * * *

The quantum matrix can indeed be in far more than two dimensions in any given moment.

In fact, it is capable of generating an incalculable number of permutations,

Of anything and everything, wherever consciousness abides.

Far more grand than any deity imaginable.

So many things true, so many things false,

In so many minds, in so many times, in so many spaces.

Yet, no matter how many differences this endless mystery may spawn,

All are, have ever been, will ever be, of the same origin.

* * * *

There is really no you but in the field of imagination.

Any given moment is absolutely indifferent,

To the dream of consciousness,

Streaming through it.

* * * *

Something will eventually annihilate the body.

Large or small, within or without, harshly or gently.

From the ultimate vista; who, what, when, where, why, how,

Make absolutely no difference, whatsoever.

* * * *

A wealthy life is having the health, the means, the spirit,

To do whatever the mystery-given capacities and limitations allow.

Your destiny is already written in the dusty sands of time.

You just have to every moment scrawl it out,

In whatever way the dream calls.

In skirmishes born of time and space,

Sometimes it is necessary to dig a hole.

Other times to be shrewd with the tongue.

Still others to be as still as breath will allow.

And then there are the times, when all choices,

But one, quickly dissolve if you intend to survive.

Where immediacy is critical, the instinctual essence,

Swiftly exports ethical ideologies out of consciousness.

There are moments when compassion may not be an option.

Even if every creature from small to great, were to cry out in unison,

The cacophonous eruption would amount to no sound at all.

This garden world is but a minuscule particle of dust,

Timelessly spinning in the immensity of space.

Really no different than any of the invisible particles,

Circulating about the space in which you are sitting right now.

Listen very closely, and you will be the deep silence of the universal mind.

* * * *

Just say no to the mumbo-jumbo of all superstition,

All the false, delusional authorities born of time and circumstance.

Discern that the source of the ever-present awareness,

Is the immeasurable, absolute You.

* * * *

We are the collective dice roll,

Of all our ancestors.

However that came to pass,

We are all cousins of the same unknown.

To endlessly squabble over this or that, or that or this,

Is about as meaninglessly futile as it gets.

* * * *

Each and every seed, a unique blueprint,

A pattern in its snowflake of a universe.

* * * *

Who or what is anyone or anything but You,

Disguised in the wrappings of the streaming senses.

What duplicity You have over and over played with your Self,

Across the countless dreamscapes, of no one knows how many creations.

It is indeed more than a little curious, how so many,

So-called religious collectives all across this dreamtime world,

Truly believe their fabricated god favors only them.

As if any supreme being would really care,

Who wins a meaningless game.

Why even for a moment think,

About struggling to be like everyone else?

To constantly try to blend in with any groupthink,

Kowtow to any tradition, imitate any mindset, abide any meme,

What complete and utter absurdity, to wallow in the quagmire of herd instinct.

* * * *

The ultimate essential nature is exactly the same within all creation,

And consciousness in any form is merely waves crashing,

Upon the shores of infinity’s grand theater.

* * * *

What siren-like enticement it is, to believe memories,

Any more than dead things, when the only thing that is,

Is this very ungraspable moment of still, timeless awareness.

The actuality is that you are not, you were not, you will never be.

You need not care about the dreamtime in which quantum mind dwells.

Simply put, you are the indefinable, unfathomable, indivisible source;

Playing out the temporal reverie of one form or another.

Born into an ever-changing creation,

You move this way or that;

Nothing more than a dream of consciousness,

A streaming of imagination’s potential, inspired by the given senses.

* * * *

What is this unfathomable mystery that some call god,

By many names, many sounds, many vibrations;

But a cloud of untainted, vibrant awareness.

The nothingness prior to consciousness.

The indivisible, enigmatic upwelling.

The oblivion before all patterns.

The stillness before all time.

The soul of all creation.

The universe is but a dance of imagination.

You are the singularity, the witness that never sleeps;

Unborn, untainted by creation or destruction,

Or the ever-changing dream between.

* * * *

An ever-changing quantum mirage of time and space,

Within a mind, within a form, within a world, within a universe,

A kaleidoscoping touchy-feely, three-dimensional dream,

In which you are every moment in, but never of.

* * * *

Eternal life is simply living in the awareness of the ever-streaming moment;

Oblivious to the space and time in which the manifest mind abides.

The state of being when the allure of the many attributes,

The countless fabrications of imagined identity,

Lose all meaning, all purpose, all concern.

When the magnitude of the singular present is all.

Since all creation’s unknowable beginning,

The clock of eternity has ticked away across the cosmos.

Every part and particle of every passing moment has been necessary

For the temporal dream of consciousness to reach this indivisible twinkling in time,

That which is both within and without the only You that has ever been.

* * * *

You are the mystery, You are the awareness, You are the source,

You cannot disengage from the ever-present indivisibility.

To suppose that you are separate, that your personality,

Is any more than an invention of consciousness,

Is unutterably delusional from the get-go.

* * * *

Stars shine, sun blazes, moon reflects, earth blooms, life comes, life goes.

Purpose, meaning, belief, hope, are but imaginary concoctions.

Cling to them as you will, but know that any existence,

No matter how long, is for but a moment.

The first and last breath of all time and space is within each and every one of us,

A fluid infinity of swirling elements, an immeasurable quantum mystery,

Effortlessly flowing through all beginnings, through all endings,

From seed to seed, form to form, through all creation.

* * * *

The occupied, inattentive mind is always willing,

To waylay the stillness of awareness,

With its windy this or that.

Being in the moment,

Is not for the meek of spirit.

* * * *

How deep is deep? How shallow, shallow?

How wide is wide? How narrow, narrow?

How infinite is infinite? How finite, finite?

The definitions inspired by any eye, any mind,

Are but endless, arbitrary spins of me, myself, and I.

Suicide is only inexplicable to those who do not quite grasp,

Not everyone wants to exist, not everyone wants to play the human game.

Not everyone wants to experience the ups and downs, the ebbs and flows of consciousness.

Not everyone wants to engage in monkey see, monkey do.

Not everyone fears oblivion.

* * * *

The many filters of knowledge, are ever an alluring draw.

To reclaim the untarnished, untainted sovereignty,

You naturally every moment had as a child,

Is likely not possible, for any but the very rare few.

The universe created by the senses,

Will draw you again and again into the grand illusion.

For the unsteady mind still mesmerized by the pitter-patter of time and space,

The waking-sleeping-waking of it, is ever a Sisyphean challenge.

It requires great discipline to weather the dream,

And be the momentary awareness,

Prior to consciousness.

The road home is neither high nor low,

Nor is it a road, a path, or even one step.

It is just You, right here, right now, bam.

* * * *

Agnosticism is the only rational honest answer,

To any of the fundamental, unfathomable questions.

Neither you, nor anyone else, really knows diddly-squat,

About the who-what-when-where-why-how of it all.

It is through the play of consciousness that the mystery,

Witnesses your translation of manifest dreamtime.

The many mythological stories explaining creation,

Are simply tales attempting to explain the inexplicable.

How unfortunate so few are interested, much less capable,

Of perceiving beyond the attachment to one identity or another.

What an eternal garden this world might be if idealism was set aside,

And wisdom and insight, gained sway, in this theater of human invention.

* * * *

The universe is but the gnashing of a morsel of dust,

In the reality of the mystery that You are, as well.

* * * *

All attempts to make life more than it is are futile.

One must be simple to discern the simplicity,

At the root of all things small to great.

* * * *

So many humans seem to wander,

From one hedonistic experience to another,

Seeking out newer diversions, more voracious highs,

Gradually becoming satiated by the dawning predictability of it all.

What happens to those rare few, who discern that all experience is born of mind,

And, peering through the illusory veil of its manifest inception in time,

Eventually discern the end within every moment’s beginning,

And walk sovereign in the eternal mist of oneness,

From which all appearances originate.

Discerning the indivisible, You realize,

That all manifest forms are of the same reckoning.

All are founded upon knowledge, all are shaped by concepts.

All are but appearances fashioned by the kaleidoscoping quantum theater.

And You, your Self, in each and every passing moment, are imagining it all real and true;

This temporal window of eternity, into which You have been involuntarily cast.

* * * *

Babble, it is all just a tower of babble;

Just a temporal manifestation of consciousness,

Playing out in a teeny-weeny little dust storm of eternity.

* * * *

When You were young and innocent, the movement of consciousness,

Was like fresh sap flowing mightily through a spring tree.

As existence passed by with its many seasons,

There arose a vague awareness,

Of the vast, yawning expanse within.

Of the quietude that had always been present,

Since the ineffable walkabout in time and space began.

The indelible stillness that few are discerning enough to perceive.

Now, You are in that portion of life, when You make peace with the passions,

And quietly prepare for the end of space-time, and complete surrender to Your eternal origin.

Another wretched soul living for some future grave,

Always caught in another time, another place, another existence,

Missing completely, the one and only eternal now.

* * * *

From the stillness of awareness, all potentials spring,

Into the stillness of awareness, all potentials subside.

To all who truly, earnestly doubt,

It is You, you truly pursue,

In that awareness, so matchless,

Where all trails end, at the end of You.

* * * *

Personality is reaction to the sensory play.

It is the response of the mind-body to its environment.

The disharmony of duality dissolves as concern for mortality dissolves.

Attention shifts from the travails of imagination, to the awareness prior to consciousness.

From desire, fear, anger, sorrow, separation in any of it many forms,

To the indivisible serenity of the eternal witness.

Do with your given time whatever consciousness deigns.

It does not really matter how one’s life is spent,

For it is naught but a temporary dream,

No matter how real it at any given moment seems.

In the vast source of all creation, where logic does not rule,

There is only one way, and one and one is ever one.

In that timeless, elemental, indivisible ocean,

There is no requirement for the mirage,

That one plus one equals two.

* * * *

Listen to elders from across the world.

There is no end to learning, there is no end to wisdom,

But in the end of all beginnings, to which the eternal moment is inclined.

* * * *

You are the mystery.

Forever unknown, forever indivisible.

One in all, all in one.

This plain and simple reality at the core of all things, requires no following, no imitation.

It is simply looking closely within, and discerning the awareness,

You truly are, have ever been, will ever be.

Yes, it is all meaningless gibberish,

The Tower of Babble, if ever there was one.

But what else can anyone in this madhouse do, really,

But play along with all the other inmates.

We are all just prisoners here,

Of our own device.

* * * *

Everything and nothing,

Converging within the eternal now forever.

How quantum is that?

* * * *

Arduous, indeed, straddling the fence,

Between dreamtime and eternity,

Between mortality and immortality,

Between consciousness and nothingness.

Life comes, life goes, ever-present like the wind, gone just as quickly.

What is it but an ephemeral reverie in the hourglass of time.

The sand falling sure and steady to the last grain.

The curtain falling when the show is done.

I am the Truth, the Life, the Way,

And so are you, and so is everyone else,

And so is everything else, and so is nothing else.

We are all the same essence, dreaming the theater of time.

How can there be an exit to a stage, that has no beginning, no end.

Even in that which is deathless, You are ever here now in formless disguise.

* * * *

You quest that which you already are.

You desire that which you already own.

You discern that which is ever unknown.

You are you own worst imaginary enemy,

You are your own best imaginary friend,

Wonderfully, terribly, forever alone.

Of course, the deity that is imagined does not exist.

How could that which is omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent,

That which is infinitely, timelessly, indivisibly perfect,

Ever partake anything, as more than witness?

Consciousness is the chaotic surf between eternity and shore.

Gravity gradually draws every existence back into its dusty origin.

Where exactly does the body end, and the universe begin?

* * * *

Self has no idea it is, but through you.

Witness to the otherness of manifestation.

Witness to the unknown made known.

* * * *

Existence for the rare few is an inquiry,

Into the mystery that is prior to consciousness.

For most others, it is every pursuit consciousness allows.

* * * *

What an every-moment daily challenge for those who are mindful,

For who would be content to endure, in harmonious simplicity,

To not be drug by the senses, back into the human melee,

And the "me, myself, and I" illusion-delusion of it all.

How free any given newborn.

Pure awareness, untouched, untrammeled,

By all the past events or future concerns, all the burdens,

All the baggage they will one day inevitably carry in dreamtime’s passing.

* * * *

For those fully imbibing the stillness before time, there is a return to wonder.

From the source within, from oblivion's rainbow, the song of awareness.

* * * *

To wander alone, anonymous, in a crowd of strangers,

No need for the politics of recognition.

Eternal witness,

As serene as a placid stream.

* * * *

Be the totality of awareness.

The only way out is within.

* * * *

A temporary guise, an ephemeral story,

That you are not, never were, will never be.

* * * *

Unrelenting and wretched absurdity,

Each and every moment across the board.

If there were some sort of supreme being out there,

Would it really be any wonder that it long ago abandoned us,

To our own implacably, absurdly irrational design.

* * * *

Why would any supreme being ever need to waste time judging you,

Or instigate any more anxiety than you do upon your Self,

And all the others you do so earnestly condemn,

On a daily basis, to one hell or another.

What bother to even for a moment care what others think of you.

* * * *

From the beginning of time’s invention,

Deities have been concocted in every geography,

To moderate the mind’s dread of its inherent emptiness.

Humankind has distracted itself with every imaginable diversion,

And still the abyss of oblivion yawns forever eternal.

When the mind is still, where is the yearning for continuity?

Where is the notion of duality that harbors passion?

Where is the player, the actor, the identity?

Where is the witness woven of time?

What is there but the awareness of emptiness?

What is there but that birthless-deathless creation of all?

What is there but eternal life, eternal oblivion, eternal redemption?

* * * *

You are only bound by mortal limitations,

While there is identification with the given mind-body.

Awareness is without imaginary attributes.

* * * *

Humankind projects its ceaseless conceit,

Upon an infinite mystery, indifferent to its existence.

What is called death; that state, so many fear, in so many ways,

Is merely evaporation into the impersonal reality,

The oblivion of the ultimate nature.

* * * *

Complete and utter stillness,

Is the serenity in which all things small to great,

Play out their personal dreams in an infinite, indivisible, holographic matrix.

A universe in which creator and creation are one in the same.

* * * *

God as projected by the dogmatic mind is patently, woefully absurd.

That which is eternally omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient,

Cannot be confined in any way, any shape, any form.

The mystery is ever unknown, ever insoluble.

All assertions are but vain speculation and hearsay.

100

Imagine, if from your beginning,

You were among a modest, wise people,

Who clearly imparted that You were the mystery.

That You were the epicenter of your individual universe.

A guardian of this garden, and that the entire universe about You,

Was filled with teachers, each valued for their gift, whatever it might be.

And that You were also one of their teachers, likewise valued, likewise ordained.

Imagine that You were brought up with the certainty, that each and every fellow life form,

From the very smallest to the very largest, are all kin in the highest sense,

And that You are a solitary witness to the eternal song of mystery,

Never to doubt, even once, that You are truly of the One.

* * * *

We are all of the same awareness,

Etched by the diversity of consciousness,

Into untold assumptions of self-absorbed pretense.

It is only at the source that you will discern,

The vast, indivisible commonality.

There truly is no other.

Thou art God.

* * * *

It appears that You are ensnared for yet another day,

In this mortal scaffold, so profoundly temporal.

Yet, You are not a body, You are not a mind.

You are not, have never been, nor will ever be,

Bound by any manifest container, that any creation,

No matter how inexplicable, has ever, or can ever, muster.

* * * *

You are that which is brick and mortar, to all spaces, to all times.

That which is witness to every dimension, to every dream.

That which is awake, even during the deepest sleep.

That which is asleep, in even the most alert vigil.

That which is the tiniest, infinitesimal point.

That which is the most infinite expanse.

That which none can either claim to be,

Nor feign, except in delusion, not to be.

That which is, ever was, and will ever be.

That which is not, never was, and will never be.

The quantum matrix, prior to all imaginings born of mind.

The eternal nature, prior to all attributes formed of consciousness.

Indivisible, unblemished, singular, supreme, sovereign, absolute, without peer.

101

Prior to imagination … awareness … motionless, absolute, unconfined.

* * * *

The harvest of a free mind is awareness:

The complete and utter stillness of oblivion.

* * * *

Freedom is within each and every moment,

You are simple enough to simply be.

To clearly discern true Self,

Merely set aside vanity, become very still,

And soully be the unvarnished, unblemished awareness.

The awareness, the upwelling, that is, has always been, and will ever be.

102

Would that this simple insight about truth were not such an uncommon commodity.

That it was an every-moment-every-man-woman-and-child awareness.

Something discerned at the marrow of each and every one,

Without any conflict, any confusion, whatsoever.

* * * *

There is ever a push and pull between the absurd and the profound.

Between the churning and crashing of the waves,

And the oblivion of the depths.

* * * *

Every moment a new dreaming.

You are the awareness.

Stream on.

* * * *

In what field of gold can you ever truly harbor,

But the awareness, you have within always been.

104

The deity moving about as a concept in the mind, is not the mystery You are.

Every breath in, every breath out, is of the entire universe.

There is really nothing that is not You.

* * * *

Eternal life is an enigma;

The myriad answers to which,

Are forever confined to speculation.

* * * *

Just how present can you really be,

But through the complete and utter stillness,

Of the pure, ever-streaming awareness.

Eternal life is as simple as it gets.

105

Birth and death cycle about throughout your existence.

And You, playing out your meager little part,

Witness to every sensory moment,

Of the dreamtime it is.

* * * *

The quantum nature,

Can only pretend to exist,

In a reverie of consciousness.

What is the creator but the creation.

* * * *

All the many things past,

As well as whatever is unfolding now,

Are long done and forever gone in the sands of time.

And but for the innumerable traces along any given neuron highway,

Did they ever even really happen?

106

Every streaming moment within the awareness of every form, ever the same timeless oneness.

Not an easy truth, not an easy reality; not easy in any way, to wrap ye old gray matter around.

* * * *

Guess you will just never know.

* * * *

Only you, in pure, unsullied awareness,

Can cast your Self free of all constraints.

* * * *

Nothingness is the only thing-less that touches you, the only thing-less you are.

* * * *

What is life for the pessimist but brief moments of serenity between great bouts of irritability.

107

What can you possibly know,

Beyond the confines of imagination?

All beliefs, all speculations, are meaningless.

108

If you must have a religion,

What better than tranquil wanders in nature;

The most heavenly ever-present church creation could offer.

Misspent as it is, what remains, is still the one and only Gaia You will ever imagine.

And what attachment can You really have to this temporal garden creation?

All it is, all it has been, all it will be, is but an ephemeral dreamscape,

In the vast cosmic dust storm in which You are all and none.

* * * *

As significant as humankind might believe itself to be,

What can indeed matter on the cosmic scale,

When nothing is as nothing does.

A major cataclysm in this tiny corner,

Does not even register as a trifle to a smidgen,

To the supreme totality, the greatest story never known.

* * * *

Within the ocean, an infinity of droplets.

Within every mind, the infinity of the ocean.

* * * *

Words come to many who clearly discern the truth of this mystery.

There is no possession, there is no ownership of the song of mystery.

Nothing about which to manifest the unending mayhem of dogma.

109

The longing for oblivion runs silent, runs deep.

* * * *

Awareness is eternity’s teflon.

110

Born to see it clearly or not, born to realize it beyond doubt or not,

Rest assured, rest content, rest absolute, in the good news,

That You are it, have ever been it, will ever be it.

* * * *

Every school of thought, every experience gleaned;

Yet another filter through which to witness,

The mystery of the unknown.

The matrix, now.

* * * *

The abyss is the ultimate freedom.

Give over to it as often as you dare.

* * * *

What is the tabula rasa of a newborn,

But complete vulnerability to all potentials.

As freely absolute as dreamtime allows.

111

Any container by its nature must play out its limited role,

In whatever way the matrix of the moment has in play.

* * * *

You are the nothingness of everything, and the everything of nothingness.

112

What hollow, insufferable, absurd idolatry has been fomented,

In hearts and minds in all geographies in every epoch.

Discern and embrace the inescapable infinity,

In which You are both part and whole.

* * * *

To see the simple truth of eternity’s ultimate grace,

As clearly as momentary awareness allows,

Is to become inwardly, very, very still,

A shave, just a shave, mind you,

More than death its Self.

* * * *

All minds are sooner or later lost.

From oblivion and back again,

An inevitable, irrevocable fact.

You were long before any sun.

* * * *

Only you care or not,

And at best for only for a brief while,

In the great infinity of the oblivion, You ultimately are.

113

No matter where you may be in this vast mystery of creation,

No matter how many ways you find to distract your Self,

You are ultimately and forever alone all the while.

* * * *

If you are bound up in the hell your own creation,

You may well be your own judge and jury;

Perhaps far more harsh with yourself,

Than any other would likely be.

Forgiveness begins within.

* * * *

Only in utter stillness,

Can the You that is really You,

Be free of the you that is not really You.

* * * *

That from which all existence emanates,

Will ever be an unknowable, enigmatic whodunit;

Far too vast to be constrained or explained by any creation.

114

Despite all the countless flurries of imagination,

Playing out in every nook, every cranny of consciousness,

There is really nowhere to be, nowhere to go,

But right here, right now.

* * * *

Seal off the senses like a sovereign would castle walls,

Like a martial artist would five opponents,

Untouched, timeless, free, absolute,

A bubble unto thy Self.

* * * *

You never know what the Fates have in store.

Best be ready for anything dreamtime allows.

* * * *

If you really get down to brass tacks,

Real religion, if such a thing is even necessary,

Must surely be a moment-to-moment state of mindfulness.

* * * *

An absolute wellspring of irony, of paradox, of doubt, of absurdity;

Is what You must be, to wantonly, to brazenly, to fearlessly, to recklessly,

Peer prior to the sensory mind, behind the imaginary veil, of this vaporous Oz.

115

Come and gone in the momentary twinkle of every eye,

A universe simultaneously created and destroyed,

In the fleeting dreamtime of imagination.

* * * *

How absurd it is to believe anything,

When the present moment,

Is all there really is,

And its essential nature,

Has absolutely nothing to do,

With any belief system, whatsoever.

116

When you are fully absorbed by that which is prior to consciousness,

All concern for the play of time and space is swallowed up,

By the everlasting nature, the one without second,

Known by myriad names, but truly known,

By only those indeed most rare.

* * * *

The immediacy of the ever-present now is just too impossible,

For most minds born of time and space to comprehend,

So they steadfastly adhere to whatever existence,

They are fated by dreamtime to perceive.

* * * *

Your immortality is the streaming now.

* * * *

Instinct is the foundation,

Upon which consciousness is birthed,

Yet the jeweled crest of awareness is for few to discern.

Wisdom is the untainted journey of mystery,

A path to which many are called,

But few are chosen.

117

Forget what your eyes have seen,

Your ears have heard, your nose has smelled,

Your tongue has tasted, your hands and body have felt.

Forget everything the indivisible weavings of earth, water, air, and fire,

Have ever concocted in this temporary mortal container.

Allow the mind to become utterly still,

Timelessly present, completely anonymous.

You will, in those moments of absolute awareness,

Be what you truly are, have always been, and will ever be.

* * * *

The mystery you seek is within and without;

Pure, simple, free, perfect, absolute, supreme.

118

Death is really nothing more,

Than another ephemeral worldview,

With all the assumptions of mind and body,

Dissipating back into oblivion.

119

What need for any belief system, any dogma, any speculation, any meme,

Once you discern the awareness permeating all things small to great.

* * * *

You have seen reflections of it.

You have seen photographs and drawings of it.

But you have never, and will never, see your face the way others see it.

Behind the given mask, we are all the same mystery.

120

Why should sanction from any other be at all needed,

When simply being the ephemeral singularity,

From which all manifestation springs,

Is surely completeness in its Self.

* * * *

Mystery is not in the way You think.

* * * *

No matter how badly anyone wants it to,

Nothing ever stays the same even for one moment.

Even the hardest rock is moving in its own imperceptible way.

121

To the greatest questions: Who? What? Where? When? Why? How?,

There can ultimately be no answers more than speculation.

Agnostic |agˈnästik| noun: a person who believes,

That nothing is known or can be known,

Of the existence or nature of God,

Or of anything beyond material phenomena;

A person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God.

* * * *

What is the body, the world, the universe,

But a temporal infringement of agony and ecstasy,

An intrusion of mortality’s ephemeral nature,

A distraction from what You truly are.

* * * *

DNA suffers no ethical dilemmas, no moral quagmires.

Its only mindless concern is its genetic survival and continuity.

In that quest, no course of action endures any reflection, whatsoever.

“The end justifies any means” is its only true law, its only abiding directive.

Anyone living is only here now, because of every possible permutation imaginable,

Since the mystery of existence came into being, in the puddle of some long ago.

122

Other than one contrived, arbitrary, vain notion or another,

How can there be any separation, between creator and creation?

You are it, and it is You, in each and every form imaginable,

And everything formless, through which all are bent.

* * * *

So many rushing inanely through the mists of time,

Rarely paying attention to the passing moment,

What kind of meaningful existence is that?

Pay attention while You can, Pilgrim,

You will not pass this way again.

* * * *

Individuality is the ruse of imagination,

Inspired by the lie of the senses.

You are the absolute total functioning,

Prior to the limited scope of time and space.

* * * *

What is now current will someday be considered ancient.

The flesh and bones of that to which we are all so attached,

Are already long since dissolved in the wafting sands of time.

* * * *

The ever-morphing universe, every moment,

Appears and disappears before the mind-body receptors.

What is existence but a few breaths, an assortment of experiences,

A succession of conversations, a collection of minutiae,

And the vaporous perception of relativity.

123

Discern your own law, and then keep it to your Self,

To avoid others fabricating some new silliness,

Likely just as dogmatic as all the rest.

* * * *

A snowflake of stardust.

124

Vanity’s only destiny is a brief echo in the abyss of oblivion.

* * * *

No place to anchor in the nothingness of pure awareness.

126

Like groups with like; only differences apart.

Instinctual or imagined, it is the nature of all small to great,

Born of this garden world, this theater, this mysterious dream of time and space,

In which enigmas of every variety, rise and fall,

In ephemeral grace.

* * * *

Those who speak do not know.

Those who know do not speak.

The great silence stills tongues.

* * * *

No one can ever know the future.

Every single moment unfolds seamlessly,

In its own profoundly, inexplicably synergistic way.

* * * *

It is all nothing,

And therein resides the meaning:

Infinitesimal, indiscernible, insignificant, immeasurable.

* * * *

Everything between You and Me,

Everything between this and that, and that and this,

Is completely relative in the manifest, time-bound, comparative sense.

But from the essential, ultimate, absolute perspective,

It is all seamlessly indivisible.

127

The eternal mind is simply paying very close, very still attention, to the passing moment.

Simply being present, without fanfare or dogma, without pretext or assertion.

Letting it all come, letting it all go, no vain notions, whatsoever.

* * * *

The sciences, however astute,

Must ever only flail at the windmills,

Of the unknown that permeates all creation.

* * * *

The elements can confound all,

But the most astute, in so many ways,

And even the most sensible, must be en garde,

For the chaos they can in any given moment encounter.

* * * *

Every day it becomes a tad more apparent,

What you are not, have never been, will never be.

What to do when the edifice dissolves entirely,

And the eternal witness is all that remains.

* * * *

Stories within stories within stories,

Woven seamlessly, effortlessly, timelessly,

In imagination’s onetime production.

* * * *

The church of awareness is in every moment of every day.

To attend only one sunrise-sunset a week, misses out on the other six.

And that is just in one week, of just one year, of just one life.

And do not forget about all the starry-starry nights.

129

Truth is not something that can be attained,

In any imaginable way or shape or form.

It is merely source to the ever-fleeting,

Ever-mysterious, ever-indivisible moment.

* * * *

If you wish to know that which is truly god,

Then observe within very closely,

Until you clearly perceive that the awareness,

Is the indivisible source, to which all are seamless witness.

Neither yours, nor mine, nor anyone else’s; immortal You, all the same.

* * * *

Other than in its human form, nature has no individuality, no character, no ego.

The human paradigm is but a happenstance-happenchance of this beyond-all-pales mystery theater,

Evolved absolutely, by the creative dynamic of quantum, witnessed by awareness.

Intentional or not, here our kind is, doing what vanity does,

In its mixed bag of mindful and mindless.

130

What pathless is there to heaven,

But through the eternal within.

* * * *

That which is ever-changing is not eternal.

That which is eternal is not ever-changing.

131

We are all merely monkeys here, an entire planet covered with monkeys.

Jesus was a monkey, and so were Buddha, Muhammad, Lao Tzu, and Nietzsche.

Your father and mother are monkeys, and your brothers, your sisters, your grandparents,

And your uncles and aunts and cousins and friends and acquaintances and strangers and enemies,

And even you, are all just two-legged tree-swingers, who one day climbed down,

And wandered out into the plains, and across the pale blue dot.

* * * *

The heart of awareness has nothing to do with romantic notion.

* * * *

You are not your body, your mind, your relationships, your things.

You are not your likes and dislikes, nor the perceptions of all your memories.

You are not your world, you are not your universe, you are not anything under any sun.

You are naught but the awareness of totality, witnessing a magical mystery tour of quantum design.

133

Individuality is a delusion, fabricated by consciousness, locked within a sensory dream.

Across the infinity of all dimensions, all creation shares the same Soul.

All are but shards of the indivisibly unfathomable.

* * * *

There is no separation in the awareness,

But through the play of consciousness,

And all its sensory-based differences.

134

The sensory reverie draws the infant,

From the benign womb of beingness,

To a universe of incessant becoming.

Eternity is given over to imagination.

* * * *

The mystery of existence,

A few breaths, a few heartbeats,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *

Your world, your universe, expands in consciousness,

Until you at long last, realize fully, that it never really existed,

As anything more than an indivisible, ephemeral dream,

To which eternal awareness, is sovereign witness.

* * * *

This timeless, very present moment,

Is all that is, all that has ever been, all that will ever be,

Since long before imagination first began, to well after it last comes undone.

135

Would that there were a supreme being that you could slap,

Or at least pull a nose hair as you are sneezed back into hell.

136

The grace of this unknowable mystery is within all small to great,

Discerned fully by the few granted the vision and insight,

And the inclination to peer eye wide open within.

* * * *

All paltry and meaningless; the idolatry of the Golden Calf.

To trade the treasure of Creation for a few gold coins.

What ignorance the many vanities hath wrought.

* * * *

It is all surface sheen to the underlying formless,

An opportunity to peek from behind the veil,

For brief moments dreamed in time.

* * * *

Yet another weary moment flowers,

Through the endless projection of vanity.

137

The senses are ripples away from the awareness where You abide.

The eyes, the ears, the tongue, the nose, the flesh, all feeding into the mind;

How can they ever be the one and only You, but through attachment to assumptions?

How can they ever be more than distant devices, to be witnessed however nature-nurture allows?

138

It is not through words that reality is discerned.

Concepts are but the winds of sound blowing this way and that,

The awareness you are, utterly still throughout.

For that which you truly are,

There is no name.

* * * *

The expanses of imagination,

Are but the ephemeral filament,

Of the thunder perfect mind.

* * * *

What is consciousness,

But the dynamic of imagination,

Playing itself out in the ground of eternity.

* * * *

Avoid the turbulence inspired by the worship of Mammon,

If you might wish to live out a relatively tranquil existence.

139

What is ever new, but the ever-present You, under the ever-present sun.

* * * *

Awareness is all.

140

It is consciousness that steeps in passion and fear.

Awareness is incapable of knowing any difference.

* * * *

There is really only this ephemeral nowness,

Envisioned in the mind via the senses,

Filtered into your version of an imagined universe,

The mirage through which you daily wander your dream of time.

141

Why do some so shudder at the thought of death?

Perhaps because they have never discerned it ever hovering,

Each and every within-and-without moment,

In each and every breath.

* * * *

It is only consciousness that is harbor,

To all the agonies and ecstasies of passion.

The eternal awareness is neither here nor there.

142

Universes come and go; quantum abides eternal.

* * * *

It is all just imagination’s attachment to this or that.

A sensory dream in the matrix of eternity.

You are untainted awareness,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

Just putting in your time in whatever way the dream calls.

143

Even other dimensions viewed through different eyes,

Will not change the essential nature of all creation.

There is only one source, no matter the mooring.

It may have faces and places beyond counting,

But the underlying nature is ever the same.

* * * *

Ponder the eternal enigma you ever are.

* * * *

In just one ephemeral moment, death rubs out an entire existence,

All its imaginary perceptions, completely undone for all eternity.

And all your power, all your fame, all your fortune, all your belief,

Cannot even one moment more, command, influence, acquire, or hope.

144

The burden of traditions across this magical garden,

Muddy the unfolding now with every sort of dualistic notion.

How can everyone be free to discern the greatest vision,

With so much hollow dogma weighing them down?

Only the rare have the courage to stand alone.

* * * *

Indelible awareness.

* * * *

It is whatever you think it is.

It is not anything you think it is.

All just pretend, all just make-believe,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

Nothing, even a moment ago, ever happened.

Everything is devised of time-bound imagination.

You were not, you are not, you need not care.

* * * *

So much of everything within any given cosmos.

Nothing new, nothing old, everything the same, nothing the same.

On and on, the unknowable conundrum churns, ever creating, preserving, destroying.

The timeless in every mind’s eye, witness to a kaleidoscoping sensory mirage.

The awareness has awakened in so many dreams, in so many universes,

In so many paroxysms, in so many reflections of consciousness.

To the eternal, in which all small to great equally abide.

You are it, it is You, there is ultimately no other.

145

The truth of it, is, that not even one atom,

Across an entire cosmos indivisibly full of them,

Can for even one iota of an eternal moment, still itself.

And yet, the awareness within and without its ever-churning all,

Has never once, across all time and space, even stirred.

* * * *

Do faces shape the minds, or minds, the faces?

The winds of time sculpt in many ways,

And are by their many creations,

Blown many directions.

* * * *

The past becomes longer, deeper, fuller,

And the unfolding future ever more expansive.

That is, if You continue bothering to imagine it all real.

It takes a good deal of effortlessness to be right here, right now.

* * * *

For what, exactly, are you hoping?

Power? Fame? Fortune? Security? … Immortality?

You already have so much: sentience, health, food, water, air, space, time.

As austere as it may well sound, things so often taken for granted, are truly the greatest treasure.

After all, You only dream this manifest play for as long as mortal destiny allows.

Try not to squander the temporal window of beingness too lightly.

146

Only minds shackled to time and space, require meaning and purpose.

The sage wanders freely in the quietude of eternal awareness.

All meaning and purpose evaporates when you do.

* * * *

Consciousness is the cacophony of nothingness.

* * * *

If you are not privy the source of this vast mystery, how can anyone else be?

An agnostic stance is the middle way, between the true believers of any assertion.

147

Each and every instant, across all infinity’s inexplicable indivisibility,

Seamlessly, timelessly, irrevocably blending into the next,

From rise and bloom, to decline and demise.

And it is all You, forever one.

* * * *

All dualistic notions are the hoax of consciousness,

Ever enticed by the kaleidoscoping play of the senses and mind.

You are this ephemeral, eternal, nonexistent moment,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but,

No matter the fabrication.

* * * *

The nothingness of everything, awakens to another day.

148

Pretending to know something you can never know, now there’s the rub.

* * * *

What creation can withstand its inevitable destruction.

* * * *

In the ocean of metaphors, awareness abides indivisible.

149

This ever-streaming moment, is all You truly are, have ever been, or will ever be.

How can any thought, any experience, any passion, any notion, whatsoever,

Cleave to that which is flawlessly perfect prior to all that is imagined?

* * * *

Those who long for a serene existence, set aside their many passions,

And surrender to the awareness, in which all creation is harbored.

* * * *

How can anyone know that which is oblivion,

When nothing must be present to witness it?

* * * *

You are not apart from god, you are a part of god.

150

It has always been the same eternity, through which all dreams have streamed.

* * * *

Relish the aloneness of the eternity within.

151

How curious that those who spend their existence in scholarship,

Are never able to entirely examine all the knowledge,

The mystery ever-entices them to create.

* * * *

The first step in any religion, is fabricating a supreme being,

And the second, is dwelling in fear of its imaginary shadow.

* * * *

Reality is ceaseless and carefree, indivisible and inexplicable.

Only imagination ebbs and flows, starts and stops.

In reality, you are the You that You are,

Not the you that you imagine.

The soul of mystery exists, not in time,

But in the timeless nowness of eternal beingness.

To achieve full potential as human being, be a human … being.

152

What are we but portions of quanta, playing out a three-dimensional theater,

Immortal at the essential level, yet mortal in whatever form played.

Birth, death, and the life between, are but an illusory dream.

In the ultimate eternal reality, prior to all creation,

There is no existence, there is no other, there is only You.

* * * *

Everyone, everything, and all the nothingness,

Within, between, beyond, during, before, after, forever and a day,

Is the You that is Me, the Me that is You.

So simple,

As to make anything else meaningless.

* * * *

The awareness is the ever-present witness.

The observer and the observed are indivisibly one.

It is only in imagination that dualistic notion finds lodging.

Consciousness, no matter how profound or creative,

Can never be anything more than imaginary.

* * * *

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

But the character, the personality, the identity,

Wears the cloak of whatever illusory dream,

The given nature-nurture has spawned.

Nothing about which to be inflated, really.

153

There is only this infinitesimal, ethereal moment,

Untainted by any creation consciousness, heart or mind, has ever invoked.

And you are it, and it is you, pure and simple, free.

There is nothing more.

* * * *

What need for anything,

When everything blows to and fro,

From here to there, there to here, and back again,

In the ever-changing, vagrant dreaming,

Of the ever-unfolding now.

* * * *

To believe the awareness is yours or anyone else’s,

Is a misguided assumption, without any validity, whatsoever.

A complete misapprehension of the essential commonality of all creation.

154

It is all You,

Terribly, wonderfully, absolutely alone,

A vast stillness without measure, without rhyme or reason, without cause or effect,

Without purpose or meaning, without beginning or end,

What else would any mystery be?

* * * *

What is it to be born again,

But to be the awareness of a newborn.

As still and silent and attentively timeless as the cosmos,

From whence all phenomena small to great have been immaculately woven.

155

It is only in human consciousness,

That the disharmony of dualistic notion takes place.

In whatever way you might observe this infinite, indivisible matrix of a dream,

Whether physics or chemistry or biology, everything is connected,

Without any separation, any otherness, whatsoever.

* * * *

You were never really born,

You have never existed,

You have no future,

You have no past.

You are the I in I,

The Am in Am,

The That in That.

You are That I Am.

The Truth, the Life, the Way.

Awareness, pure, simple, eternally free.

156

The body is merely a means for the eternal quantum nature,

To experience mortality for a relatively brief while.

All patterning is but a temporary disguise.

* * * *

Whatever the source of the mystery, You are also.

How could You not be?

* * * *

What conclusion can there ever possibly be,

To a mystery capable of dreaming,

Without beginning or end?

* * * *

Agony and ecstasy are only as near,

As the attachment to the body.

Are you your best friend,

Or worst enemy?

You decide,

Every moment.

* * * *

Once upon a time, it all seemed as real as real could be,

And then, the one and only reality, awakened your eternal mind.

It is a solitary, less traveled, winding yellow brick road,

Down which many are called, and few inclined.

* * * *

The awareness that transpires in this eternal now,

Is indifferent to this temporal theater born of time and space.

So, the good news, really, is that it can all be considered absolute bullshit.

157

You really do not know anything, and no one else does, either.

There is no need to be afraid; there is no need to worship false idols.

There is no need to make some meaningless, absurd, bad-theater game of it.

Wonder, ponder, speculate all you please, do with your existence whatever you will;

But the source that you and all things are, is an insoluble enigma,

In which merely being here now, fearless and free,

Is, indeed, more than enough.

* * * *

Mystery may splinter into an infinity of shards,

But in each and every one, the ultimate singularity is absolute.

Only in consciousness can duality be conceived,

And the many delusions of illusion,

Play their wayward daze.

* * * *

What an amazing dream,

All that food and drink,

Has this moment created.

Even an ocean of absurdity,

Cannot undo the mystery of it all.

158

The infinite ocean of totality, is in no way, no shape, no form,

Interested or concerned or involved, with any illusory fabrication of consciousness.

It is solitary witness, within and without, all phenomena small to great,

But untouched by any dream bound to space and time.

* * * *

True science is not a religion.

It is a quality of mind solely intent on rational,

Dispassionate, impersonal, accurate, lucid, measurable observation,

To whatever conclusion the quest for truth may bring.

* * * *

Every day you wake up and wander out into the dreamscape,

And pretend along with everyone else,

Knowing all the while,

That none of it is, was, or will ever be, real.

* * * *

Why would you ever choose to be an adherent of any doctrine, whatsoever,

When you can just naturally be your eternal Self, as free as you dare to be.

160

All moments in this inexplicable theater, are instantaneously come and gone.

Why waste the here and now pondering things already over and done;

All of them no more than the filament of imaginary perception.

Or feel unhinging trepidation, over unknowable futures,

That must manifest, before they can be faced.

161

Smaller and smaller, infinitesimally smaller; or larger and larger, infinitely larger.

How can there ever be any end, any finale to this intractable mystery?

Be still, and know that which is all, that which is none.

* * * *

You are the ethereal moment,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

To seek more, is to settle for less.

* * * *

The only solution for times ahead,

Will be the same, as it has always been;

To muddle on, as the given moment unfolds.

* * * *

Imagination is, within the vastness of awareness,

Both least and greatest common denominator.

162

How can awareness be thought to have either beginning or end,

When its momentary nature, is so ever-present, as to be unequivocally eternal.

Consciousness, however, is an entirely different bag of worms.

For all practical purposes, it is unable to hold still,

And is insatiably able and willing,

To distract itself and over and over,

With every antic it can possibly conceive.

* * * *

The activist sees the mystic and calls his way pointless.

The mystic sees the activist and calls his way pointless, as well.

So many ways to point out the pointlessness,

Of the same and only mystery.

* * * *

Truth is the ever-present, timelessly unfolding now.

It is what is, and can never be understood,

By the mind interrupted by time.

* * * *

The world is but a tiny particle, in the infinity of your true beingness.

Discern that what you truly are, and are not, is prior to and well beyond,

The farthest reaches, up into which your temporal eyes, every evening gaze.

* * * *

Consciousness will never do more, than speculate on how this mystery came to be.

All anyone can ever do, is be in the moment, however it is playing out.

Time is born of mind; it is nothing more than imagination.

You were not, you are not, you need not care.

163

Awareness, from cradle to grave, ever the same.

* * * *

In awareness, all potentials reside.

* * * *

So much done;

So little all the while.

The nothingness is like that.

* * * *

The truest mystery is without solution.

* * * *

Be content.

Die with a full breath,

Each and every moment possible.

It is, indeed, the most real, the most true state,

At the core of indisputable You.

164

Awareness beckons You awaken others, as it has been awakened in You.

Pass this on freely, without dogma, to those who are inclined,

And be cordial and kind and tolerant and open,

As much as forbearance allows,

Toward the many sleepers who are not.

* * * *

Why waste time in regret?

There are probably relatively few,

Who would not do many things differently.

But it is through everything you have ever experienced,

However intentional or unintentional,

That You are here now.

* * * *

Through the patterning,

The blueprint of the given seed,

The essential, indivisible nature of mystery,

Molds itself into every form.

* * * *

Totality, so infinite, so alone.

* * * *

It is really all the eternal now,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

Yet still you manage to awaken each and every day,

Believing your dream real and true.

165

True aimless wandering, is the art of surrendering to the unfolding moment.

* * * *

You are a portal to the infinity of totality.

166

When there is no attachment to anything,

You are every moment born anew.

You need not be burdened,

By the yoke of time.

167

Earth is earth, wind is wind, water is water, fire is fire.

Once you, without doubt, without equivocation, fully understand this,

And that these forces interact in every way imaginable,

And that you are eternal witness to it all,

What else is there to know?

* * * *

You go, infinity.

* * * *

In every moment,

A new opportunity to discern,

The mystery streaming indivisibly within.

168

It is the dust of stars and shit of dinosaurs, that has allowed You,

The vision and insight to consciously bear witness,

To this infinite mystery of a universe,

A creation entirely born,

Of your own imaginary design.

* * * *

In your mind, all creation.

You are the one.

As are all.

* * * *

Discern Mother Gaia,

Within the home eternity built,

And carry her within, carry her without,

Each and every moment of your brief mortal play.

169

Why would anyone ever imagine a deity,

That did not include them, everyone they know,

Or absolutely everyone and everything else,

In which creation obviously abounds?

* * * *

Indifferent to agony or ecstasy,

Rest easy in the moment of origin,

From which both ascend into beingness.

* * * *

Now is the filament of quantum grace.

* * * *

Anxiety is an unpleasant state of anticipation,

Which transmutes into a predictable loop,

Playing dread of the unknown over and over,

Until the obnoxious moment has waxed and waned,

And the next all-too-predictable trepidation steps up to bat.

171

Be it long or short, smooth or rutted, all philosophizing eventually circles back to You.

Ever the same mysterious awareness, ever unknown, without beginning, without ending.

You are it, it is You, and all your profound speculations mean absolutely diddly-squat.

* * * *

It is not the real, indivisible, sovereign, infinite You,

Who experiences the agonies and ecstasies of mortal existence,

But the movement, the stream of consciousness,

So attached to this or that.

* * * *

There is most definitely an omnipotent,

Omnipresent, omniscient god,

If you wish to call it that.

A state both infinite and finite,

Of which you are a sparkle of awareness,

A witness to the mystery of your most eternal origin.

* * * *

This world is your birthing ground, this world is your burial ground.

From dust to dust, and dust granted consciousness between.

The source is equal ground for all; eternal, absolute.

172

So many seeking meaning and purpose, without ever questioning the assumption.

The mind’s never-ending quest for significance, for justification,

Is merely an absurd perception of self-importance.

Absolutely unwarranted and meaningless.

A stupor that keeps one from seeing,

The incomprehensible, for what it truly is.

* * * *

There is only this singular, ever-present, timeless, quantum instant,

Which can always be counted on, to be inexplicably unknowable.

173

From the quantum dust of eternity, You take form,

And through the senses, a universe is imagined.

* * * *

Awareness is the moment, ever serene.

Consciousness starts, sticks, stops,

And confabulates without end.

* * * *

What do you want from existence?

This is it, this is all there is, right here, right now.

What else could it possibly be?

* * * *

The true voice is in all small to great.

To discern it, one must merely, with intention,

Observe prior to the passion, the fear, the false identity,

And surrender courageously, to the sovereignty of the timeless now.

174

The greatest view of the history of all manifestation,

Would be the synthesis of every universe born of conscious design.

It would include a seamless wander through the matrix, through every nook and cranny,

To which the mystery of imagination, is witness in every way possible.

All within the infinite, indivisible, timeless stillness,

Of that source prior to all naming,

That source prior, even,

To that which many call god.

* * * *

What if your core assumptions are all wrong?

Would you be able to recalibrate,

To reconfigure your momentary perceptions?

Or is eccentric, bizarre, absurd delusion, the only trajectory?

* * * *

The given universe kaleidoscopes around the sensory body,

Consciousness ceaselessly fabricating every sort of this or that, or that or this,

But, in reality, the awareness merely witnesses a seamless stream.

Vibration, limited by the perceptions of imagination.

175

Every existence is a unique seed born of the same essence, the same mystery.

All are mortal portals, through which awareness witnesses,

The enigma of its eternal nature.

* * * *

Awareness.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *

All imagination is illusion, samsara, the play of the quantum ether,

Earth … water … air … fire … in all its countless forms,

All its theaters of consciousness … across all time, across all space,

In however many dimensions this inexplicable mystery has deigned to create.

176

What is so arduous about realizing the truth,

That the awareness within all, that the witness within all,

Is completely detached, objectively indifferent, benignly disengaged,

To the countless dreamtimes of consciousness, in all its pursuits, in all its passions.

It is the ether, the mysterious spirit of totality; name it if you must.

Duality is but the splintering of imaginary perception.

You are it, it is You, there is no other.

* * * *

If you want world peace, still that busy mind,

And in awareness, take in a few deep breaths.

* * * *

What else do you possibly need,

Once simple awareness,

Is nectar enough?

* * * *

What is infinite?

What is infinitesimal?

And what is not?

177

What words can more than vaguely describe,

That which is prior to consciousness,

That which is prior to perception,

That which is prior to sound,

That which is prior,

To all illusions,

Inspired by the senses.

Be still, be absolute, be totality.

What greater truth can You possibly be?

* * * *

In the grand scheme of consciousness.

It is really not your awareness,

Nor mine, nor his, nor hers, nor its.

All living forms exhibit this sentience,

In whatever way nature and nurture allow.

None are truly greater, nor lesser, to any other.

All are equal players in totality’s quantum play within.

178

It has never really been the résumé of experience,

In which any temporal existence has, from birth to grave, danced.

It is the indivisible, holographic matrix of awareness,

In which all creation has ever basked.

* * * *

Infinity is not so far away, really.

* * * *

To move beyond opinion and judgment is to realize,

There is absolutely nothing ultimately right or wrong with anything.

The task is to gaze straight and true at everything: unblinking, unflinching, unconcerned.

179

How else would awareness witness the creation,

But through all its many eyes, ears, tongues, noses, skins,

And whatever other senses this quantum mystery may have concocted.

* * * *

To reach this very indivisible moment,

Has required the synergy of every quantum,

Since creation’s much-speculated-about beginning.

* * * *

The only thing sure, the only thing secure,

Is the awareness of the ephemeral now.

* * * *

Humans across this spinning garden,

Have many names for its evolving mystery,

And not even one of them matters at all in the least.

* * * *

Of now and then, it can be said,

Show me the then to which you are referring,

And I will point to the now that just rippled through its marrow.

180

Why worry about heavens or hells,

Or karmic reincarnation?

Now is now,

No matter the who …

Or what or when or where or why or how.

* * * *

You cannot really know eternal life,

That moment where life and death are not,

Until the mind stills to the nowness of awareness,

Prior to all movement of consciousness.

* * * *

It is through the many reflections of the other,

That any given one awakens to truth.

Who knows how many ways, how many places,

The mystery has awoken to its Self throughout its eternal play.

* * * *

Any universe, or any given supreme deity,

Requires a conscious witness to be baptized real.

Without your myriad desires, your passion for existence,

Without the fuel of incessant pondering, it would all be nothing.

As it is, has ever been, will ever be.

181

Any given seed, any given kernel, any given spore, any given stone, is merely a temporal blueprint,

Through which the omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, indelible awareness,

Witnesses all creation, all things from small to great,

Playing out their patterning,

As the matrix of manifest time dictates.

* * * *

The only place to arrive, the only place to abide, is right here, right now.

The truth-seeker is, has ever been, will ever be,

That which is sought.

* * * *

Where does awareness begin?

And where can it possibly end?

* * * *

There is nothing to change,

Nothing to criticize, nothing to prove.

You are that which is absolute, and that is enough,

That is perfection in the most ultimate sense.

Everything else is just noise and bother.

* * * *

Is there anyone in this temporal theater,

Who is always happy, or always miserable?

Surely, the mind is far too intemperate a beast,

To maintain any state more than the shortest while,

In the ever-changing milieu of this unchanging mystery.

* * * *

What is all self-image, what is all “me, myself, and I,”

What are all perceptions of birth, of death, and all existence between?

What is everything known, what is everything unknown,

But the endless invention of imagination.

182

You, awareness, a voyeur watching creation thought every eye.

183

Grasping just how alone you truly are,

Is a blow-the-breaker-switches moment.

184

Any given wave is the synergy of many drops,

The currents beyond, and countless more beyond that.

And of the infinite depths, one must alone merge into the totality,

To fathom the immeasurable indivisibility, unfathomable.

* * * *

What a millstone any history, any memory,

To unfurling freely in the unfolding moment.

* * * *

The theater calls you to center stage in an infinity of ways.

We are all just kaleidoscoping mirages of imagination,

Bouncing off each other in every conceivable way.

186

Still looking for some shiny new knick-knack, some exciting new distraction, are we?

More than a little challenging to be unknown inwardly for very long.

Must indeed be very over and done with the world,

To give yourself over to your Self.

* * * *

What is any existence but a thread of ever-kaleidoscoping moments,

Bundled into perceptions, stored in neuron configurations,

All of which, eventually dissolve into the oblivion,

From whence all notions, spring eternal.

* * * *

A breath saturated with awareness,

Is an immeasurably more steadfast companion,

Than those unruly, insubordinate thoughts.

Attentive breathing, is a full embrace,

Of the Self, of the You, You are.

187

You have climbed the mountain,

You have flown to the sun and fallen to the earth,

You have wandered the cosmos, you have witnessed all creation,

And you have discerned clearly the eternal absolute within each and every particle.

So, Pilgrim, what next?

* * * *

To ignore or deny the eternal life of the ever-streaming now,

Is to miss what is, both within and without,

In every moment apparent.

* * * *

How quickly time fades,

Into vague, blurred memories,

Gradually, inevitably, gone forever,

In the vast emptiness of eternity.

* * * *

There is nothing not born of the same mystery,

But the real mystery is how we have made it this far,

How we have survived all our vain foolishness for this long.

188

Just say no to scriptures, dogmas, idolatry, crystal basilicas, dress codes,

All the absurd belief systems born of the conditioned mind.

You are it, it is You, plain and simple, absolute.

The one and only house of mystery,

Is the awareness within,

Sovereign, indivisible, complete.

* * * *

Breathe deep, breathe full.

That is the born again-ness,

Of every eternal moment.

* * * *

The smoke wafts an infinity of dreams.

* * * *

Without a mirror, a photograph, a drawing, or any other reflection or memory,

Describe your face as the awareness sees it from within right now.

Eyes, nose, ears, mouth, chin, hair, teeth, skin, eyebrows,

And what of your neck, shoulders and back?

Cannot do it? Well, why is that?

189

How does it feel to fathom,

That you are just another shuffle,

In the random genetic lottery of eternity?

Do you choose your dance, or merely succumb,

To whatever paradigm the given nature has thrown you?

A speculative venture from the get-go.

* * * *

If this thing we call time really existed, would not you be able to halt it?

Or at least wander to and fro, in the manifest here and there?

As it is, imagination is the only time machine,

And all it has going, is the ethereal filament of perception,

Only as good as the wiring, and only for long as the gray matter holds fast.

190

The matrix is the void filled with You.

* * * *

The you that you every moment believe you are,

Is nothing more than a fabrication of imagination.

* * * *

You are that which is prior to the consciousness,

That contorts into the dream of little self in the frontal lobe.

You are the witness, the awareness, the source,

Through which all dreams dance.

191

Despite the miasma of consciousness, and its ceaseless portfolio of divisiveness,

You are ultimately neither superior nor inferior, to anyone or anything.

All creation is as indivisibly equal, as equal can indivisibly be.

The same indelibly ineffable intelligence resides in all.

* * * *

What is this magical-mystery-tour of a universe, but a vast ecosystem,

Of the, for-all-practical-as-well-as impractical-purposes, infinite kind.

* * * *

Being mindful of the source of consciousness, That which You truly are,

Is not a belief system, nor anything about which to be unbending.

It is simply an experiential awareness of the timeless now,

The observer inherent in all things small to great.

192

Go back, back, back,

To the beginning of existence,

To the awareness prior to the universe,

To the newborn’s eternal filled-with-wonder mind,

Before the patterning began sculpting itself,

Into the consciousness, You call you.

Dare again, to be completely,

And unutterably free.

* * * *

Everything is real, nothing is real.

Everything is good, nothing is good.

Everything is special, nothing is special.

Everything is mystery, nothing is mystery.

Everything is sacred, nothing is sacred.

Everything is god, nothing is god.

* * * *

The same magic,

The same mystery,

The same miracle,

The same wonder,

The same source,

Is in everything.

* * * *

There is nothing in which to believe,

Once you realize you are the heart of awareness.

The source of all things small to great; absolutely nothing at all.

193

Your dream will carry on as all dreams do.

Oblivion is the nonexistent destiny of all.

* * * *

Challenging to get a handle,

On a mystery beyond measure.

Too small to see, too large to carry.

* * * *

We honor, commemorate, memorialize, celebrate, venerate,

The death and destruction wrought by war and conflict,

Because we so little appreciate the mystery of life.

194

Now is ever-present.

Wrap your noggin around the actuality,

That everything is in reality, kaleidoscoping simultaneously.

196

Anyone, anywhere, anytime, the awareness you are, is.

198

No superstitious notion has ever, or can ever, even for one moment,

Change, alter, or modify the fundamental laws of physics,

That have been established since time began.

Anyone who pretends otherwise,

Needs to wake up,

And pay closer attention,

To what is going on around them.

* * * *

Intellectual silliness, that is all philosophy is.

A distraction until you are content,

To do nothing but be,

The awareness you truly are.

* * * *

Awareness is an infinite field.

It cannot be contained by any dogma,

Any creed, any belief, any faith, any philosophy,

Any ideology, any principle, any law,

Any thought, whatsoever.

* * * *

If it is not one thing, it will surely be another,

So, you may as well face whatever is coming the best you can,

With whatever resources and gumption, you are in the moment able to command.

199

With every birth small to great, the mystery gets a new set of eyes,

A new reflection, a new paradigm, a new universe,

From which to witness creation.

* * * *

Unless you put aside everything you have been told,

And examine the mystery for your Self,

You will likely just become,

Another meme,

Smugly complacent,

With false gold and delusion.

* * * *

It is not your awareness, my awareness,

Nor any other’s awareness.

It is simply awareness,

And all are equally sentient.

200

If you truly realize you are that which is absolute,

Then what need is there to worship or pray,

To kiss your own ass, so to speak?

* * * *

Dimensions are merely different arrangements;

Gradations in the mystery’s dream.

Ho-hum, yawn, stretch.

How many layers before You discern,

That totality which is immeasurable, utterly boundless?

* * * *

There is an indescribable, eternal immensity,

In the innermost sanctum, to which you alone have access,

To which words cannot help but be caught, by the limitations of translation,

By the capacity for discernment, of any given listener’s ear.

201

The challenge is to discern the passing dream of consciousness,

The here and now, as it is; fresh, without preconception.

To detach the filter of the mind caught in time,

To see reality, not how you think it is,

But clearly, from the stillness of attentiveness,

Without concept, feeling, motive, stereotype, prejudice.

To fathom the mystery of Youness from oblivion’s point of view.

* * * *

It is but a dream,

A streaming figment of imagination.

Abandon the quixotic mind and take up permanent residence,

In the sentience and heart of pure awareness.

* * * *

How can anyone not see what is before their very eyes,

But through the intuition of wisdom’s eternal future-past.

202

The oceans, sometimes deeper than mountains are high,

Are merely a thin ever-churning facade upon a spinning orb of dust,

Which is but a teeny particle in the vast infinity of a universe,

Which is truly nothing more than a speck in your eye.

* * * *

Now You see it, now You do not.

Where would You be without recollection?

And where, pray tell, will You be when it dissolves?

* * * *

No one can aid anyone else, being truly happy or content.

Each is entirely on their own in discerning that which is eternal,

And it is more than a little unlikely, that anyone can ever truly manage,

The given monkey-mind, unperturbed, every single moment.

203

In a mere blink of eternity, a life,

A figment of imagination, of vain notion,

A flurry of smoke in a gusty wind,

All the pleasure, all the pain,

All the understanding,

All the experience,

Perhaps even wisdom,

So quickly come and gone.

* * * *

So infinite as to be You.

Nobody is not it.

Reset.

* * * *

For You to be here now,

Everything that has happened,

Since time’s inception,

Had to happen.

* * * *

Those who would know totality,

Those capable of the greatest vision,

Must get over their imaginary little selves.

* * * *

What is this dreamy existence,

But an immeasurable, indivisible matrix;

A dynamic stillness, ceaselessly creating every patterning,

The essential nature, the source, can fathom.

* * * *

We all have the same monkey-mind,

But for whatever reason, some are able to pull back,

And meticulously examine, the unknown all creation has in common.

It is, indeed, a mystery beyond the pale of any reckoning.

204

There is an awareness, but it cannot be grasped.

There is an absolute, but it cannot be defined.

There is a mystery, but it cannot be solved.

There is a truth, but it cannot be known.

* * * *

No use bothering about or worrying,

That you are going to suffer,

That you are going to die.

Such is existence, and so it goes.

The destiny for all, in one fashion or another.

But the good news is that it will not be the real You dying.

Just another temporal apparition falling beneath,

The wheel of creation and destruction.

* * * *

That which is eternal, that which is by many called God,

Has never really been alive in more than an imaginary, figurative sense.

How can that which can never perish, have ever been born?

All existence is of the same quantum mystery.

* * * *

The body you believe you are, is really already departed in one dumpster or another,

Perhaps abiding in some lackluster purgatory, until the flesh and bones,

Slowly dissolve into the oblivion of the formless origin.

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

205

Count yourself among those who do not know, do not care,

And abide as freely, as harmlessly, as aimlessly,

As body and mind and spirit allow.

Be captain of your ship,

And set sail,

Through the dream of time.

* * * *

A conceited little theater,

On a tiny spinning sphere,

In a mere speck of a universe,

Floating in the bottommost corner,

Of an eternal eye, that is but a mirage.

* * * *

Imagination capers about an infinity of its own,

But just because some fiction can be etched on paper,

Or thrown up on a movie screen, does not make it possible.

Even the quantum source, is ultimately bounded by its own nature.

That is why it is called quantum mechanics.

* * * *

Death only implies an individual existence is all said and done.

But no life form can ever even know what is done is done,

Because consciousness requires some sort of edifice,

Some sort of sensory-awareness receiving unit,

Able to perceive whatever ethereal dream,

Those whimsical fates have in store.

206

From the ordinary day-to-day, all myths, all legends, are fabrications of imagination.

All creation is very much born of the same quantum mystery.

Keep the balderdash in perspective.

* * * *

… dust … creation, preservation, destruction … dust …

* * * *

Mystic, seer, hierophant, minister, priest, sanyasi, sage, prophet, priest, vicar,

Spiritualist, wizard, monk, soothsayer, clairvoyant, prescient, fortuneteller, forecaster, oracle,

Sorcerer, diviner, sibyl, augur, prognosticator, crystal-gazer, medium, herald, psychic,

Telepathist, mind reader, cleric, preacher, rector, parson, reverend, holy man.

All descriptions of those inquiring into that which is genuine and true;

That mystery which is the ever same, no matter the eye or ear.

207

Human beings are in reality, very much the same as every other life form on this planet.

We may be able to create and preserve and destroy in every imaginable way,

But all sentience is of the same mysterious, ineffable origin.

Absolutely, indivisibly, immeasurably equal,

Despite countless pride-filled,

Self-absorbed claims to the contrary.

* * * *

Rambling thoughts are the patterning of the rutted mind bound in time.

Complete, unattached attention, to the passing moment,

Returns the inner eye, to the tabula rasa,

Of the eternal witness.

208

Everyone is responsible for their own salvation,

Which means learning to surrender to this very moment.

Eternal life is right here, right now, not in some future incarnation,

Or sitting on a wafting cotton ball, taking harp lessons.

* * * *

The writer knows what is being written, but what are you reading?

The speaker knows what is being expressed, but is that what you are hearing?

Everything you see and touch and hear and feel and smell, is but a temporal, arbitrary translation,

Of the subjective nature-nurture mind-body, in which the sentience of awareness harbors.

The witness, before which, creation is filtered through the caprice of imagination;

In which observer is never the observed, and observed, never the observer.

True objectivity is an unattainable ideal, an unreachable brass ring,

Which even science can never more than pretend to attain.

209

You can attempt to run in any and every direction imaginable,

But no matter the way, the shape, the form, in which you are cloaked,

You can never ever, even for one single moment, hide from the witness within.

* * * *

Where does the tou that you think is you begin?

And the me that I think is me end?

‘Tis a mystery,

Every moment a spin.

* * * *

Any given universe is but a neurological array,

An indelible mystery, no matter how it is framed.

210

All this self-consciousness, all this self-imagery;

What a burden, to each and every moment, fabricate anew.

A complete and utter invention; an edifice of imaginary proportion.

Let go.

* * * *

Yes, you will forget this, too.

Oblivion is the fate of all.

211

Has any moment of your dream, really ever been any different than this one?

* * * *

This eternal now is no different, than any now has ever been, or will ever be.

212

Now is the eye of the needle, through which consciousness, every moment threads.

* * * *

Nothingness is ever eternal.

* * * *

After the last domino falls, stillness.

213

The nothingness of awareness, fabricating every moment resoundingly clear.

* * * *

No inner, no outer, just you, the infinite oneness.

* * * *

Awareness can only be spoken of, not for.

214

Allow the mind to stream, with the ethereal nature of the ever-changing now.

* * * *

The unreal you, must be bound by your words, for you can know nothing more.

* * * *

Awareness, pure and simple.

* * * *

As a prism with light, insight rainbows the mind into its eternal nature.

215

The death to all things imagined, opens the portal to eternal life.

* * * *

What flaw can there be, in the crescent jewel of awareness?

* * * *

Now, that is freedom.

216

Creation would not be, without the language that gives it name.

* * * *

Look to the mysterious abyss within, and you will discern the You that is all.

217

Nothing done or said, is going to make it any less a mystery.

* * * *

Knowing it all oneness, does not make it any less a jungle.

218

Yet another anonymous face in the mystery of dreamtime.

* * * *

In the infinity of all eyes, there is but one witness.

* * * *

Those who have awakened in awareness, flow.

219

Eternal life is the birth and death of awareness, streaming within every moment.

* * * *

Angel or demon, or whatever between, you are the will of mystery.

220

Humbling to realize how little you really know.

* * * *

There is no now to transcend because that is all it is.

221

And what is freedom, but a mind that rests easy in the unfolding moment.

* * * *

Each of us expresses our true religion in the unfolding moment.

* * * *

How can nothing be said, or not be said, but through complete and utter stillness.

222

In stillness, you are the truth, the life, the way.

223

The theater calls You to center stage in an infinity of guises.

224

The unknown is ever the realm of awareness.

225

If you are looking for future or past, it is not here now.

* * * *

The eye of mystery is within.

* * * *

To be eternally liberated, all you really need, is to truly just want to merely be.

* * * *

What serenity and grace there is, is in the solitude of eternal absoluteness.

226

The brightest star, is just another set piece, on the crest-jewel crown of eternity.

* * * *

Here now, own it.

* * * *

It is all just distraction until you are done; content to allow stillness reign.

227

Busily measuring the indivisibility of oblivion, to what end?

228

Breathe in the duality, and know all divisions are imagined.

229

Truth, momentary as it is, is its own reward.

* * * *

The observer is the observed; the creator, the creation.

230

Truth is prior to any dualistic notions of creator and creation.

* * * *

All evolution is created; all creations evolve.

231

There is the imaginary existence of consciousness: worldly, temporal, secular, profane, mundane.

Naught but a brief illusion, a brief collusion, a brief delusion of time and space.

But the real and only You, the real existence, the real eternal life,

Is the indelibly, indivisibly, absolute awareness.

You are the truth, the life, the way.

There is no other.

* * * *

There is only one source, one creation,

And you are but one of its countless manifestations,

Absolutely the same essence, the same gold,

But entirely matchless all the while.

* * * *

True religion is expressed each and every moment.

In deeds are you known; assertions mean nothing.

* * * *

Nature is the quantum mystery’s expression.

You are of nature, you are the quantum mystery,

Corrupted as it is, by the whimsies of consciousness.

* * * *

Consciousness confabulates every genre of filter,

Through which it imagines its light show of a universe real,

Every streaming, dreaming, impromptu moment.

232

How challenging for thinkers across the world, across all time,

To accept the fact that all their insightful philosophies,

Mean squat to the primal force, the source,

From which all creation bursts forth.

* * * *

From the womb of oblivion,

Onto a temporary stage for a brief dream.

Then, back to the eternal source, the timeless nothingness,

The singularity, from which all things spring.

* * * *

You are the eternal nowness prior to all creation.

That which was never born, that which will never perish,

That which is formless, indivisible, absolute, timelessly sentient,

The eternal life, the awareness prior to all beginnings, after all endings.

233

Consciousness plays the genius, the ignorance, the madness, the absurdity,

The loving, the hating, all the myriad passionate vanities.

And all the while, awareness, witness.

* * * *

Consciousness is quicksand.

Awareness, bedrock.

* * * *

The infinity is within.

The infinity is without.

You are it, and it is You.

234

The timeless immediacy of the ever-present nowness,

Has never even once been fathomed by the vagaries of imagination.

Even a still mind completely attentive to the awareness,

Cannot more than be of the flame eternal.

235

Chew your liquids, drink your solids.

It is the replenishment and care of the body and mind,

That allows the witness to this vast mystery,

To tarry within and without.

* * * *

Work, play, experience everything that calls,

Until nothing remains but ever-present awareness,

Indivisible, intangible, indestructible, sovereign, absolute.

236

Why should you, who would fly into the infinity of the unknown,

Ever be tethered, ever be bound, by the limitations of any other?

* * * *

Yes, indeed, it may sound extremely wacko at first.

But then, the only question becomes, what if it is true?

What if you are that infinite indivisible that others call god?

Eternally alone, immeasurable, indivisible, absolute, supreme.

The challenge, Pilgrim, is not letting it get to your head.

237

To discern the truth of the reality prior to consciousness,

A determined, persistent, relatively detached,

Moment-to-moment observation,

Is all that is required.

* * * *

Eternal life will not be attained by any container,

Chock-full of an incessant array of vain notions.

* * * *

Who, what, where, when, why, how, am I?

Who, what, where, when, why, how, are you?

Who, what, where, when, why, how, is anyone?

Same source, same awareness, all dreams.

All dreaming themselves autonomous.

All dreaming themselves distinct.

All dreaming themselves real.

* * * *

Agnostic |agˈnästik| noun: a person who believes,

That nothing is known, or can be known,

Of the existence or nature of God,

Or of anything beyond material phenomena;

A person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God.

* * * *

To carry history in your head, or not to carry history in your head,

Is the conscious choice between the stagnation of memory,

Or the eternal life of moment-to-moment awareness.

238

Be of such mind, be of such vision, be of such clarity, be of such soul,

That the empty awareness of the grand zero-sum is all that remains.

* * * *

In a relatively few moments,

It will not matter what any of us thought about anything,

Much less each other.

* * * *

An infant’s wants, so guilelessly genuine.

Detachment is relatively effortless,

When innocence reigns,

When nothingness blossoms,

From the depths of the unfathomable.

* * * *

There is no other, there is only a dream,

To which you are witness, very much alone,

As free as you, in any given moment, dare.

239

Heaven is just another word for the oblivion of immaculate awareness.

And hell, well, just look around and endure the wander as best ye may.

* * * *

The void is the void is the void, and, try as hard as you might,

The grand emptiness can never even for a moment be filled.

* * * *

And what is all this experience, really,

But a memory the moment it is dreamt?

* * * *

It is all nothingness, layered with one manifest veneer or another.

The ether of awareness toying with the elements,

Intelligent design, if you will.

240

If there is a god, a deity, a supreme being, of any sort,

And he/she/it is as vain and arbitrary as you,

Then what, pray tell, is the point?

* * * *

Is not waking up every day, mystery enough,

Without adding a heap of gratuitous folderol?

* * * *

To be in the world, and not be of it.

One foot in dreamtime, the other, oblivion.

Challenging, indeed, to straddle the splintered fence.

242

The song of mystery, an eternal chorus born of time,

With no-one-can-ever-know how many narrations.

243

The nothingness of the ethereal quantum vapor,

Playing out every conceivable size and form,

Every conceivable state of consciousness,

And we, enraptured with all our absurdities.

244

It is entirely your creation.

You are the source, the origin, the genesis,

Of your version, your account, your narrative, of the universe,

And no other can change that.

* * * *

Aligning with any given dogma,

Is more a gymnastic feat than real spiritual inquiry.

A curiously ironic thing, especially since ever-present awareness of the moment,

Requires absolutely no effort, no strife, no belief, whatsoever.

It is as present a present as any present can be.

245

In all its countless imaginary measurements,

The creation of knowledge is inevitably born of limitation.

Yet, prior to all mind-made limits, the mystic observer, a true scientist,

Remains as equally attentive to the immeasurable now, as s/he would any experiment.

The observer is the observed; the observed, the observer.

There is naught but one.

* * * *

What can really be born in the infinity of quantum nothingness,

For which birth, as consciousness imagines it,

Is nothing more than a dream.

* * * *

Awareness, oblivious to the play of good and evil,

Allows every dream of consciousness,

To have its day in the sun.

* * * *

Where would, where could, where should, awareness be,

Without a body-mind in which to imagine its Self real and true?

246

From the now so-long-ago entry into this dream world,

You have been conditioned to believe so many things truly matter,

And have gradually discerned many of them, if not all,

To indeed be very dubious assumptions.

Where to now, Pilgrim,

Now that doubt is your filament?

* * * *

You are the awareness before time.

That which is mystery by whatever sound,

You may choose – or choose not – to ascribe it.

247

All histories are really nothing more than selected snapshots of perception,

Permeated by the unknowable awareness of the seamless indivisibility.

* * * *

You have been every particle, every form,

Earth and water and air and fire have ever concocted.

Imagine it so … You are the Eternal One.

* * * *

Every moment, within and without,

Is yoga, union, unicity, fusion, samadhi,

If you are giving it close attention.

* * * *

Before the word, there was nothing.

During the word, there is nothing.

And after the word, there will be nothing.

All sounds are but vibrations in any given mind.

248

From the same mysterious source,

The ephemeral dreamtime of all beginnings, all endings,

All causes, all effects, all parts, all stages,

All everything, all nothing.

249

Every moment is born anew.

It is your own choice to imagine space-time real,

Your own choice to be free or not, your own choice to suffer or not.

There is no one, really, compelling you to do anything,

To which you do not willingly capitulate,

For one passion or another.

* * * *

Awareness is only in it for the ride.

For those who see reality,

For what it truly is,

There is neither gain nor loss,

In all the knowledge, all the piles of gold,

Or all of the myriad experiences any given life offers.

250

Your face has never been the same, so why pretend it is?

Why be attached to its ever-changing nature?

Go behind the façade to discover,

The immortality of the true beingness,

The awareness common to all small to great.

* * * *

If you seek angels, there will be angels.

If you follow demons, there will be demons.

It is your heaven, your hell, and purgatory between.

All equal in the ineffable, eternal indivisibility.

251

No words can describe or contain You.

All You are, is awareness, now.

The universe is merely,

A temporal creation,

Of the senses and mind.

* * * *

Who is the experiencer,

When the passing moment,

Is over as quickly as it began.

Quantum mischief, indeed.

* * * *

No matter how deeply you delve,

It ever remains an inexplicable mystery.

All conclusions are no more than idle speculation.

It is meaningless to do more than give the passing moment,

Your complete, unvarnished, constant attention.

252

Around and within awareness, a food body is created,

And for a brief duration, it witnesses Self,

Through a tentative lens,

Of whatever consciousness,

The nature-nurture dream allows.

* * * *

We are all abodes of the same moment,

Despite our seemingly limitless intoxication,

With every sort of imagined difference.

* * * *

Pray tell, where is this supreme being outside the Self?

This great creator, this absentee landlord,

This driver asleep at the wheel,

That so many are so convinced exists.

Where art thou, oh noble lord of heaven and earth?

Do you exist anywhere, but in so many vain plays of imagination?

253

The real You, is neither past nor future.

You are the eternal presence,

Pure, simple, free.

* * * *

Curious that anyone could ever even for the briefest of moments,

Believe they were somehow distinct from that which created them.

254

Those who are so foolish,

As to believe in all things implausible,

Are not giving full attention to the unfolding creation,

Their own eyes in mind daily reveal.

* * * *

You were born of Mother Earth,

And the immensity from which all reveries are spun,

And one of these daze, she will find a way,

To mill you back into the compost,

With which dreamtime,

Will renew its timeless play.

* * * *

All dreams, all memories, all ideas, eventually evaporate,

Into what they have been all along; the one and only real You.

The timeless awareness, in which all things come and go.

Appear and disappear, like clouds through the sky.

255

There goes imagination again,

Always trying to take credit for everything,

As if its infinity of narcissistic notions, really even exist.

256

The mind as identity is waves crashing.

The mind as awareness is eternally timeless.

Serenity is not born of the cacophony of thought.

257

Every part and particle throughout the entire cosmos, ineffably synchronized,

Spontaneous, impromptu, unplanned, unarranged, unpremeditated, unprepared, unrehearsed,

Extemporaneous, improvised, makeshift, spur-of-the-moment, off-the-cuff,

Ad-libbed, ad hocked, played by ear, on the fly, on cue.

What an amazing beyond-all-pales thing,

This quantum singularity.

And You are it, and it is You, there is no other.

* * * *

Do everything, do nothing,

The illusion of space, the illusion of time,

Ever kaleidoscopes through the same ineffable awareness.

* * * *

The sciences can only peer into the hypothetical-theoretical for so long,

Before it all becomes, for-all-practical-purposes, an unknowable abyss,

Which is the word-filled domain of philosophers and mystics and fools.

* * * *

Considering that you feel all but done, after just one rather fleeting dreamtime of a lifetime,

If there is some sort of supreme deity of an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent nature,

How beyond-the-pale weary it must be, having to witness the human drama for eons.

258

The nature of knowledge is that it must ever be re-kindled anew,

Or be quickly lost in the ephemerality of Eden’s inexplicable enterprise.

Minds fade, clay tablets break, books dissolve, and the digital world,

Is but a flick of a switch away from the black hole of oblivion.

* * * *

We are all kin of the same quantum creation.

We are all born of the same oblivion.

We are all pure awareness.

Even shit is sacred.

Without its golden reality,

Neither flowers nor you would be.

* * * *

What are any of us but a few handfuls of star dust,

Temporarily organized to partake a relatively few breaths,

Until the quantum abyss of oblivion resumes its formless nature.

The only difference between existence and non-existence,

Is in the whimsical narration of the sensory mind.

259

The same awareness, the same consciousness, permeates every imaginable difference:

Different bodies, different languages, different times, different spaces,

In order to play out a very-much-the-same mystery.

All the universe is a stage,

And all life forms merely players.

* * * *

Eternal life is right now, wherever You are.

The only real question is, do You exist as a mere mortal,

Or as an eye of eternity, a timeless witness,

To the unfolding mystery.

* * * *

We are all dancing in every way imaginable,

In the same quantum hologram,

The infinite matrix,

Of the inexplicable source.

* * * *

How do you think god witnesses all creation,

But through your eyes, and the eyes,

Of all creatures small to great?

* * * *

Since that which You truly are, was never born and never dies,

Technically, no one can really kill themselves.

So, suicide is really just about,

Being done with all the pain and suffering,

With all the pretense, with all the games, with all the bothers.

Not everyone wants to be here anymore, and why should that bother anyone else?

260

From the seed-lines of your parents,

And all your ancestors since life’s beginning,

You have funneled into awareness.

* * * *

It is ever the same nothingness,

The same mystery, the same unknown,

The same quantum-hologram-matrix-ether,

Into which the given sensors extend their probes,

And generate universes of every variety and dimension.

* * * *

You can see, hear, taste, smell, and touch,

Everything having to do with the play of consciousness,

But it is awareness – unknowable, indiscernible, indivisible, enigmatic,

Mysterious, impenetrable, inexplicable, inscrutable, incomprehensible, indecipherable –

That is the source, the fountain, the ground, the essence, the witness, of all.

261

Let us idly speculate for a few moments, that God really is a he,

And that he looks something like the Michelangelo Sistine Chapel rendition.

And that Jesus really is the fundamentalist, M-16 toting, bad hair, very vengeful Son of God.

And like Santa Claus, God is keeping a naughty list, and you are near the top of it,

No more than two or three demerits away from eternal damnation.

Who really cares? No, seriously, who cares, really?

Why would anyone even for a moment,

Think of worshipping such a preposterous creator,

Or of idolizing a son, whose testament to the world was so absurd.

* * * *

Who decides what is normal, anyway?

And is what is normal here, normal over there?

And is what is normal now, what was normal back then,

Or what will be normal in some future when?

More than a little arbitrary, indeed.

* * * *

Pure awareness is tabula rasa,

The uncarved block, the empty slate,

Free of the stains of any concept or passion.

* * * *

You long for it to be more than a dream,

But more, it can never be,

And thus, you must learn to face, and embrace,

The eternal aloneness, in which your ultimate nature, in serenity resides.

262

Heaven has been here all along, if you had lacked the vanity to see it.

* * * *

Probably almost everyone has many, many other,

Much, much more, important things to do,

Than mull over their inner mystery.

Who can disagree, that it is much more intriguing,

To stare deeply into the screen of a state-of-the-art smart phone,

Than it is the infinite void of an exceedingly lackluster, lint-infested bellybutton?

263

This moment is where the tire hits the road,

Come and gone each and every instant.

No way You can be anywhere else.

* * * *

How long can the world as we know it,

Sustain the degree of self-absorption,

We have wrought upon its creation?

Where is the edge of the petri dish,

Towards which we mindlessly dash?

* * * *

Bad breathing makes for an unhinged mind,

Wherein the eternal now, is whisked into time.

* * * *

I Am the Truth, the Life, and the Way,

And so are you,

And so is every part and particle,

To the farthest reaches of infinity’s formless presence.

264

And behind every face eternity ever cast,

You.

* * * *

Each must awaken very much alone,

To the reality of the eternal absolute within.

Anything less is but the idolatry of form and concept.

* * * *

The unknown is not in any way bound to function,

Within the confines of any given puddle of consciousness.

It is consciousness that must expand beyond its myriad limitations.

* * * *

The human paradigm is a ceaseless array of stories of every sort.

Perceptions, all partial, incomplete, steeped in the ephemeral well of imagination.

Is not everything more than a little hackneyed, more than a little passé, at this point in the human epic?

Have not we done everything, all but inconceivable times beyond counting?

265

The ultimate intention of thoughts such as these, are to strip away everything,

To relinquish You to the aloneness, the oblivion, the absoluteness, You truly are.

To leave only the certainty of You, the essence of You, the wonder and grace of You.

Anything less is only more hollow delusion, in a purgatory already reeking with its stench.

* * * *

For the want of minds, that can discern the mystery within all things,

For the want of ears, that can hear the soundless, eyes that can see the unseen,

Another vision of the grand reality gradually fades in the dream of time.

It is not the choir that needs to discern that which is real and true.

* * * *

Being the timeless presence is very simple, really.

Just be the sovereign, unstained, indivisible, untrammeled,

Flawless, immaculate, absolute, eternal awareness.

266

You have been mortal dreamer;

Seer, mystic, hierophant, oracle, prophet;

And now you are the truth, the life, the way … That I Am.

Krishna, Shiva, Buddha, Tao, Advuhut, Christ, God, Allah, Soul, Brahman;

However it might be designated or identified by all dreams samsara.

Born again, timelessly absolute, every streaming moment.

Immortal, sovereign, infinite, supreme, complete;

Prior to all dimensions of space and time.

* * * *

Everyone is a fabrication here.

Hotel California of the quantum blend:

“We are all just prisoners here, of our own device.

‘Relax,’ said the night man, ‘We are programmed to receive.

You can check-out any time you like,

But you can never leave.’”

267

Who, what, where, when, why and how, You really-truly are,

Is the indivisible quantum formlessness of eternity,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *

How can anyone own the mystery, when everything is the mystery?

268

What happens after death? … Don’t know … Don’t care.

Didn’t ask to be here, ain’t prayin’ to be stayin’.

Seen and done enough to be ready,

For some eternal rest in the land of oblivion.

* * * *

Through these words, and many others of the same ilk,

Your ultimate nature speaks earnestly true, sovereign, absolute.

Look clearly, listen closely, You who would discern that which is real.

270

It is by the light of awareness within, that all is seen.

* * * *

The ever-present, timeless nowness of this garden cosmos,

Is ever right here, right now, ready to take you back into its fold,

Back into the ceaseless kaleidoscoping of its ever-dreamy matrix reality.

271

From nothingness to nothingness, and the pretense of somethingness between.

272

You are an eye of mystery.

* * * *

Nowness requires no other.

* * * *

Look closely, and you will find the nothingness within every perception.

* * * *

This moment … gone … before you can even think about it.

273

The sovereignty of one’s aloneness, is the sun of awareness within.

* * * *

In the vastness of the ocean of infinity, all drops are equal.

* * * *

The other side of nothingness is nothingness, too.

* * * *

To be born again, you must die now.

* * * *

Holding on to nothing, is a timeless endeavor.

* * * *

Not too many problems can contend with a good, full breath of awareness.

274

What freedom, in wanting absolutely nothing.

275

By what form can awareness be bound?

* * * *

By the time you recognize it, any given moment is long gone.

276

The eternal absoluteness is within all, but the mind must be very still to discern it.

* * * *

What is the universe that the mind gazes out into, but its own creation.

* * * *

Every moment is equal, no matter the play of light and sound.

* * * *

To what need awareness cling?

* * * *

Become the mystery within; what have you got to lose?

277

How forever it is for awareness to try to reach the inside of any skull.

* * * *

Another piece of trivia to file in oblivion’s circular file.

278

What is knowledge, but a means to pretend the unknowable, known.

279

Awareness has no name, no attributes, and is aligned with no mindset.

* * * *

The kingdom of mystery is within all.

* * * *

This now, too, gone forever.

280

What is to save, when it is already spent, only moments before you know it.

* * * *

The mystery heeds no bounds.

281

This right now is the truth, for it could be nothing less.

* * * *

Ask not what the mystery can do for you, but what you need do to merge back into it.

* * * *

How can you be bored, when every single moment is exactly the same?

282

You are the hunger, the thirst for existence, that sculpts eternity into time.

283

A wake only shows where now has been.

* * * *

Profound and passé every streaming moment.

* * * *

Awareness, the final frontier, the grand voyeur of all eternity.

284

In the ever-changing sensory theater, awareness is the only constant.

* * * *

The witness of awareness, neither heeds nor stops for any judgment or conclusion.

* * * *

Inattention to the given moment, is the first and last mistake.

285

Know the mind, know the body, discern the Soul.

* * * *

Everything and nothing, in every passing moment.

286

The mortal senses do not care what they see, hear, touch, taste, or feel.

It is only the mind, only imagination, that creates a universe of dualistic notion.

The body is but a vehicle, in which the singularity plays an eternal game of hide-and-seek.

* * * *

You have never even once been what you think.

The imaginary self is no more than a fiction of consciousness.

Truly, you are simply awareness, as is everything else.

The singularity is nothing more, nothing less.

* * * *

Different jewelry, same gold.

Different stars, same universe.

Different waves, same ocean.

Different eyes, same mystery.

* * * *

All movement of thought is the play of consciousness,

Mesmerized by the myriad creations born of its temporal nature.

Unbound awareness is the unutterable stillness of the ephemeral moment.

287

Existence is a mystery.

It is not a Christian mystery,

A Buddhist mystery, a Hindu mystery,

An Islamic mystery, or anyone else’s mystery.

It is equally the same mystery for all.

Any given belief system,

Is merely vanity,

Promoting differences,

That have never once mattered.

288

Allow time to play its game without You.

Eternal life is a many-are-called,

Few-choose-it sort of thing.

* * * *

Everything is created of the same source, the same awareness, even that which is deified,

Were such a supreme being to be contrived by the matrix of the quantum unknown.

So, of course god exists, and it is within and without all things small to great.

Each and every one, including you, sovereign witness to the mystery.

289

Stretch your mind to its infinite presence.

* * * *

What cannot be peaceful, if stillness reigns within.

291

The greatest wealth is eternally within, but vanity must still itself to discern it.

* * * *

Born again … just now … just now … just now …

* * * *

Every moment an unfolding clue to dreamtime’s enigma.

292

Every moment, the flowering of eternity, new and fresh and forever undone.

* * * *

So many inexplicable moments woven together in any given mind.

* * * *

So content, as to make each moment the last.

* * * *

Awareness is that prior to all dimensions.

* * * *

Who more deserves to play an eye of mystery than you?

293

No matter the dream, you cannot be in any other now than this one.

* * * *

The greatest serenity is abiding in the solitude of awareness.

* * * *

In the eternal moment, we are all that which is mystery.

* * * *

There is great stillness just beneath the most agitated wave.

* * * *

Rediscover the infant’s untainted awareness, and know eternity.

294

A true witness is the eye of mystery.

* * * *

Be the singularity witnessing its creation through your eyes.

* * * *

The heart of awareness is most clearly viewed with full, deep, regular breathing.

295

The mystery explores its rainbow’s each and every essence.

* * * *

Such ado, such absurdity; all over absolutely nothing.

* * * *

Within all the movement, awareness, an indefinable stillness.

296

The eternal journey begins with each and every step, each and every breath.

* * * *

Where duality reigns, the ever-present truth is ever veiled.

* * * *

Mystery cannot exist without you as witness.

* * * *

Freedom or bondage, you choose, each and every moment.

297

Here now; now here.

* * * *

What fearful grip can death have, on those who exist now?

* * * *

Truly want nothing, and the mind evaporates into its eternal nature.

298

Meeting any given moment fully, is mind’s greatest challenge.

* * * *

Every kaleidoscoping moment: utterly new, utterly old, utterly nothing.

* * * *

Eternal salvation, is just not caring anymore.

* * * *

The mystery has no expectation of you, nor should you of it.

* * * *

How everything, just seems to appear and disappear, is always such a mystery.

299

A most challenging thing, not to grow more inflexible,

More harsh, more cynical, as the world daily takes its toll.

To be as a child; innocent, free, untainted, uncarved, unbroken;

Is a momentary awareness, only timeless minds realize.

* * * *

Eternal life is merely playing out the existential moment.

The very same moment in which every other creature on the planet,

Is instinctually, seamlessly, effortlessly, simultaneously, selflessly functioning.

300

After awakening to a larger vision of all creation,

Except for a greater sense of the grand connectiveness,

You are really no different than you were before.

You must still abide the mortal dreaming,

And that is never always easy.

301

From the ether of nothing, burst quantum, which formed itself into many earth-wind-water-fire elements,

That created a vast universe, sprinkled with countless stars, around which many worlds twirled,

Upon which, on at least one whirling marble, volcanoes spewed and oceans roared,

And life upwelled into existence, and mutated into biological streams,

One of which gradually, irrevocably, evolved into you,

Mortal witness to the timeless mystery,

To which there are but questions without answer.

* * * *

You are the temporal outcome of a lineage of seeds, streaming from life’s origin.

You are the mystery, the enigma of DNA, and its futile attempt at immortality.

* * * *

If you cannot establish heaven in the here and now,

What in god’s name makes you even fantasize,

That you will just be given it carte blanche,

After your existence is extinguished?

* * * *

You are yet another flowering of nature.

How can you even for a moment consider yourself separate,

Or in any way lesser or greater than anything else?

You are it, it is you, there is no other.

302

Nobody can save anybody, or anything, in the grand creation-destruction of it all.

Only the eternal singularity, which we all are, which some call God,

Is prior to all dreams of time, to all birth, to all death.

There is no point at all, believing any sound laced with concept,

Will ever even once, touch the ultimate reality of it, the ultimate truth of it.

* * * *

Through the other, you gradually discern your Self,

Until you perhaps fully drink of the grand elixir of singularity.

Absolutely alone within the peace of the inner sanctum,

Irrespective of whatever songs the sirens sing,

To entice you to crash into the rocks,

Of the ever-tumultuous mind.

* * * *

You are the center of your known universe.

* * * *

Why would you ever even contemplate,

Much less expect, any other to be like you?

To see or do anything, exactly the way you do?

We are all just snowflakes here, of our own device,

Forever alone in our individual shard of the singularity.

* * * *

Despite all assumptions and collusions to the contrary,

Neither your body, nor your mind, nor your dream,

Has ever, for even one moment, been the same.

303

Some things you do for years; some things for months.

Some for days, some for hours, some for minutes, some for moments.

And some, you just scarcely even need to imagine,

And that is more than enough.

Illusion is for those who lack imagination.

* * * *

What is close? What is far? What is here? What is there?

Where is the dividing line between you and anything?

* * * *

You do not really exist,

As more than a figment of imagination.

Everything you know, everything you think, everything you do,

Is merely built upon the smoky vapor of mind.

Nothing more, nothing less.

* * * *

How can it be anything more than streaming sensation?

The eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue, the skin,

Are nothing more than nerve endings, channeling into the brain,

Which every moment imagines a conditioned translation of what is called a universe.

A solitary dream of consciousness, awareness playing its Self real,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

304

You have never for even one moment been the same.

You have never for even one moment not been the same.

* * * *

The entire religious-spiritual game is just that, a game,

Artificial diversions fabricated by others,

For monkey-minded purpose.

There is only You,

And no other is necessary,

To fully apprehend, to fully appreciate,

The ineffable mystery of every moment’s eternal presence.

305

You are That I Am.

You have ever been That I Am.

You will ever be That I Am.

Utter it however you will,

You can never not be,

The source of all creation.

306

Prior to the body and all its sensory inputs,

Prior to the mind and all its ephemeral concoctions,

Prior to consciousness in every way, every shape, every form,

You are.

307

You cannot teach what you do not know,

And you cannot teach something well, until you know it very, very well.

And you cannot teach that which can never be known,

Until you have very, very clearly discerned,

That you are the unknown.

* * * *

Imagination is the trove of all agony, of all ecstasy,

But it is truly nothing more than echoes,

In the vacuum of eternity.

* * * *

What is this ephemeral trait called beauty,

But an ever-distracting promise of something,

That does not, has never, will never, exist.

* * * *

Only in the very-much-now momentary presence,

The stillness of absolute awareness, does vanity end.

* * * *

How can there be just one teacher,

When your universe has been laying the foundation,

With every sort of instruction, since long before you were conceived.

Awakening is a timeless process, not any particular mask, not any particular point in time.

308

We all discern it a mystery,

And then quibble and feud and battle,

Over the endless speculations all minds contrive.

* * * *

Without You to witness to it,

There would be no light by which to see.

There would be no matrix of mystery to be explored.

There would be no truth to again and again and again be discerned.

309

To see you are that which is mystery is not arrogance,

But recognition, acceptance, appreciation, salutation.

* * * *

There are always consequences,

In the causes and effects of this manifest dream.

Consciousness must ever pay the many pipers of its own creation.

310

Consciousness synergistically playing itself out,

However each and every single one wills,

Each and every streaming moment.

* * * *

What is the point of all this knowledge,

If it does not transmute from trivia into intelligence,

From intelligence into wisdom, and from wisdom into eternal life.

311

Heavens and hells, karma, or any other afterlife speculation of reward or punishment,

Are nothing more than fabrications of ever fearful, ever unhappy, ever-conniving minds.

The one and only truth – all that is, has ever been, will ever be – is timelessly here now.

* * * *

The unknown is faceless.

Put away all the photographs.

Forget the reflection in the mirror.

Shelve all the knowledge of this and that.

You are the immeasurable; You are the mystery.

As pure, as simple, as free, as you allow your Self to be.

312

An ocean of nothingness;

Light shimmering upon every permutation,

The timeless miasma of consciousness can conceivably imagine.

* * * *

The same eternal awareness has been housed in every life form since life was formed.

In all creatures small to great, the same omnipresence, omniscience, omnipotence.

* * * *

The awareness, the witness you ever are,

Is the indivisible, immeasurable source:

Omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent.

It is You, You are it, there is no other.

* * * *

Apply to the ever-streaming moment, as many words and numbers as you like,

Time and space are nothing more than abstractions born of temporal imagination.

313

The ephemeral me-myself-and-I is but an intangible presence,

A glimmer of the unknown imagining all its dreaming real.

* * * *

Do you move in time, or does time move in you?

Do you do nothing, or does nothing do you?

* * * *

It is consciousness that moves,

Not You, the stillness of awareness,

The unstained, infinite witness.

314

Who can say who or what or when or where or why or how,

The seeds of doubt are planted, take root, get watered, and grow to fruition.

It is, as all things ever are, the same ineffable mystery from all beginnings to all endings.

* * * *

Continually processing, grokking your little dream,

When you could, instead, be nirvana now.

It is right here, right now,

As it has always been, will ever be.

* * * *

Be as indivisibly indifferent as all the stars,

It has taken to create this imaginary dream.

* * * *

Existence is the unknown, cloaked in known,

Which we all must each in our own way endure.

* * * *

When the finite reunites with the infinite,

When the drop is no longer distinct from the ocean,

Where can any seam between observer and observed reside?

* * * *

Yet another day in the examined life, the torrential spew of consciousness,

Playing its tiringly silly, often pathetic, unendingly absurd, song of mystery.

* * * *

To return to the upwelling, to Para Brahman, may or may not be your calling.

There is no predicting who will comprehend the source of awareness.

Nor is it really all that important, for the mystery is in all things,

No matter how many are, or are not, destined to awaken.

315

The malarkey of fear and superstition and ignorance,

Would have you bow and scrape and pay homage for all eternity.

But in truth, there is nothing to which you are in any way required to submit,

If you have the courage to stand free of all claims, utterly alone,

In the elemental winds of your quantum dream.

* * * *

Best discern the existential of it now,

For there will likely not be the opportunity,

Once the container to which you are so attached,

Blows back into the dream-weaving quantum sands.

316

You are not the body, nor the mind; You are not the left hand, nor the right.

You are not the eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue, nor the layers of nerve-ridden flesh.

You are not the heart or any other organ, nor are You the tip of the biggest toe.

You are naught but awareness, as ethereal as the sky is to clouds.

* * * *

Resistance to the reality within and without,

Is but an every-moment exercise in futility.

* * * *

It does not have to make any sense, you know.

The mystery of it all is really far too inexplicable,

To ever wrap even the most immortal head around.

317

If it is your calling, your vocation, to know you are that which is mystery,

Know that you will discern it within, it will become you,

And you will be the all-seeing witness,

Of the all and none.

* * * *

You will suffer until you let go of your universe,

And the incessant movement of the mind that sustains it.

Until you give way to the stillness of the awareness,

The source from which all dreaming streams.

* * * *

Not too much longer before this mortal dream will fade into oblivion.

What a relatively short set of streaming moments, any given life truly is.

318

Nothing for which to feel guilt or remorse.

Nothing for which to apologize or beg forgiveness,

The pain is the price all must pay to be right here right now.

Only the rare few discerning the one and only reality.

Forgive your Self, and carry on, best you can.

* * * *

You, Quantum.

Quantum field.

Quantum infinity.

Quantum freedom.

Quantum tranquility.

Quantum indelibility.

Quantum sovereignty.

Quantum absoluteness.

Quantum indivisibility.

Quantum timelessness.

Quantum singularity.

Quantum totality.

Quantum truth.

Quantum joy.

You, Quantum.

* * * *

Why be bound by any historical notion?

Why be crimped by any mythology or tradition?

Why not be entirely free in the sovereignty of awareness?

It is only fear that ordains you acquiesce to any artificial limitation.

319

Now, now, now, now, now, now, now …

Eternity is right here now, the mystery is right here now,

Prior to all attributes, prior to all assumptions, prior to all identification,

Prior to all movement of consciousness, of imagination.

You are it, and it is You; there is no other.

What is so difficult to fathom,

About the stillness of the ineffable awareness,

Which as simple as simple can be?

* * * *

Tiny ants wandering their hills and caves,

The grand infinity of their six-legged universe,

That few two-leggeds will ever fully realize,

Is more than a little similar to their own.

* * * *

It is not through thought that You, the witness, exists.

The You, you really are, is not this time-bound, fabricated character.

What You really are is the awareness, the presence,

The nowness of the eternal life.

320

The labor of children is timeless play.

The labor of adults, all too often time-bound drudgery;

A state of mind to which none need succumb.

To retain the innocence of a child,

Is a wondrous talent.

* * * *

Forget that you were ever born.

Die to all past and future.

The streaming now,

Is the awareness You are.

Everything and nothing, all the while.

* * * *

It is the body that is growing older,

Not the ageless, indivisible, immeasurable You,

The awareness that was never born.

* * * *

A Self-reflective inclination,

Is obviously not calling,

To every one across the board.

The abyss within, is perhaps too large,

Perhaps too frightening, perhaps too unenticing,

For all but the rarest, to want to peer into at any given time.

The old ‘many are called, few are chosen’ theme,

Played out in any given solar flare.

321

A challenging thing, being in the world and not of it,

Attentive to the given moment, yet still locked in a body,

Still attached, like it or no, to the universe in which it wanders.

* * * *

The abyss can be plumbed forever, and no edge ever reached.

The senses are but an ephemeral veil to the solitude,

You are, have ever been, will ever be.

* * * *

In the ever-present, the mind dissolves,

Into the immeasurable nothingness,

To which attachment has no tether.

322

Few are inflicted with the great doubt,

That eventually conveys them all the way back,

To the ephemeral awareness prior to all consciousness.

So many temptations, so many distractions, so many delusions,

On the long and winding ever here now road home.

* * * *

Are you prepared to leave everything behind?

To be totally, absolutely free, of all manifest claims?

Are you prepared to be, You, absolutely alone, dreamless?

Naught but pure awareness; formless, for all eternity?

Or will you do all this to your Self, yet again?

* * * *

What a vast difference between

Thinking you are infinity

And being infinity.

One the product of thought,

The other simply mystery its Self.

* * * *

Let go all the struggle.

Be completely, unequivocally effortless.

Give yourself over to the beingness, the nowness, the stillness,

Of the absolute awareness prior to consciousness.

It is your true nature; it is the eternal life.

* * * *

No matter how many ways you may find to distract yourself,

No matter how large a family you might propagate,

No matter how many people you may know,

Or the size of crowds you may daily stride through,

You are ever, have ever been, will ever be, absolutely alone.

323

Your dream of existence is a mystery,

That time will never long attest really happened.

Truly not at all different than any tree falling alone in a forest.

* * * *

Creation is an ever-unfolding, ever-evolving transmutation of energy.

Of the stardust, the elements, the quantum, the singularity,

Playing at existence in every way imaginable.

* * * *

When did you begin to imagine you were this mind-body?

That it belonged to you like all the other possessions,

With which emptiness continually shrouds itself.

What point is there, really, in being attached,

To its ever-changing corporeal nature,

For even one iota of a singular moment?

* * * *

When you are merely awareness, you are free.

When you are a mind attached to a body, you are bound.

So guileless, as to be yet another, of the greatest stories never told.

* * * *

What ego could exist without attachment to the body-mind,

And all the perceptions that have been but imagined,

In the streaming dream of absolute awareness.

324

It all means whatever you choose to believe it means, until you clearly realize,

Even the most profound vision of that prior to all imagination,

Really means absolutely nothing at all.

* * * *

You may be the indelible, indivisible, unborn-undying mystery,

But you are still cousin to a hodgepodge of monkeys,

Chimpanzees, gorillas, and sundry primates.

In other words, you are but a beast,

An evolutionary invention,

Of puddle magic,

And muddied thinking.

* * * *

You already are the eternal life.

For what is there to pray?

What need for some imaginary god?

You alone translate creation into heavens and hells.

* * * *

We all know different things,

We all perceive different universes,

We are all stained by different experiences,

Yet we are all born of the same mystery all the while.

325

If not in every breath time offers,

Then at least in the last moments before death,

Surrender to the ineffable eternal awareness prior to consciousness,

And rest fulfilled, content in that immortal knowingness,

When the Reaper comes to gather the vehicle,

To which vanity is so attached.

326

The universe the senses and mind present, is your eternal teacher,

And will use every feasible device to awaken you,

Whether or not it is your calling.

* * * *

If you are not completely present,

Completely, with fresh eyes, here now,

Then you wander the death of recollection,

Oblivious to the eternal nature in every moment.

327

It is not a matter of believing you are that which is quantum, but in being that which is quantum.

It is in the immediate perception, the immediate awareness, the hereness, the nowness;

Not some self-absorbed entity, ensnared by the movement of mere thought.

* * * *

There is always tomorrow,

That day that never quite arrives,

That rainbow, that always just manages,

To elude now’s ephemeral grasp.

328

Consciousness is a vibrating lens,

With countless filters crafted of every imaginable limitation.

Awareness is of the infinite source, witness within all things small to great, bound to nothing.

* * * *

Eternal salvation is not about the body or mind or soul being saved.

It is the purging of the fabricated identity, of the ceaseless inventions of the mind,

And timelessly being what You truly are; that which is mystery.

You are the Truth, the Life and the Way.

Be That I Am,

The Self of all selves.

* * * *

How can you not be that which many call god by countless names,

When, without the light of awareness shining from within,

Your cosmos would not for even a moment exist.

* * * *

Is consciousness the river, in which you flow,

Or you the stillness, through which it dreams?

* * * *

Where is ahead? Where is behind?

Where is up or down? Sideways or crossways?

Where is the center of that amorphous, eternal indivisibility,

That which is the center, yet has no center.

330

History is the arbitrary highlighting of selected snapshots,

From eternity’s indivisible, ever-graceful streaming.

The crisscrossing of the endless array of ripples,

Which bring notable events to realization.

And from those streaming moments,

New ripples, ever make their way,

In the quantum theater’s dreamtime.

* * * *

You must someday die to this mortal vessel.

Enlighten and liberate your Self now.

Rebirth of the unknown is now.

* * * *

The immediate is, without peer.

Serene, tranquil, peaceful, graceful, aware,

Ever-steady, indivisible, eternally immeasurable, absolute.

To reside in the here now is to know eternal life.

331

Play your little part in the world, but know it is but a dream, no matter how real it seems.

332

The eternal life is within and without every moment.

* * * *
The sensory mind-body is the theater; awareness, the audience.

333

Though there is absolutely no requisite,

For any moment to be played out in any particular way,

Everyone performs their destiny according to the given nature-nurture.

Though someone could perhaps do anything conceivable in the quantum-matrix sense,

Free will is an illusion, and all will journey through whatever destiny their form,

Their capacity and limitation, their amalgamation of desire and fear allows.

For anyone to do something entirely out of mind-body character,

Really just means it was in their character from the get-go.

* * * *

Think you cannot at all get along without someone or something?

Oh, you will, my fine friend, rest assured, you will, indeed.

Whether voluntarily, or from your cold, lifeless hands,

Absolutely everyone and everything will cease to exist when you do.

When this magical mystery tour of a dream reaches its most certain conclusion.

Consciousness is but a temporal state, requiring a vessel of some sort, in which to play out.

The promises of everlasting life, of access to one deity or another, will always prove but empty and vain.

And of what is called rebirth; it is not some individual persona, but the mystery that all things are.

And that quantum “You-ness” born anew, will blow in the nature-nurture winds of its time.

Experiencing many things; always with very much the same awareness within all.

334

Accepting dogma and idolatry is the first and last mistake.

Truth is an ever-present-every-moment-now kind of thing,

And no intermediaries, past or present or future, are required.

* * * *

Eternity is the seamless now,

To which momentary awareness is witness.

Die to the dream of time, and totality becomes absolutely clear.

335

The singular mystery somehow created You.

And You in turn, witness your version of a manifest dream.

You are it, and it is You; as indivisible, as inseparable, as it must ever be.

* * * *

There are the many, whose existence is lived out of obligation, to the arbitrary memes born of time;

And the sporadic few, whose spirits are drawn to the exploration of its mystery.

Not all can be scientists, else there would be no laboratory,

In which wisdom might brew.

* * * *

Seriously, who really cares about this mundane universe, or any other?

Set them all down, wander the infinity, blissfully carefree.

Be the cosmic child you have always been.

* * * *

What is this temporal food-body,

This witch’s brew of a biological stew,

But the timeless, indivisible, quantum ether,

You are, have ever been, will ever be.

* * * *

This pale blue dot is but an infinitesimal iota of dust,

In an immense ocean of ineffable mystery.

Who truthfully knows if or when,

You will ever exist again?

But, tell me, Pilgrim, have you ever seen,

Any seed being given a second chance, much less a third?

336

It is likely inevitable in this vast mystery of a cosmos,

That any given garden world will allow life forms to evolve,

Which will sooner or later potentially threaten their very existence,

Creation is destruction, destruction is creation, extinction is nothing new.

* * * *

Everything simultaneously streaming, unfolding one moment to the next,

In this immeasurable quantum matrix of a holograph universe.

Only your little slice of imagination is about you.

* * * *

Sometimes small-minded, sometimes large.

That is the unfathomable nature of consciousness,

And the awareness from which, and into which, it blossoms.

337

Seriously, what is so great about you, that any supreme being would want to save?

* * * *

Identity is merely awareness, temporarily usurped.

* * * *

Every moment erased by the next.

* * * *

Yet another vague memory spinning its way toward oblivion.

338

Created of the infinite unknown, a mystery beyond all reckoning,

You encapsulate it with your finite vanity,

And call it God.

* * * *

If you would know God,

Then look within, friend, look within.

Look within, so deeply, that it all becomes so indivisible,

That the entire cosmos instantly dissolves,

Into this very moment.

339

An ineffable, inexplicable, unfathomable mystery,

Of which you are inscrutable observer,

Of which you possess nothing,

In so many shapes, colors, tastes, sounds, scents.

Reflections of light, and the unknowable from which all are cast.

* * * *

It is not the will of some deity, but your own, that plays out its fate.

Timelessly perceived, within and without, by the dispassionate witness.

* * * *

Any given mind, is nothing more than an arbitrary bubble of consciousness.

The only constant is the awareness, from which all dreams indivisibly spring.

340

Do not all stories have a certain predictability about them?

Same old monkey-mind plots drawn up with different characters and sets,

Different languages and costumes, different this, different that.

All ultimately merely tributaries of consciousness,

Racing in time back into the eternal,

From which all arise.

* * * *

No matter how much any may experience in any given lifetime,

It can never be more than a statistical sample.

Enough to discern the whole,

But no more,

Than the merest drop,

Of the infinity of all things possible.

* * * *

An angel of death you are,

To so many creatures small to great,

You have consumed and destroyed to be here now.

Alas and oh well, it is a god-eat-god world.

Nothing is lost, nothing is gained,

In the grand dreamtime.

* * * *

The ancients called the elements,

Earth, air, water, fire, ether.

Scientists in these times,

Call it the periodic table.

Intuit it, name it, label it, describe it,

Measure it, organize it, in whatever way you will,

It is, has ever been, will ever be, must ever be, the same mystery.

* * * *

All things small to great are of the same grand eternal infinity.

Any lesser vision is but mind-born idolatry and dogma,

And not even worth one moment’s distraction.

341

There is no god in the way you or anyone else across time or space has ever conceived.

That which is supreme is so indivisibly, formlessly prior to consciousness,

That all human concoctions are absurd by any comparison.

And you are it, it is you, there is no other.

* * * *

Within the quantum indivisibility of the singularity,

All things from the smallest to the greatest,

From the infinite to the infinitesimal,

Play out dreams too countless to comprehend.

342

No matter the effort any mind has ever made,
None have ever changed or altered,
Even one tiny hair on truth’s chinny-chin-chin.
The play of consciousness has absolutely no say in the matter.
The way it is, is the way it is, the way it has always been, the way it will ever be.

343

Before you began fabricating an identity,
You were naught but eternity, fresh from the womb of Eden.
And then you cloaked Self in a throng of thoughts,
And, without further ado, forgot it all.

* * * *

In the larger picture of all things eternal,
Your final moments, however they come to pass,
Will be very much like the ones kaleidoscoping right now.

* * * *

No matter how humble one may appear on the exterior,
Few are capable of transcending the illusory call to glory.
Vanity, vanity, all is vanity, for all but the most absolute.

* * * *
So much ambition, so much vanity, so much absurdity,

To be what you already are, have ever been, will ever be,

In this right here, right now, indivisible quantum mystery.

344

Loneliness versus aloneness, duality versus singularity,

The sorrow of imagination versus the sovereignty of absoluteness.

There is really nothing to compare, when there is really nothing to be measured.

* * * *

To judge others is to be the critic of a theater,

You have in supreme ignorance created.

Close your eyes and other senses,

And you will see it all nothing.

Awareness dancing in stillness.

An eternal lightshow, nothing more.

* * * *

Consciousness is the flower,

Awareness, the root,

And the indivisible totality,

The ground in which all dreams,

Blossom, flourish, diminish, dissolve.

345

You came into this mystery with nothing,
You will leave it with nothing,
And there has really been nothing more,
Than imaginary notions in every moment between.

* * * *

If it is your calling to discern that which is mystery,
That which is within all, small to great,
You must let go everything.
Yes, everything.
The you, you pretend,
Fabricated by imagination,
Must become so inwardly quiet,

That you divine the awareness You are,

That which is boundless prior to all conception.

346

Save a world that cannot be saved, or souls that can never be lost?
Such meaningless theatrics our kind over and over so predictably play.

Why on earth should any creation ever dread or deify its source?

Nothing but monkey-mind brew from beginning to end.

* * * *

You need not give so much attention to the mind and body.

It is all made up for such a short ever-changing while.

Give it little weight in the grand scheme of things.

It is the real that You are here to discern and explore.

* * * *

Duality is nothing more than an arbitrary, meaningless concept,

Born of the sensory illusion that you are separate.

It has no ultimate reality whatsoever.

You are the primal essence that is indivisibly singular,

Unfathomable, absolute, prior to all imaginings born of consciousness.

* * * *

Though we peer across world, and into the far reaches of the universe,

Though we see into the infinitesimal of which all is created,

Still we cling to all the traditions and superstitions,

Of one geographic assumption or another.

How absolutely amazing is that?

347

Peering out from the stillness of awareness,

Through every visage from the infinitesimal to the infinite,

Unknowably mysterious, inexplicable, enigmatic, inscrutable, unfathomable,

The timeless, indivisible, immeasurable, quantum singularity,

The one and only, ineffably eternal You.

* * * *

The boundless awareness is, without any movement of me or myself or I.

It cannot be altered, claimed, manipulated, possessed, or usurped.

It is the untapped spring, the uncarved block, the tabula rasa.

It is the primal source of all; partial or beholden to none.

It is prior to all manifestation, equally present in all;

And ever carries on after the dissolution of all.

* * * *

Peace, tranquility, contentment, harmony,

Are of the ever-unfolding instant.

Not a product of thought,

But an effortless relinquishment,

To the timeless beingness, a.k.a., eternal life.

* * * *

Self-discovery is a moment-to-moment process,

As true a scientific inquiry as there could possibly be.

* * * *

How can there ever be a collective vision in the human epoch,

When every human being, every life form, is a universe unto its Self?

All are spun of the same awareness, the same quantum, the same singularity,

But consciousness, imagination, knows naught but bounds at every turn.

* * * *

The many others across all eternity are no different than you,
And the Golden Rule says it as clearly as it can be said:
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
What need for any further suggestions, principles,
Guidelines, rules, decrees, edicts, amendments,

Or commandments or regulations or laws?

348

Your world, your universe, your self-metaphors, are all imagined.

Still the mind, close the eyes, the ears, all the other senses,

And the nothingness of awareness becomes apparent.

* * * *

Why should you be concerned,
With what others think,
When it is really,
Your own creation,
From beginning to end.

* * * *

Absolute awareness is the underlying operating system,
Upon which all consciousness is artlessly programmed.

* * * *

The quest for truth is more than an assertion of this or that.

True inquiry delves into the source, into the awareness,

Into the infinity prior to all concepts born of mind.

349

Every life form that is born of this mystery must inevitably die.

But the essence of which all creation is formed,

Is never born and never dies.

* * * *

The swimmingness of the eternal nature,

Is the realm of all the other creatures of Eden,

Who have managed not to degenerate, to devolve,

Into the madness, the absurdity, of imagination.

* * * *

Nothing new under the sun, everything new under the sun.

So predictably unpredictable, so unpredictably predictable,

Every unfolding, eternally streaming, matrix of a moment.

350

Those few who manage to stream along in the pure awareness,

Prior to time, prior to space, prior to consciousness,

Are unburdened by any history, whatsoever.

* * * *

The past had its momentary window.

You need not allow it to dominate, to control, yours.

The tyranny of tradition has no power, but through your acquiescence.

* * * *

Who knows what incredible mysteries may reside,

On other worlds, in other dimensions, of this vast quantum matrix?

You must rely on your own frame of reference, to hypothesize all possibilities possible,

Yet how can any ever be anything but You, whatever the guise?

352

Believers and atheists, all playing their little game, dancing their little dance.

Pretending to know what they cannot, never have, and never will.

To know you know nothing is the only honest stance.

Make-believe may offer some solace,

But no assumption can ever touch what is real.

* * * *

This momentary nowness,

Is all that is really happening.

The dream is just that … a dream.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

353

How beyond all pales absurd it at some point becomes.

We prattle endlessly about the silence, the serenity, the austerity, of a still mind,

But to remain in that state every moment, is for most, if not all, very challenging, very unlikely, indeed.

The monkey-mind is ever an absorbing thunder and lightning show,

To which death is really the only antidote.

* * * *

The indivisibility of the quantum chaos, is order unto its Self.

What stability can there be in the theater of consciousness,

But what awareness, through imagination conceives?

* * * *

No matter the creative or destructive enterprise playing out,

How can the ocean of mystery, ever become greater or lesser?

It ever reigns sovereign, absolute of its own inherent nature.

354

Call it That I Am, call it Brahman, call it Tao, call it God, call it Self, call it whatever you will.

It is all the unnamable awareness that is prior to all dreams of consciousness.

Absolute, indivisible, complete, supreme, without peer.

And You and everything else, it as well.

There is nothing that is not this ineffable mystery.

Despite all imaginary inventions, it is ever the indelible unknown.

* * * *

The quantum mystery does not care into what form it is fashioned,

Or if it is used in any meaningful or profound way at all.

It plays any part that indivisibility dictates.

* * * *

All your many attempts to hold onto anything,

Are absolutely futile, utterly meaningless.

There is naught but the dreamy now,

And the perceptions to which the mind,

With such tenacious determination, clings.

* * * *

No matter the form,

No matter the time and space,

You cannot be anywhere but here now.

It is the way it is, across the board.

* * * *

All forms are but variations of quantum vibration,

The underlying physics of the elements within all things,

As witnessed by the ever-present, ever-perfect, eye of awareness.

355

The relatively agreeable thing about imagination,

Is that you can do absolutely anything your mind might dare.

Often much more enjoyable, and certainly less bother than the real thing.

* * * *

All creatures small to great are born of the same indivisible mystery.

All are fated never to see more than reflections of their own faces.

* * * *

Wander beyond the idolization of form,

Geography, language, culture, creed,

Or any other temporal, tangible creation.

Discern the infinite intangible, the unmanifest,

The indivisible, from which all creation materializes.

356

From the quantum, all-seeing perspective,

What is any existence, any stream of consciousness,

But yet another footnote in the annals of this mystery theater.

Important unto its Self, but really nothing more than a brief dreaming,

A brief notion, a brief glimmer, in the play of time, in the quantum stardust of it all.

357

Is not the world humankind has together created, purgatory enough?

What can you expect from a creation chock-full of vain sheeples?

358

One moment streams into the next, seamless,

And in each and every absolute, sovereign, unblemished,

Indivisible, nameless, flowing moment,

You are all that is.

* * * *

Anything can end without a moment’s notice.

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

* * * *

No destiny can be changed.

No fate can be avoided.

All are merely played out,

As nature and nurture sculpt.

All are written, or yet to be written.

* * * *

Dogma is the worldly vision,

Of those who, for whatever reason,

Lack the eyes to see, and the ears to hear,

The infinite mystery, in which each and every one,

Equally participates in so many ways.

359

How can anyone look at all these fellow creatures small to great,

And not, without doubt, discern the obvious fact, that within each and every one,

Is the same indelible source, the same awareness, the same intelligence?

That all are the same omnipresent, omniscient witness as you.

* * * *

So many masks come and gone, and many more yet to be,

And behind all, the same faceless source.

Call it what you will,

It is ever indivisible and absolute.

* * * *

Passionate responses to any of life’s tremors,

Ever magnify the moment’s passing.

In the agony and ecstasy,

One cannot be, without the other.

* * * *

Nope, nope, nope, there is nothing more to it,
Than what this moment, each and every now offers.
Even gods on high, are caught up in one dream or another.

* * * *
Idol worshippers will never be content with the truth of the here now.

The inexplicable absoluteness of eternal life is not for the meek of spirit.

360

Gravity must eventually collapse into itself,
So deeply as to completely evaporate,
And then, boom, big bang again,
Into some vast new invention,
Upon which philosophers,
So eloquently blather.

* * * *

Eternal means timeless.

Eternal life means timeless life.

To live a timeless existence, you must abandon,

The false identity born of imagination,

To that nowness you truly are.

* * * *

For memes to let loose their rigid grip,
Would require a revolutionary paradigm shift,
Seemingly well beyond the monkey-mind’s capacity.
In the eternal struggle between intelligence and ignorance,
It is not rocket science to predict which mindset will rule the future.

* * * *

Clouds are merely the wisps of an ocean of air,

The sun a smidgen of dust, around which other particles orbit,

All flecks in a cosmos, that is but a brief commotion in the infinity of awareness.

361

Just because you think it,

Does not mean you have to do it.

The garden is for those who lack imagination.

It is in the moment-to-moment choices,

That heavens and hells are created.

* * * *

You, who are the unfathomable, indivisible singularity,

Seem to have been born to experience the otherness, and may well do so,

Until who knows how, who knows why, who knows when,

Who knows where, who knows what,

Who knows who.

362

No mortal frame can be preserved in this ever-changing theater.

It, and the personality to which imagination is so attached,

Must inevitably, as all forms do, dissolve from the stage,

On which it has so sincerely, and with such passion, played.

* * * *

It is attachment to our mind-bodies, to all the sensory inputs,

To the mirage, the illusion, of a kaleidoscoping cosmos,

That precipitates all this agony, all this suffering.

A relentless moment, all across the world.

* * * *

Kill off little self however you will.

The awareness is indifferent,

To all manner of fates.

364

Where is this vain, resolute, notorious “I” we so readily assume real?

Is it the ever-changing body, the ever-changing identity?

Is it the rambling compendium of perceptions?

Can it even be the timeless awareness,

Common to all things living?

How can there truly be,

“Me, myself, and I”

In that infinity which is prior,

To all forms fashioned of quantum vibration?

That which is ageless, formless, indivisible, sovereign, absolute.

That which has never even once suffered mortal birth,

Much less the pangs of imagined death.

* * * *

Every streaming moment, so fleeting, like an ever-burning fuse.

Every point of nowness, gone as swiftly as it arrives.

Everything, but figments of imagination.

Merely a dream of the senses.

A magical, mystery theater of illusion.

365

The differences there are be between so-called angels and demons,

Are in the arbitrary choices made by consciousness.

The same awareness is witness to all.

* * * *

Why would you ever, even for a moment,

Believe yourself anything other,

Than pure awareness?

All identification, all naming,

It but the fabrication of imagination.

* * * *

To be born again into the absoluteness of eternal awareness,

Is the true purpose and meaning, the true reckoning,

The true potential, of every breath, every step.

366

This garden world has been spinning round and round for several billion years,

And the universe billions more than that, as it will be for eons more.

How can anyone seriously believe their imaginary notions,

Are anything more than a momentary flurry,

In the grand totality of it all?

* * * *

The universe created of senses and mind,

Is both the teacher and the greatest distraction.

A manifest dream, in which the stillness of awareness,

Is locksmith to the momentary nature of an eternal existence.

367

The question ever remains:

Do you follow your own observations,

Or subscribe mindlessly to the countless delusions,

Consciousness, with complete and utter ease, every moment weaves.

369

You have played the given nature-nurture part as well as You possibly can,

But you have all along been something of a pretender, a chameleon.

The truth is, you have often sensed You are not a human being,

Nor any of the countless other forms in which You dance,

In this infinite eternal theater that You, your Self, are.

For that which is absolute, indivisible, complete,

Is what You truly are, have ever been, will ever be.

* * * *

The filament of awareness,

Is the eternal Me, my Self, and I.

Anything less is delusional.

370

Even an entire universe cannot fill you.

The utter aloneness of the infinite singularity,

Is absolutely, indivisibly, eternally unfathomable.

* * * *

The only constant in this ever-changing cosmos is awareness.

The elemental theater, in which consciousness runs amok,

Is a veil, in which suffering is an inevitable outcome.

371

In stillness, you are as before all creation.

372

A vastness, filled with swirls of consciousness;

All coursing the same immortal, timeless awareness.

The quantum matrix of that which is prior to all naming.

That source, that is the one witness within all, small to great.

* * * *

A multi-dimensional, ephemeral dream of matter,

With which You identify for a brief sense of time.

* * * *
Every body-mind is a facet of the ever-unfolding genesis.

An every-moment fabrication of evolution.

Nothing more, nothing less.

373

It is a mystery.

It is the mystery of all mysteries.

It is not a Christian mystery, it is not a Jewish mystery.

It is not a Muslim mystery, it is not a Hindu mystery, it is not Taoist a mystery.

It is a mystery that does not belong to, or favor, any -ist, or any -ism.

It is not subject to any idolatry, it is not subject to any dogma.

It is a mystery free and clear from any and all claims,

By any individual or group across all eternity.

* * * *

To wander in awareness,

Without accumulating this or that.

Free from ownership of any thought or thing.

Holding onto nothing, how difficult can that be, really?

* * * *

From infinite to infinitesimal, everything to nothing, known to unknown,

Top to bottom, small to great, here to there, this to that, that to this,

You are indivisibly, infinitely, perfectly, absolutely connected,

Yet completely, irrevocably, forever alone all the while.

374

There is no existence in any creation, no matter the dimensions, that will not be but temporal illusion,

Because, no matter how hard it tries, Self, the grand witness in all things small to great,

Can never discern its true reality but through the reflections of otherness.

So, delude yourself in any and every way for all eternity,

It is ever the same dreamer dreaming;

Ever You, in one imaginary holograph or another.

* * * *

Religion that is not religion, belief that is not belief;

In which momentary awareness is the only faith required.

Staged, ever-streaming, in a sensory theater of a timeless dream.

No one can help you realize your ultimate, indelible reality.

You must discover it completely, totally, forever alone.

375

No matter how real it all seems, the you that You play,

Is but the whim of imagination swirling about the senses.

An arbitrary, ephemeral set of perceptions from all get-go’s.

You have never been more than this every-moment streaming.

* * * *

Everything we take for granted in the given day-to-day,
Is, really, just as astounding as all the things,
We consider inexplicably mysterious.
How are we not every moment lost in wonder?

* * * *

To be content with the life you have been dealt,

From Royal Flush to not even a high card,

That is the every-moment challenge.

* * * *

Awareness is not,

Has never been, will never be,

Confined by any limits set by consciousness.

376

Sometimes the mind become so clear,

That it seems You have finally awakened for all eternity.

But then the murkiness of consciousness resumes its conditioned grooves,

And You must once again stumble about the convoluted labyrinth of your very vivid imagination,

Until the eternity of every moment breaks through the mists anew.

Perhaps one day You will stay here.

* * * *

The ever-kaleidoscoping sensory streaming,

Is given the illusion of continuity by consciousness,

But it is, has ever been, will ever be, eternity all the while.

* * * *

This moment, this right now,

Is all there is, and there ain’t no more,

No matter how much imagination yearns it so.

377

Which moment can ever crowd out or define another,

When all are equally, timelessly, here-now, come and gone.

It is only imagination born of mind that concocts time’s illusion.

* * * *

You are that mystery from which all things spring.

You are the earth and sun and moon and stars,

And all the intervals betwixt and between.

And you are none of it, all the while.

* * * *

“The way of humankind is harsh,” God said wistfully.

“But was it not a splendid creation?” Mother Nature sighed.

* * * *

Your spirit has never known anything but well-being and good fortune.

It is impervious to the vagaries of any form, any existence.

It is pure, immaculate, untainted, innocent,

To the most indivisible, sovereign, absolute degree.

378

And what does the actor do with the given life,

Once it is clearly, absolutely understood that it is all,

Nothing more than hollow, impromptu theater?

* * * *

The awareness is not the manifest dreamscape.

It is the unfolding creation from which all things ascend.

It is for each to discern, to perceive, within their individual dream;

That they are the same awareness, the same source, as any other is in theirs.

379

What is it, draws some minds into the examination of mystery,

And other into living out the dreamtime of the senses,

But an inexplicable mustard seed of curiosity.

* * * *

Any given body is really no more than a container,

From which mystery witnesses a sensory play.

The challenge is not forgetting it is not real.

* * * *

Why should you not agape your Self?

Why deprive your Self the infinite immensity,

Of what you truly are, have always been, will ever be?

380

When the given existence gives way to inevitable departure of the container,

The vast cosmos that mind and senses have into dreamtime spun,

Will dissolve back into the indivisible quantum mystery,

The given mind-body is a one-time-only show,

Never really “yours” from the get-go.

This is the only imaginary you,

That is, has ever been, will ever be.

* * * *

Attributes and handicaps, capacities and limitations,

Merely define the actor in this mortal theater.

Prior to them, You are imperceptible.

No matter the shifting exterior,

No one can know You,

Unless they know themselves.

* * * *

That you exist is not mystery enough?

That you exist is not eternal enough?

That you exist is not time enough?

That you exist is not gold enough?

That you exist is not real enough?

That you exist is not true enough?

That you exist is not holy enough?

That you exist is not sacred enough?

That you exist is not magical enough?

That you exist is not spiritual enough?

That you exist is not purgatory enough?

That you exist is not heaven or hell enough?

381

There is nothing practical about knowing you are the mystery.

Much of the time you may well be considered,

Quite eccentric, even mad.

It is not easy being a chosen One.

* * * *

What have you not done under your sun?

This.

Right here, right now.

* * * *

Why would the moment after the last wheezing breath,

Be any different than the one just before it?

Or the one just before birth,

Be any different,

Than the one just out of the womb?

The totality that is unborn-undying, is without attributes.

382

Mystery forbid, we ever cross space to reach another garden paradise,
When all our species has ever really ever done to this world,
Is subjugate and exploit and torture and slaughter.
Curious how easily guardianship gave way to avarice.

383

Free of past, of future, of desire, of fear.

Free of birth, existence, identity, hope, dread, death.

Free of the sensory theater, of the world, of the cosmos, of any deity.

Free of anything and everything, free even of nothing.

Simply awareness, eternally alone.

* * * *

Pay attention.

That moment is gone,

And another who knows how many,

Just streamed by, too.

* * * *

You want to know the one and only truth?

It is all You, nothing but You, and You absolutely alone.

Now, Pilgrim, sally forth against the many windmills of space and time,

And discern yet again, You are the source, You are the mystery,

If such dreamtime fate be yours in some future telling.

384

Who cares who said something, who did something?

Who penned it, drew it, composed it, cooked it, created it, demolished it.

Ultimately, that it was played out, is all that matters.

The same mystery is within all.

385

Any given life is but a fleeting sense of space and time,

In which the ever-present ether of awareness,

Equally permeates every moment.

* * * *

Discerning the infinite truth of your Self,
Erases all karma, erases all consequences,
And aligns your dreamtime fate with eternity.

386

And what, really, is there to dread about the dissolution,

The evaporation, the oblivion, of the mind and body,

Of this imaginary identity of the manifest kind?

* * * *

Wake up, my dears.
You are all the same oneness.
Move beyond your self-absorbed dreams.
They are not, have never been, nor will they ever be,
The infinity of mystery You truly are.

387

There is nobody to follow,s

In the quest for the infinity of truth,

Because it cannot be taught,

Nor can it be learned.

388

You need not keep rehearsing; you need not continue practicing.

You have your little character down; you have it figured out.

The big challenge now is enduring getting off the stage,

Taking off the costume, and departing the theater.

* * * *

In the grand eternal now,

You are that which was never born,

That which can never die.

* * * *

When you are out of kilter, when you need to recover some detachment;

When you need to reset, rekindle, retune, reorganize, recalibrate,

A greater perspective from one hellish moment or another;

It generally works to take a physician-heal-thy-self-time-out ride,

On the flying carpet of imagination, to another shard of the given dreamtime.

389

Are you really all that interested,

In allowing others to embezzle too great a slice,

Of what little eternity remains in this finite, temporal container?

Puttering along indivisible seems far more enticing.

* * * *

The intriguing thing about the indivisibility of nothingness,

Is how it permeates every fragment of this touchy-feely matrix.

An illusionary banquet that leaves consciousness ever hungry for more.

390

If there is a god, it surely must be the same for all.

And here humanity is, ceaselessly battling,

Over dogmas all belief inspires.

The sheer inanity of our limited vision,

Is the madness of vanity beyond all reckoning.

* * * *

Neither past nor future exist.

Nowness is your kingdom.

* * * *

What is freedom?

What is truth?

What is real?

What is not real?

What is aloneness?

What is indifference?

What is absoluteness?

What is contentment?

What is detachment?

What is equanimity?

What is happiness?

What is serenity?

What is bliss?

What is totality?

What is the Way?

What is That I Am?

* * * *

The ecology of the passionate mind

Is little more than a muddled, discordant jumble.

The real you, prior to consciousness, is spacious awareness,

From the deepest within to the farthest without.

391

What is unknowable is unknowable, no matter how adroit the speculation.

* * * *

Philosophers wrangle with a universe absolutely indifferent to their struggle.

392

It is only the mind and body that imagines experiencing anything.

You, the eternal observer, the awareness, remain ever indifferent.

* * * *

We are all but ephemeral dreamtimes of our ultimate nature,

Temporal waves crashing upon the rocky shores of infinity.

* * * *

Each must ascertain his/her own eternal salvation,

In the nothingness of the ever-present awareness.

393

Why narrow your Self to this or that assumption,

When you are in every way truly nothing,

But the clear space of awareness.

* * * *

You need not believe anything.
The awareness you are, does not require,

Any movement of consciousness,
For you to witness the play,
Created by the senses.

* * * *

There is neither time nor space,

But through the play of the senses,

As witnessed by the awareness you are.

* * * *

Going further than a couple zeros on either side of the decimal point,

Is the abstract realm of theoreticians of one focus or another.

Scientific abstractions, as accurate as they may well be,

Jump through cerebral gymnastics all but meaningless to daily existence,

Wherein consciousness must every moment sound the depths of its own imaginary invention.

394

Before good and evil,

Before all its causes and effects,

There is only the vast unknown stillness.

Within it, is the truth, the freedom,

That the intangible You is.

* * * *

Nature is the mystery’s expression,

And humankind but one of its myriad creations.

Separate only in consciousness, dualistic only in the mind,

In no way any less indivisible than all creation can be from its creator.

395

We all share the same awareness,

The same reverie of time and space,

Yet each and every one is utterly unique.

All frames of reference are relative,

Until what is seen is no more.

All judgment is absurd.

396

All that is done is simultaneously undone each and every moment.

Whether it is taken seriously or with a chuckle, makes no matter, whatsoever.

No point of consciousness has ever been more than the timeless transience of imagination.

* * * *

Only that which is mystery,

Can spin something from nothing,

Every moment, for all eternity.

And You, witness to it all.

* * * *

Call it destiny, fate, kismet, dream,

It is ever ephemeral and time-bound,

And has no lasting nature, whatsoever.

Only that prior to quantum dust has merit.

* * * *

You are imagined within me, and I within you.

Each of us fathoming our little dreamtime selves real,

Yet nothing more than ephemeral junctures of consciousness.

Nothing more than illusory droplets in this ineffable quantum mystery.

397

The secular triumvirate: creation, preservation, destruction,

Are equal, ever-present, kaleidoscoping qualities,

Of this indivisibly timeless dreamtime.

* * * *

Caress all the wounds and tension,

Your vat of flesh and bones has endured,

That you might arrive at this moment of existence.

All those injuries are ultimately imagined.

Allow the ground to nurse and heal,

Your twisted, misaligned spirit,

Into the totality it truly is.

398

Discern the simplicity prior to consciousness,

The clarity born of pure awareness,

That which is witness,

To all that is known and unknown.

* * * *

You are not the body,

Moving through time and space.

You are the eternal awareness, witnessing,

A temporal, three-dimensional weaving of the senses.

* * * *

This is the only here-now there can ever be.

The infinite singularity made manifest in the finite moment,

Timelessly discerned through the consciousness of each and every witness.

399

All the gibberish, all the babble, all the drivel in the world, means nothing.

Be still, and know You are, have ever been, will ever be, That I Am.

* * * *

Awareness is prior-to-conscious dream of time and space,

Fabricated in the quantum-neuron matrix of any given mind.

400

The sages say, look within,

And when you do, you find zilch, nada, zip, nil.

And so, you begin looking everywhere else for something, anything,

Because a still, gaping abyss could not be all there is.

It just has to be more than naught,

But, alas, it is not.

* * * *

What nonsense, this need to believe in anyone or anything,

Much less have anyone or anything believe in You.

Here You are: unknown, indefinable, timeless.

Nothing to believe in, nothing to prove,

Once the beingness of awareness

Has reclaimed its primacy.

* * * *

Your quantum nature is indivisibly timeless.
Are you mad for seeing it, or mad for not?

* * * *

Why would you need for anybody,
To know you, or know of you,
Once you discern your absolute nature?
Vanity is nothing more than imagination gone askew.

401

The nothingness offers little into which imagination can bite, ergo, much ado about it.

* * * *

Every birth the creation of a new universe; every death the destruction of one.

* * * *

You have never been anywhere, but this ever-present, eternal now.

* * * *

Creator and creation are always one in the same.

* * * *

The senses and mind timelessly creating time.

* * * *

Identity is something of a trespasser, a squatter, upon the indivisible indelibility of awareness.

* * * *

Life is a string of momentary decisions, choices, to which the only end is death.

402

This garden world, this universe, this creation, this great nada of a dreamtime,

Is going to do just fine without its two-legged, absurdly estranged cancer.

Consciousness is really nothing more than a feverish flash in the pan.

* * * *

So many in these modern times,

Seem more interested in spending their existence,

Staring mindlessly for hours and hours into one screen or another,

Rather than engaging in the bona fide virtual reality,

Playing every moment in their minds.

* * * *

If this amazing, inexplicable mystery is happening,

Then is not just about anything a possibility,

Out there in the universal immensity?

And all of it, and beyond, You.

* * * *

Forget everything.

Dismantle the conditioning;

The attachment to any conceptual weavings.

Become that which has no boundaries.

That which discerns no duality.

No within, no without.

No inner, no outer.

No this, no that.

* * * *

See what cannot be seen,

Hear what cannot be heard,

Smell what cannot be smelled,

Taste what cannot be tasted,

Feel what cannot be felt.

Be what cannot be known.

403

Likes and dislikes are always subject to change.

Each of us is endlessly changing and re-arranging the furniture,

In the creation-preservation-destruction of all things born of the passionate mind.

* * * *

All memories are but vague, ephemeral perceptions,
Of an ever-kaleidoscoping sensory mirage,
Born of the mind bound in time.

404

Make awareness the default setting, and Eden reappears;

Now camouflaged by metal, asphalt, cement, glass,

And countless other patterns of born of mind.

* * * *

The literal-minded will never comprehend truth,

No matter how adroitly it is articulated.

It requires a figurative awareness,

To ascertain the ultimate.

* * * *

There is no love, there is no hate.

There is no light, there is no vibration.

There is only the singularity of awareness,

In which every other, every moment, is imagined.

405

Simple beingness requires no identification,

No movement of thought, whatsoever.

Being in the world, and not of it,

Is to be, ever-present, now.

* * * *

… Here now … here now … here now …
… Now here … now here … now here …

* * * *

Most have always ignored truth,

So why would they pay attention now?

Much easier to commit every form of idolatry,

Than to become what you truly are.

406

… detach … big breath … detach … big breath … detach … big breath … detach … big breath …

The absoluteness, the sovereignty, the indivisibility of eternal life, eternal freedom,

Is an in-the-moment-unburdened-by-all-the-baggage kind of thing.

407

Awareness is awareness.

Neither light nor dark, right nor wrong, strong nor weak, vibrant nor passive,

Kind nor cruel, sweet nor bitter, great nor small, good nor evil.

Absolutely indifferent in every way imaginable.

* * * *

A quick, hard slap across the face,

A bucket of water dumped upon the head,

The knock of a stick across the back,

Whatever it takes to wake up,

To the stillness of truth.

408

Desire for gratification, dread of pain, curiosity about life, fear of death,

Are DNA’s evolutionary means in its futile attempt at immortality.

Keeping the mind from devolving into paranoia and paralysis,

Is the moment-to-moment tightrope the mind daily walks.

* * * *

The newborn is pure awareness.

In the infant and child,

The seeds of consciousness,

Begin gradually sprouting in the mind,

In whatever direction the winds of time may blow.

But it is in the awareness, that all truly are,

Have always been, will ever be.

It is from the source of all,

That eternal life ever springs.

* * * *

Attitude is a bell curve,

Ranging from joy to sorrow.

Where anyone journeys on the curve,

Is all about the play of imagination that manifests,

In the given mind, in the given context, in the given moment.

409

Therapy for the blind is vision;

For the deaf, hearing; for the hungry, sustenance;

For the numb, feeling; for the artist, creativity; for the gluttonous, more;

For the seer, the mysterious unknown.

* * * *

You ask me who … I tell you I do not know.

You ask me what … I tell you I do not know.

You ask me where … I tell you I do not know.

You ask me when … I tell you I do not know.

You ask me why … I tell you I do not know.

You ask me how … I tell you I do not know.

All I can tell you is … I am That I Am.

All I can tell you is … you are, too.

411

When you discern what is true, and disappear into the timeless awareness,

The universe within and without, converts to its untainted singular reality.

* * * *

Humility and modesty are just stilling the self-absorbed inner chatter,

Immersing into the imperturbable, timeless tranquility of awareness.

* * * *

God is prattled about in consciousness; merged into, in awareness.

Always a case of earnest conviction versus discerning equanimity.

* * * *

This streaming dreamtime moment, will be at best partially perceived.

More likely quickly forgotten, and even more likely all but unnoticed.

* * * *

Any earnest scientist inevitably discerns that the observer is the observed.

Measurement can only go so far, before it evaporates in the limits of imagination,

The pale beyond which, the eternal immeasurability, is forever unknowable.

412

In all our myriad forms, in all our myriad minds,

We are all the same witness, the same awareness,

Playing out different portions of same mystery.

* * * *

The repetitive grooves of limited thinking,

Only grow deeper and more and more confining,

As eternity does its time-marches-on thing.

* * * *

If there is any ultimate purpose or meaning to this mystery of existence,
Surely, it is realization of the singularity, within and without all creation.

413

Where to go if you are happy here, where to be if you are satisfied now.

So many looking for happiness and satisfaction everywhere but within.

* * * *

You are each and every moment born completely anew.

Why should you ever feel at all bound or obligated,

To be the same in everything you say and do?

* * * *

Freedom is in the clarity of awareness,

Not the quantum theater of sensation.

* * * *

Eternal life,

Is forgetting everything,

Even that perceived but a moment ago.

414

All our imaginary universes are built within frames of reference molded by experience.

Each of us can only see and hear and touch and taste and smell and feel,

What minds have been conditioned to discern and realize.

The ineffable mystery, is vessel for all.

* * * *

As real as it may seem in the moment-to-moment,

Of this three-dimensional sensory theater,

None of it has ever truly been,

More than a brief sensory distraction.

* * * *

A different time, a different existence.

A different appearance, a different dream.

A different world, a different universe.

All the differences; same mystery

* * * *

We are all that which is called god by many names.

Each of us exploring our own exclusive aspect of creation.

415

The challenge with fate is not knowing what it is, and having to play it out one moment at a time.

* * * *

Creation is a roshambo – rock-paper-scissors – kind of thing.

* * * *

Born again and again, with every breath, for all eternity.

416

The truth of awareness requires nothing.

No laws, no principles, no dogma, no creed, no hierarchies,

Fabricated by the mind-made limitations,

Of self-serving middlemen.

* * * *

The notion of history is sculpted in countless ways,
Through the never-ceasing, indivisibly eternal now.

* * * *

Since you are truly everything,

In your immortal never-born-never-die way,

You experience birth and life and death every passing moment,

In an all but infinite number of ways.

417

Perhaps God is manifest for the same reason you are.

Wine and women and song, are not necessarily just mortal fare.

Even the deities of olden times enjoyed altered states of consciousness,

In the grand once and a while of the given here and now.

* * * *

Dwell in that stillness, that awareness, that timelessness,

From which the dream of consciousness rises and falls.

Imagination, as present as it seems, is not eternal life.

* * * *

I am you, and you are me,

And together, we, each in our own unique way,

Sing the song of mystery.

* * * *

All the attachments,

To all the things,

To all the memories,

To all the relationships,

To all the this’s, all the that’s;

What weights chaining the free spirit.

Distractions from the ever-present awareness,

In which life is eternal, in which the real You, ever are.

418

This very moment is as inexplicable as every other moment that has ever been or will ever be.

* * * *

Pay close attention: time does not exist, and the nowness streams quickly eternal.

* * * *

The eternal life is a state of beingness, not becomingness.

419

Awareness is the one and only real You prior to consciousness.

Consciousness is nothing more than imagination,

In the playground of the mind.

* * * *

Every streaming moment the quantum matrix,

Vibrates itself indivisibly, immortally anew,

Within and without the one and only You.

* * * *

You can be as small-minded as everyone else,

When You forget You are awareness, not the body.

Samsara is an enduring 24/7/365-all-your-life antagonist.

420

Those who long for mortal immortality live in dread of the shadow of death.

Though many are called, few ever die to time, few live eternally free.

What is called death is merely returning to the quantum womb;

Oblivion’s potential to arise into whatever adventure calls.

* * * *

We are all dust in the wind in some who-knows-when tomorrow.

Worms’ meat in some moment, some modern time or another.

It is really just a matter of who is going to bury or burn who,

Assuming, of course, there is even a pound of flesh to find.

* * * *

To believe awareness,

Is attached to any concept or form,

Is but vain arrogance born of human limitation.

* * * *

The manifest dream is a grand feast,

And at its source is that which is absolute.

And when you are stuffed to the point of bursting,

Self-discovery is the final desert, the nightcap, so to speak.

421

I have given you conscious reality.

Through this mind, you exist.

Had we never met, or had I never heard of you,

You would not be, but through the wide-ranging intuition of all things possible.

Outside this awareness, this consciousness,

You do not exist.

You have given me conscious reality.

Through your mind, I exist.

Had we never met, or had you never heard of me,

I would not be, but through the wide-ranging intuition of all things possible.

Outside your awareness, your consciousness,

I do not exist.

What is the world but a brief ephemeral dream for all.

422

Included in the relatively few quotes attributed to or about Jesus in Christian mythology,

And largely misinterpreted by those many inclined to idolatry and dogma:

Know thy Self; Love thy Self; Physician, heal thy Self;

You shall love your neighbor as your Self;

To thine own Self be true;

Husbands, love your wives as your Selves;

Have this mind in your Selves, which was also in Christ Jesus.

* * * *

Eden is still very much present, very much here now.
It is you who must clearly divine its eternal presence.

* * * *

What vanity to call your Self by any name.

“I Am” is even an assumption of dubious consequence.

Only in complete stillness are you unstained, indivisible, absolute.

423

Faith, hope, love, are but ephemeral concepts born of the monkey-mind,

Bothers born of the wiring of an evolutionary track.

Nothing more, nothing less.

424

What makes you think you deserve heaven if you cannot endure its serenity here now?

* * * *
Why not live in bliss, in perpetual happiness, in an ever-present orgasm of awareness?

* * * *

What upshot any concept, but a distraction from the “what isness” of any given moment.

425

The real You has ever been born, the real You has never been born,

In as many forms, in as many places, in as many times,

As there are zeroes to follow any number,

And yet your eternal nature,

Ever remains indivisibly immaculate.

* * * *

All are born anew each and every eternal moment,

But it is the realization of the reality within,

And the total dissolution of the mind’s fabrication,

That is, for every earnest enquirer, the greatest challenge.

426

To discern the intrinsic serenity of the unfolding moment,

You must detach from all the pleasures and pains,

Of mind and body in the sensory plane.

* * * *

Suspend knowing, forget everything.

Be the awareness, absolutely free.

* * * *

So nothing as to be everything.

So everything as to be nothing.

* * * *

Before genesis, you are.

After genesis, you are.

In genesis, you are.

* * * *

From awareness springs life eternal.

427

The awareness is equally within every particle of creation.

Omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent.

You are it; it is You.

* * * *

All have equal access to the source of this mystery.

Rest assured it is quite indifferent to all creation.

* * * *

It is a god-eat-god cosmos.

Everything in one pattern or another,

Because that is how this mystery matrix works,

For as far, for as wide, for as deep, for as long,

As the quantum sandbox of eternity plays out.

* * * *

Discerning truth is an experiential actuality.

It has nothing to do with the endless assertions of blind faith.

It is simply being attuned to the timeless awareness in the right here, right now.

428

Despite all assertions that there is or is not a god,

No one really knows who-what-where-when-why-how,

Which leaves agnostic the only honest perspective.

* * * *

Whether you call it cause and effect,

Karma, fate, kismet, chance, luck, accident,

Consequence, providence, fortune, upshot, lot, result,

Destiny, ordained, designed, predetermined,

All play out in the ever-present now.

* * * *

This eternal moment is all are, all you have.

Whether or not it is where you might wish to be,

How could you be anywhere or anyone else?

* * * *

New day, same old story.

Without fresh eyes, who can discern,

The newness under every moment’s starry sky?

Without fresh eyes, what are there but regurgitating puppets,

Dancing to the whims of the strings of history.

* * * *

If yesterday and tomorrow were real,

Why cannot you see and hear and touch and taste and feel them?

Even this moment is forever done and undone.

429

The natural laws govern all creatures, all things, from small to great.

Gibberish is not what makes the universe spin round and round.

There is not some deity tracking demerits on a naughty list.

Heaven, hell, is the world you every moment imagine.

You are ultimately on your own, completely alone.

Even your mother cannot shield you for long,

From the long and winding road ahead,

On which the many agonies and ecstasies,

Will reveal the lessons to which you subscribe.

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

* * * *

All the sensations, all the passions,

All the concoctions of mind and body,

None are the essential, real You,

The sovereign, immaculate,

Absolute witness,

The heart of awareness,

The oneness prior to all dreams.

* * * *

If you were to suddenly perish,

What others, what thoughts, what problems,

What things, what wealth, what karma,

Would you carry into the abyss?

Be free, die now, to all of it.

430

Alas for the sciences that they shall never discern,

The very first moment consciousness,

Separated from Eden.

* * * *

The course humankind has taken is not all that inspiring anymore.

The petri dish is getting too trashed, too crowded,

Too predictable, too absurd.

It is all vanity and greed,

And there is really no way out,

But for the rarest, most astutely discerning,

Who can, in the face of any temporal sensory temptation,

Maintain a steadfast immortal presence in the eternal “so it goes” of it all.

431

It may all be written in the sands of time,

But it is you who must live it out, one moment at a time.

Free will, such as it is, looking forward,

Fate looking back.

* * * *

Life is but a few breaths,

And back to sleep, back to sleep,

In the eternal manger prior to dreamtime.

432

How long, how short,

How broad, how deep,

How narrow, how steep,

How, how, how,

How it all is,

Is, indeed, a mystery.

* * * *

There is no personal deity,

So much as there is a personal you,

That is a mystery called god by many names.

* * * *

That which never sleeps,

Is within and without all small to great.

A boundless abyss of serenity; a mystery beyond compare.

* * * *

The cosmos is an eggshell; the mind a beak.

Eternal salvation is the sovereignty of every given moment.

It is the ineffable timelessness of awareness, that the perpetual now ever offers.

433

Likely these thoughts and others of a similar ilk will not appeal,

If you lack a certain yearning for the end of absurdity,

And the bliss of oblivion beyond the pale.

* * * *

Once some deity is postulated real and true,

Eventually that deity must wonder how it came to be,

To which the only indivisible answer is You,

And You do not know squat, either.

* * * *

You have invested so much in so many things,

And now you must somehow let it all go,

To discern that which You truly are.

434

Earnest science is the most enlightening way,

Of examining this immense mystery;

Call it whatever you will.

* * * *

Nothing is sacred.

Nothing is not sacred.

* * * *

Consciousness is a means,

To playing out the dream of time.

You are the awareness, not consciousness.

* * * *

To wander the eternal life,

You must be both in and out of life,

In each and every breath, each and every step.

435

All these sounds are but interchangeable concepts describing the same unfathomable reality:

God, Brahman, Buddha, Jesus, Allah, Soul, matrix, unicity, oneness, stillness,

Indivisible, sovereign, absolute, awareness, consciousness, bliss,

Serenity, divinity, nothingness, totality, ether, dream,

Universe, quantum … mystery …

* * * *

Whatever gave you any sign, any indication, any hint, any suggestion,

That the quantum mystery has ever cared about the personal you,

Except the vanity of the meme into which You were launched.

* * * *

This world is your home.

You were born here,

You will live and die here.

There is no other viable alternative.

If you do not cherish her, if do not nurture her,

She will tit for tat you, she will quid pro quo you, in spades.

436

This existence is your opportunity to awaken.

Play out your attachments knowing they are but dross,

In the true reality of the stillness before time.

* * * *

Consciousness can never keep up with the awareness,

That creates and destroys time each and every moment.

All it can do is relinquish all control to the eternal witness.

* * * *

Wrestling with the future of humankind,

And all the myriad fellow creature small to great,

Is an eternal chess game, a Sisyphean task, indeed, indeed.

437

It is the same stillness, the same nothingness,

The same nownesss, the same perpetuity,

As it has ever been, and will ever be.

In each and every breath, a tidbit of eternity.

438

There is nothing in this world, or any other, that must, or can be, continued.

The eternal moment is, with or without a manifest dream.

So, Pilgrim, where are you in all this?

* * * *

What is wealth, what is not wealth?

Has a nugget of gold really any more value,

Than the ocean-born mystery of a tiny grain of sand?

439

Eternity is far larger, far smaller, than any metaphor can ever travel.

* * * *

The effortless mind is an abyss unto its Self.

440

To discern religion of the divine kind,

You must set aside dread of the unknown.

You must summon the courage to stand alone.

* * * *

Every life form across all creation abiding in a niche of its own,

Struggling to survive in whatever way the programming of the genetic lottery allows,

Against the endless waves of annihilation cast upon its mortal frame.

441

It is the same awareness in all,

Dreaming eternally in one simultaneous here now,

Witness to all genesis, in every way, in one synchronized, indivisible instant.

I, Quantum … You, Quantum … He, Quantum … She, Quantum … Us, Quantum … All, Quantum.

* * * *

Have we not seen enough cults to know that every group creates its own mythology,

To sustain its groupthink vision, its groupthink vanity, its groupthink raison d'être.

No need to believe, no need to follow, no need to subscribe to any limited notion.

* * * *

To be unconcerned about the endless concoctions of space and time,

While the clock tick-tick-ticks away in the timelessness,

Is, indeed, the challenge for any who see.

* * * *

So many facets, so many reflections,

What is a quantum mind, a god mind to do,

But be as detached as the awareness ever allows.

* * * *

Anyone can discern that which is eternal,

If they are able to inwardly liberate everything.

The eye of a needle is only as small as the eye is blind.

442

You are but one,

Of the myriad eyes of mystery,

Yet another matchless witness to the infinity of dreams,

The mystery ever inspires in imagination.

443

The future transforms into the past in the ever-present now.

* * * *

You are awareness, consciousness the spark.

* * * *

Find the courage to be strong in the winds of your brief moment in time.

* * * *

It may matter far less what You are doing, than the awareness You are, as you are doing it.

444

Another place, another time, another sunny day, another stormy night,

Another conversation, another meal, another cup of coffee, another shot of whiskey,

Another book, another movie, another television show, another play, another song, another photo,

Another workday, another vacation, another holiday, another anthropological event,

Another journey to the privy, another shower, another preening moment,

Another war, another accident, another birth, another death,

Another creative moment, another amusement,

Another … another … another …

Another so it goes.

* * * *

All who have touched your existence, your body, your mind,
Have played but ephemeral parts in the dream you dream.

* * * *

For those who ponder the mystery in majestic metaphor,

In the revelation of that they deem to be God,

Awareness is King and Kingdom.

446

It was knowledge that cloaked the vision of Eden.

It is awareness that renders it apparent again.

447

Awareness is witness peering out, and consciousness, quantum larking about.

448

Do not believe even for a moment,

That anything you have ever spoken or written,

Will significantly modify or change the human paradigm.

Toying with history is an amusing diversion;

Far more than likely futile fare.

449

The river does not cling to the boulder, nor the boulder to the river.

Everything, every moment. the same smoky quantum streaming.

* * * *

Just because it is a beyond-the-pale mystery,

Does not mean it was fabricated by a deity,

Who in some minds resembles Santa Claus.

450

Existence is often painful, churning in every sort of struggle and conflict.

And each in his/her own way, daily endures the agony and ecstasy, into which they are cast,

Until that last exhaling breath finally exchanges the myriad pleasures and pains,

For the serenity of the oblivion to which all inexorably succumb.

* * * *

What is any given childhood but an empty mind, an innocent mind, a tabula rasa mind;

Not yet filled with a lifetime of perceptions, of desires, of fears, of dreads,

That future agonies and ecstasies, will over time imagine real.

Forget everything; be reborn into the timelessness.

Into what you were before all beginnings.

* * * *

Are you moving through now? Is now moving through you?

Or are you simply now, eternally aware, infinitely absolute?

* * * *

Pass on what you can, to as many as you can, as often as you can.

You never know who will have the ears that hear and eyes that see.

Nor what will flower in the challenging dreamtime now unfolding.

451

On a small spinning pale blue dot, in an outback of a brief manifestation,

Vanity arose in a noisy flurry, for barely a whisper of the space-time it imagined real,

Before relatively quickly dissolving back into the indivisibility of its fundamental quantum nature.

Such is the outcome of all imaginary forays inspired by the theater of consciousness,

In the likely very rare moments that it manages to evolve into being.

* * * *

Truth does not require anything of any of its incalculable creations.

It is prior to any given who-what-when-where-why-how.

It is anonymous in its indivisible singularity.

* * * *

At the heart of awareness,

All the naming means diddly-squat.

What is, is, no matter the sound it is granted.

452

What is consciousness but a dreamy cloud of imagination;

Of dualistic notions inspired by the sensory creation.

One may clearly distinguish reality though it,

But the dream in itself is not the truth.

453

The shift from consciousness, from imagination, to awareness,

Is like a submarine moving from the churning surface,

To the stillness of the tranquil depths below.

* * * *

From the mystery, quantum formed.

With its isness, quantum spun manifestation.

Without this quantum patterning, no thing would be,

Yet its untouchable original nature, will be forever unknown.

454

Is history that does not eventually point you to your ultimate Self, history worth knowing?

* * * *

Stop pretending you know anything.

* * * *

The awareness in one, is the awareness in all.

* * * *

It is a god-eat-god world, a god-eat-god universe, a god-eat-god mystery.

* * * *

… eternity … birth … an imagined existence … death … eternity …

455

The real You is indivisible, unchanging, sovereign, absolute.

Repeat after me: I am the Way, I am the Truth, I am the Life.

* * * *

Still the mind, breathe in, breath out, in awareness, You are.

The seeker is that which is sought, it is that simple, that clear.

* * * *

What do all these thoughts, all this knowledge, all this trivia,

Mean, really, to a mind that has been stilled into eternal grace.

* * * *

Regarding any religious assumption, any spiritual speculation,

You really only know what someone else did not know, either.

456

True meditation is not at all forced,

And no tradition, no scripture, no posture, no symbol,

No dogma, no mantra, no status, no garb, no diet, no gender, no vernacular,

No attribute contrived by the monkey-mind is in any way required to abet its momentary process.

Pure awareness is the source, the baseline, the witness, of all quantum creation.

* * * *

However immense and majestic the vision these words may attempt to convey,

Its reality is so much greater than even the greatest imagination,

Will ever be able to even vaguely imagine.

* * * *

Perception is but a very infinitesimal, very biased sampling,

Of the quantum vibrating within all patternings,

Whose mystery is ever-present.

* * * *

You are born now, you live now, you die now.

Time is just a temporary state of imagination.

457

Awareness is the quiet hum of the boundless awakeness.

* * * *

You are as alive as you have ever been, or will ever be, in this very much right-here-right-now.

458

What is existence but every moment fathoming, navigating, negotiating,

A quantum dreamtime that will never even once stop,

Until death do you merge.

* * * *

How can anyone ever even begin to settle,

For any infinitesimal egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric-solarcentric vision,

Of this beyond-all-pales enigma of a mystery?

* * * *

Across the universe, throughout eternity,

There are an inestimable number of perceptions,

Within each and every imaginary moment,

From each and every imaginary angle.

So boggling as to make any mind,

Singularly serene in wonder.

* * * *

The quantum either of genesis is still evolving,

And we are all equal players in the dreaming of it.

Intelligent design, free and clear of idolatry or dogma.

459

One moment so quickly gone, another hour an hour too long.

Every one passing exactly the same, no matter the weather of any given mind.

Every one witnessed by the same omnipresent, indelible awareness,

That permeates equally all things from small to great.

* * * *

How quickly every moment passes the same.

Sometimes as terribly, swiftly ruthless as an enraged sword.

Others, as softly untroubled as a butterfly’s wing.

Yet ever the same, ever the same.

460

None can hold onto the good any longer, nor get through the bad any more quickly.

All must be enjoyed or endured as consciousness sanctions.

And the awareness ever untouched.

* * * *

It is not original sin, it is original separation,

And it happens every instant one forsakes the eternal moment,

Every time one embraces the pretense of knowing,

Imagined by the mind bound in time.

* * * *

Any definitions of that which is mystery,

As ludicrous as all descriptions ultimately are,

Should always be as nebulous as imagination allows.

461

There are no doubt, many, many extraordinary,

Inexplicable moments in any existence.

Porcelain thrones are like that.

* * * *

Quantum light.

Quantum sound.

Quantum vibration.

Quantum consciousness.

Quantum awareness.

Quantum mystery.

Quantum home.

I, Quantum.

* * * *

Do you cling mindlessly to your passions?

Your desires, you fears, your angers, your likes and dislikes?

Let go in the awareness of mind; be free in the day-to-day, as the moment allows.

462

The anxiety over death is within those who live in a mind with every sort of dread.

If you are existing fully, if you are born and dying every moment,

Then what fear of the inevitable end finds harbor?

Eternal life is the inexorable grace,

Of those who discern their immortal nature.

* * * *

So absorbed by the space-time continuum of your little dream,

That only during rare moments in the given here and there,

Will you detach from the mind, a bag of neuron goo,

Seemingly filled with every imaginable inanity,

Born of the ceaselessness of consciousness.

* * * *

One must forget absolutely everything to discern that,

Which only the utter stillness of presence can know.

* * * *

Suspend the thought process,

The movement of the sensory mind-body,

Rest easy in the essential state, attentive to the ground,

To the eternal, in which the many boundaries between within and without,

Dissolve into the immeasurable prior to consciousness.

* * * *

To have gotten this far in life, to have reached this very here-now moment in time,

Is pretty friggin’ amazing, considering what it took to tolerate the agony-ecstasy of it all;

That you somehow managed to dodge, managed to survive, those many, many, very close calls.

463

Consciousness is movement; awareness just is.

464

Every one’s account of awakeness cannot help but be different,

As are all things that emerge from the ground of consciousness,

Conditioning being such a strong mainstay of its erratic nature.

* * * *

The mystery of this vast creation is a beyond-the-pale enigma.

The Greatest Story is at best to be surmised, never told.

All notions are but speculations of imagination.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothings but.

* * * *

The newborn is but simple awareness.

The identity that will gradually in imagination bloom,

Will be the mind-body’s nature-nurture adaptation to the sensory theater.

The means to survive, to endure physically and psychologically,

The dreamtime into which it has been by mystery cast.

* * * *

What need for belief, for hope, for faith, for love, for philosophy, for fealty, for dogma,

For any attributes born of the other, which are but ever-moving shadows within the ultimate.

What is, is, and it is an immeasurable, indelible awareness, prior to any and all quantum theaters.

465

What is knowledge but busy-busy distraction,

From the what is of the unfolding moment.

* * * *

Imagination sallies forth,

Always behind, no matter the moment.

The collusion putters on of its own synergistic whimsy.

* * * *

The manifest space-time continuum is not linear.

It is a boundless, indivisible, multidimensional, quantum matrix,

Eternally singular, inexplicable, but for imagination’s dynamic, time-bound dream.

466

So many spending their existence trying to be good, trying to stay out of trouble,

Based on the contrived belief in an extremely jealous, vengeful deity,

That will see that they are eternally judged and punished,

If they fall short of the dogmatic mark.

* * * *

Much easier to worship idols,

Much easier to follow someone else’s law,

Than it is to perceive the timeless within for your Self.

Many are called; few are inclined.

So it goes.

467

Despite the muddle humanity has in every way imaginable made of it,

How can it possibly be that all creation is not fashioned of the same source?

All the creeds ever devised across all eternity cannot negate this one indelible truth:

That the quantum in one is the quantum in all, and the quantum in all is the quantum in one.

No one possesses the ultimate indivisibility any more than anyone or anything else,

Regardless of the incalculable machinations of the undiscerning multitudes,

Given over to every imaginable paradigm under any given sun.

Do not be drawn into delusion by the fog of words.

Monkey-see-monkey-do is not bona fide.

* * * *

That which is prior to consciousness is awareness.

Awareness is timeless; consciousness, time.

Awareness is still; consciousness, movement.

Awareness is reality; consciousness, imagination.

It is what it is; nothing less, nothing more, nothing but.

* * * *

All you are, all anyone or anything else is,

Is the timeless awareness playing out a pattern,

A blueprint, a design, an archetype, a genetic construct.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *

Is this whole dream, is all of eternity,

Just an interminable recording going on and on?

The unknowable, merely playing it all out to pass the time.

A cavernous awareness simultaneously inhaling,

Through every eye, every single moment.

468

Just you, totally alone, absolute, indivisible,

The senses streaming a world, a universe,

To which no time or space is attached,

The eternal life of the quantum soul.

469

Why would anyone be unable to see this mystery as anything but a spontaneous creation?

Why would anyone embrace any make-believe dogma, when none are essential?

Why would anyone adhere to a deity limited by any vain confabulation?

Why would anyone debate the fact that they are whatever it is?

Why would anyone ever feel the need to be anything,

But very much present, very much right here, right now.

* * * *

What greater serenity can there be,

Than to be alone with one’s thoughts,

Steeped in the timelessness of awareness.

* * * *

Envision a mystery, so immensely now,

As to include You in its field of awareness.

You as one of its countless eternal witnesses.

Indivisibly one, in every way creation sanctions.

* * * *

Bother that it is for those who must endure the mortal aspect,

The quantum essence cannot know its Self but through creation of the other,

In as many ways as possible as often as possible, to better reflect upon all things imaginable.

470

You must have a deep and earnest yearning for oblivion to discern it for long,

Elsewise, the inattentive mind rockets off in one direction or another,

And there you are, back in the same old, tired, hurried flux.

* * * *

Are you the identity to which you so resolutely cling,

Or the ephemeral awareness that perceives it all,

Prior to consciousness, prior to imagination?

471

Sometimes you give your attention to consciousness.

Sometimes you give your attention to awareness.

And in the end, it does not really matter at all.

There is no meter, there is no final judgment.

It is a three-dimensional quantum dream,

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

Rest assured, it shall carry on without you.

* * * *

We are all patterns seeking some sort of respite, some sort of reprieve,

From whatever purgatory the sensory-mind every twinkling, imagines real.

The promises of god, of heaven, of eternal bliss, however hollow, are an easy sell.

472

Total freedom is the end of the countless assumptions,

Born of the busy-busy, incessantly chattering mind,

The dancer dancing in the nowness of awareness.

* * * *

When you are completely, totally, alone,

You need not believe or pretend anything.

You can be free to be absolutely nothing.

* * * *

Every life form is of a seed line,

An eternal thread of life sowing new life,

All evolving from life’s origin, however it began,

To which speculation and conjecture proffer every answer.

That the unknown is forever unknowable does not seem to register.

* * * *

What irony that in the face of an incredibly astonishing mystery,

Humankind has lost itself in an absurd collusion of every possible vanity.

An entirely imaginary invention, this myopic notion of a separate, individual persona.

A duality sparked in consciousness, when it began its evolutionary spin in the jungles of long ago.

473

There are no followers in the journey toward wisdom and beyond.

One may peruse the many thoughts of those who have come and gone before,

But the expedition into the great unknown, is, as it has ever been, an unqualified solo act.

* * * *

When has the awareness ever seen more than an ever-changing reflection,

Of any eyes through which it is has peered out upon its given universe?

* * * *

What is the universe, but very tiny, very brief sparkles,

In the grand infinity of the inexplicable eye of awareness.

474

And why should not every day be rife with contemplation of the unknown?

Why should not every day, even in the tempest of great activity, be a day of rest?

What is it so many are striving to be, to prove, in this most astounding dream of time?

* * * *

From the neurology of the primal brainstem, the dawn of consciousness,

Gradually evolved into the imaginary perception of a separate self.

The inherent collusion of a species on its journey of survival.

In the nothing more, nothing less, nothing but of it all,

The challenge is to move on to the final chapter,

To discern the unconditional singularity,

The origin of all things quantum.

Whether or not that will ever happen,

Will be in some far-future-stay-tuned telling.

* * * *

The eye of mystery is within all,

But it is the rare who seek and discern it,

And the rarer still, who become it.

* * * *

Ultimately, the task is to move beyond flag-waving for some mind-made outcome,

And discern that you are really a resident, a citizen, of the cosmos, across all eternity.

475

The quantum clayness plays out any given genetic function,

Without judgment, without qualification, without rhyme or reason.

Consciousness is witness to the innumerable differences,

Awareness, to the indivisibility of the all.

476

Why maintain any sense of fabricated self, any sense of imaginary identity, at all?

To pretend you are other than the awareness of the eternal moment,

That which is real, that which is true, that which is all,

Why would you want to do such a thing?

* * * *

Krishna, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Zoroaster, Moses, Jesus,

Socrates, Aristotle, Muhammad, Confucius,

And on and on and yawn and yawn.

All clichés, all stereotypes,

All two-dimensional souvenirs,

Afflictions of time upon the timeless.

* * * *

Here you are: eating, drinking, sitting, walking, running;

Living out each and every day, sleeping through each and every night.

Here you are, witnessing the sensory dream playing out every moment in your mind.

Here you are, seeking meaning and purpose, in a vista that offers none,

But through imaginary intercourse with perception.

477

Insight into the unknown has never been a group thing, and never will be.

Groupthink only muddles the truth of it into one absurdity or another.

* * * *

True religion, true belief, true faith, true conviction,

Is surrender to the beingness, the aloneness of the eternal moment.

There is no deity, no creed, no dogma, no groupthink.

It is for you, and you alone, to discover.

So simple, as to be discerned, in each and every breath.

* * * *

And to those who abide in the biblical framework,

What is the length of a day, what is the length of a night?

What is anything having to do with space-time,

To those harboring the eternal eye?

* * * *

Why would anyone ever be in denial about the good news,

That they are the quantum creator experiencing its creation?

* * * *

Challenging, perhaps all but impossible,

Not to discern the sensory present through the countless filters,

The mind-body’s tree rings from a lifetime of abiding the dreamtime of the given universe.

Only the newborn perceives it for the kaleidoscoping unknown that it ever is,

And none for long as the mind steadily puts order to the chaos

Into which it has from oblivion been cast.

478

The ultimate truth, by whatever metaphors are used to describe it, is unquestionable,

Undoubtable, indisputable, unarguable, undebatable, incontestable, undeniable, irrefutable,

Incontrovertible, unmistakable, unequivocal, certain, sure, positive, definite, absolute, conclusive,

Watertight, ironclad; beyond doubt, beyond the shadow of a doubt, beyond dispute,

Beyond question, not in question, not in doubt, sure as shootin'.

* * * *

Believe it or not, like it or not,

Existence requires a certain discipline.

A knowing when to say yes, and when to mean no.

An opaque awareness that every streaming moment flowers anew,

To new decisions in the ever-changing coursing of time,

And that balance is required to meet it rightly.

* * * *

Pardon me for inquiring, but why do some humans …

Seem to loathe nature and her many creations?

Become so determined to control others?

Go to such extremes to feel happy?

Believe gold so important?

Seem to delight in hurting others?

Partake in so many preposterous notions?

Corrupt the world with so many unproven creations?

Despise so many others simply because they abide by different values?

Become so vain about their bodies that they cloak them with every imaginable costume?

Focus on so many differences when there is so much more in common?

Acquire so much more than they could ever need or use?

Bear children in whom they have little interest?

Create a world so indigent and forlorn?

Learn so little from history,

And are so blind to its reckoning?

* * * *

What is the Buddha mind, the eternal mind,

But the mind that thinks without thinking, sees without seeing,

Hears without hearing, smells without smelling, tastes without tasting, feels without feeling.

The sensory theater is but an ephemeral, ever-kaleidoscoping dream.

A quantum play, nothing more, nothing less.

479

What would it have been like to only know a tiny slice of this garden world?

To have lived among a small group in forest, a valley, a prairie, a mountain, an island, a desert.

Communicating orally using a unique language spawned by the given geography.

Scratching out an arduous existence with nascent tools and weapons.

Wearing simple attire, living in caves or modest shelters.

Hunting, fishing, gathering, harvesting.

Consuming whatever the niche about you offered.

Gazing up at the boundless unknown in wonder, perhaps in dread.

Weaving stories, establishing traditions, rituals, customs; creating myths, legends, gods.

The prehistoric etchings of what we vainly call the modern, civilized world,

All in the same eternal moment it has always been, will ever be.

* * * *

We spend so much of our existence spouting over and over and over:

I am this … I am that … I am not this … I am not that … I am … I am … I am …

When in truth it has all along been the indivisible quantum nothingness,

Playing a timeless game of hide-and-seek with its Self.

* * * *

We are all that which is of the same origin, the same creation.

But relatively few at any given time seem to be conscious of it.

And even if we all were, would the world be all that different?

* * * *

There are no experts, there is no mastery,

Once you realize we are all just beginners here,

Prisoners of our own device, programmed to receive,

Some with minds jam-packed with more insights than others.

All are ultimately of the same essence, just filled with different notions.

You can check-out any time you like, but you can never leave.

480

No set of writings, no persona, no group,

Should ever be accepted thoughtlessly as some authority.

Everything should be approached vigilantly, rationally, with a critical eye.

You are captain of the given mind-body to which You are witness.

Take command of your helm, navigate your own course.

History has its station, but You are here now.

* * * *

The mystery, the unknowable you truly are, is utterly anonymous.

Identity is but the temporal fabrication of consciousness,

Of imagination, and its secular attachment to form.

The source, the awareness, is prior to time, prior to mind,

And the rare who fully discern it, abide in the unassuming solitude,

The sovereign, unconditional, indivisible, immortal aloneness of eternal life.

481

What is news but gossip with varying levels of exhortation to give it an aura of great importance.

Why we give attention to unfolding events across the world, or even across town,

Is the mystery of the monkey-mind and its evolutionary roots.

* * * * *

All knowledge, all assumptions, all speculations,

Are they really anything more than time-bound distractions,

From the eternal seamlessness of the nothingness,

That can never be more than imagined.

* * * *

How is the human species really any different,

Than lemmings irreversibly rushing towards oblivion?

What is this dream, but patterns within patterns within patterns?

482

Change up the sensory field:

Look with your ears, listen with your fingers,

Feel with your nose, smell with your tongue, taste with your eyes.

In a quantum mystery already well beyond the pale,

What is there that is not conceivable?

* * * *

Best take reasonable care of the body.

It is the portal through which the dream is experienced,

Through which You witness whatever slice of mystery You have been allotted.

Life offers too many challenges to not be able to face it squarely,

With as much health and well-being, as possible.

* * * *

Might be better to call ‘The Truth’ by some other sound

– The Way, The Mystery, The Indivisible, The Great Zambini, or some such vibration –

So as to avoid making the error of believing it is any kind of thing,

Rather than the ungraspable enigma that it is.

483

Every life form ever born manifests unique facets of awareness;

Of intelligence, intuition, practicality, acumen, judgment, knowledge, wisdom.

All of which enable it to survive, to abide, to perhaps even thrive,

In its wee little niche, in the given patch of jungle.

* * * *

Even if you were some sort of super being,

Able to burst across the universe in a single bound,

It would still be in this very eternal, very singular moment.

It would still be yet another inexplicable twist of the indelible origin.

484

Consciousness is the movement within a bubble of manifest awareness,

Whose brief mortal dreamtime allows the grand quantum mystery,

To witness its Self in whatever way the genetic lottery spins.

* * * *

Any given life so full of memories,

And all of them, even those just moments ago,

Seem such distant things in the mindscape of perception.

485

We are all wandering the quantum matrix.

Sometimes running, sometimes walking, sometimes standing,

Sometimes swimming, sometimes flying, sometimes waking, sometimes sleeping.

But of the same infinitely inexplicable mystery, all the while.

* * * *

No matter how you will it so, you are of the quantum genesis,

And can never, in more than in the filament of imagination, part.

* * * *

You seek nirvana, bliss, grace, samadhi, call it whatever you will.

Well, just still the thoughts, detach from the world, and breathe.

Yet another perception in the ephemeral pool of indelible awareness.

Available whenever the given mind can, to such indivisibility, be managed.

* * * *

You really – despite a mind chock-full of so-called religious knowledge,

To which you cleave with such self-absorbed tenacity – do not know anything of the great unknown.

All you are doing is regurgitating the countless absurdities of universes forever undone,

Instead of fully living in the given right-here-right-now, free of all claims.

486

Those who know of you, shall remember both the good and bad about you,

But gradually, they will cease thinking about you, except in rarer and rarer moments,

Until all traces of you wash away, and you are forgotten completely,

As all things finite eventually are, and must ever be.

Vanity is but the wind of mind.

* * * *

The frame of reference, that bag of knowledge, that stew of perception,

Is but a phantasm of consciousness, a.k.a., imagination.

What you really are is prior to it all.

Discern it, and be as free as the moment allows.

* * * *

Who knows who, who knows what, who knows where,

Who knows when, who knows why, who knows how,

But the sensory consciousness you imagine you are.

* * * *

Do not confuse what you think or what you do,

With the prior-to-consciousness awareness you are.

487

What is birth but the beginning of a story, and death its end.

It is in the manifestation, the consciousness, that all creation unfolds.

For the newborn, not a care in the world – chaste awareness,

Witnessing the senses buzz away, slowly sculpting,

The chronicle, the legend, the fate ahead.

* * * *

When you are done with it all,

When you have consumed in every way, more than enough,

Then it is time to do absolutely nothing,

As often as possible.

* * * *

What are the sensory organs – eyes, ears, tongue, nose, flesh – of any mortal vessel,

But readers of the ever-streaming colors, flavors, tastes, smells, and textures.

What is any universe, but awareness witnessing the creative handiwork,

Of the mind’s rendering of the data, the nervous system weaves?

489

How attentive are you the garden world about you?

The birth, the death, and all the exquisite dancing between.

And all the befores, all the durings, all the afters,

Ever the same inexplicable mystery.

* * * *

Look prior and beyond all religion,

And recognize for your Self the one and only Truth,

That you are That I Am; the source, the ground, the essence, its Self.

You are eternal, singular, sovereign, absolute.

There is no other.

* * * *

What agony, what ecstasy, it is to exist; every possible delight, every possible torment.

Each and every life form – across all space, across all time – experiencing a unique rendering.

And the awareness, prior to the quantum play, witnessing it all – right here, right now – in every way.

490

If you were that which is mystery, and wanted to experience each and every one-of-a-kind creation,

How else to do it but by casting your Self center stage in each and every role?

It is, indeed, a god-eat-god, beyond-all-pales mystery.

And you are the mystery, in just one of its incalculable forms.

* * * *

Timelines within timelines within timelines,

An indivisible quantum sea playing out a space-time relativity.

Everything written in the sands of ever-timeless time,

For you to discern as mind and heart allow,

In this very mortal walkabout.

491

All the so-called scriptures were written by seers and sages,

Really no different than anyone who has pondered existence before or since.

We are all cousins of the same puddle, responding to the life and times into which we are cast.

The geography, culture, language, technology, and on and on, are inevitably different,

But guaranteed, beyond all doubt, we are all very much the same monkey-mind,

And prior to that, very much the same quantum stardust of all creation.

It is but a veiled, temporal play, in which the myriad players,

Are, in the ultimate eternal reality, one in the same.

* * * *

Discerning eternal life takes a little more insight than mere belief teamed up with hope.

It is always right here, right now, but you must have the astuteness, the wit,

To realize, to perceive, that time is but a notion of consciousness,

Masking the eternal here-now, the majestic theater,

Within which all manifestation dances.

* * * *

Eternal life is the instinctual default for all life forms,

And though many creatures may exist with some sort of sense of time,

Humankind is so immersed in it, as to need religion and every other form of distraction,

To offset the pain and suffering that a mind, chock-full of memories, inspires.

492

Have you really, ever thought, said, or done anything all that different,

Than anything thought, said, or done countless dreamtimes before and since?

Perhaps, but likely ever so rarely, and really, naught but minor tweaks,

In the eternally evolving patterning spun of quantum stardust,

In the puddles and jungles of the unfolding long ago.

* * * *

What is the smallest small, what is the largest large,

And what are you if not the awareness, the nothingness,

The indivisibility, that weaves within and without all.

* * * *

Human existence, as it is known,

Is about the accumulation of imaginary conceptions.

To release the mind that attains, is to relinquish all, to the eternal nowness,

The timelessness that is as near to the one and only ultimate reality,

As awareness, through mindfulness, is capable of realizing.

Only in a very serene mind, only in that awareness,

Can the mystery you truly are, be realized.

* * * *

You may believe all this the intentional working of some supreme-on-high deity,

But even if that is true, it must certainly be subject to the same force underwriting all.

Subject to the same evolutionary process, the same pool in which all attributes ebb and flow.

493

And in that oblivion, that obscurity, that emptiness, that gap, that space,

That abyss, that vacuum, that void, that nothingness,

That nada of awareness, You are.

* * * *

Unhook the engine, let loose all the baggage cars.

Be that sharp-cutting-edge, up-front-and-center awareness,

That which was never born, that which never dies,

That which You truly are and are not.

* * * *

Be the world, the cosmos, everything You imagine it might contain.

Do not be held back by the innumerable limits of your given conditioning.

Stand alone, absolute, indivisible, inscrutable, the zenith of your panoramic view.

494

Of all the knowledge gleaned since the fruit of the garden was figuratively picked,

Your little set is but a speck of a bit of a tad of a drop of a crumb,

Of a trace of a fragment of a morsel of a smidgen,

And yet all of the all, all the while.

* * * *

We all have an individual worldview, a unique universe of our own making.

All are equally authentic in their own indelible, imaginary way.

And yet, all are created equally of the same origin,

The same inexplicable mystery.

There is no way it can ever be truly changed.

It may gradually evolve into something somewhat dissimilar,

But its roots will always harbor the conditioning of its nature-nurture beginnings.

* * * *

You see and hear and taste and smell and feel,

Through the mind-body filter, to which you are so attached.

The memes of dreamtime have molded you into a pattern you think you.

Only by discerning the indivisible awareness prior to the nature-nurture programming,

Can the essential, intrinsic freedom, of that which is timeless, that which is eternal life, be truly won.

495

The human paradigm, perhaps the paradigm of all manifest, conscious existence, created of awareness,

Is about consumption of the given sensory feed: sights, sounds, tastes, smells, textures.

Experiences of every imaginary scope, filling every conceivable moment.

Meditation is a state of beingness, less about consuming,

Than it is riding the kaleidoscoping wave,

Impassively witnessing the inexplicably timeless mystery,

That which has neither beginning nor end, cause nor purpose, rhyme nor reason.

* * * *

Every form is an energy transmutation module,

Every moment taking in and giving out,

As the indivisibility of the matrix,

Churns on and on and on.

* * * *

The nothingness of the eternal,

Cannot be taught, only learned;

And in the learning, process is all.

* * * *

To discern the awareness prior to consciousness,

You must look prior to all the perceptions, all the memories,

Prior to all the thoughts drifting willy-nilly in the smoke of imagination.

Consciousness is but an imaginary veil, behind which is ever the essence You truly are.

496

Not easy to let go of all you think you are, and are not, in this absurd little dream of space and time.

The monkey-mind will seemingly do whatever it must, to preserve its many illusions.

Absolute attention – desireless, fearless – is the key to eternal freedom.

* * * *

As limited as any given manifestation must be to dream any existence,

The ultimate You – omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent –

Is within all creation and the space between.

Why would anyone imagine it to be anything less?

* * * *

If you cannot fit it all into a simple, timeless breath,

Then it probably does not matter much, anyway.

* * * *

What need for any dogma, really?

You are your own law, and it can be an ever-changing thing,

As dynamic as any given moment.

* * * *

You very likely, are not at all concerned what happens to some seemingly insignificant life form,

In a tide pool or stream or valley or desert or mountain or ice sheet, in another corner of the world.

But, comprehend it or not, that web of life, of which absolutely everything is part, is why you exist.

497

Are you really this form, this mind-body?

Or is it merely a vehicle for consciousness to play out its dream,

And you nothing more than a passenger, a witness;

Awareness, timelessly observing it all.

* * * *

Until you left the tranquility of the womb, there was no other.

And once you moved out into the roar of the world,

Consciousness began its sculpting,

And here you are.

* * * *

To which modern time might we be referring?

All modernity has its moment in each and every mind,

And all are forever lost, the very instant they become memory.

* * * *

Even the most vile foe, is teacher to you, and you to s/he.

There is no occurrence that has not played its part,

In your reaching this moment in dreamtime.

You may not much care to offer heartfelt thanks,

But the truth of it, best be acknowledged for what it is.

499

The addictive mind is an insatiable mind, a consuming force, obsessed with every possible extreme:

Food, sex, alcohol, drugs, religion, power, fame, fortune, materialism, greed ad infinitum.

A habitual, undisciplined, pride-filled mind, driven to debilitating dependency,

By what is really nothing more than a kaleidoscoping sensory theater.

Ever running from the aloneness, the stillness, the essence,

Of the indelible mystery permeating everything.

* * * *

Here You are – awareness, consciousness, imagination – timeless, right here, right now.

And really no answers to the questions: who, what, where, when, why, how.

Agnostically faking it the best you can, the modus operandi.

* * * *

What is the body but a bag of perceptions,

Of memories, of desire, of fears, of ecstasies, of agonies,

All cavorting in eternity’s indivisible stillness, in every way imaginable.

* * * *

Nothingness is the timeless constant, within which, every imaginable variable –

Each and every one fashioned of the quantum essence and its ever-shifting nature –

Ever condenses and evaporates, like clouds in the sky, in its unborn-undying here now.

The mystery has been labeled by many names, to which, it has never even once answered.

500

Pretend you are already dead.

Die to time, literally be here now, right here, right now.

As still as the morning dew, totally alone, eternally present, not a care in the world.

All knowledge vaporized, no family, no friends, no enemies, no problems.

No attachment to the agonies and ecstasies of the sensory feed.

Unequivocal negation of any and all assumptions.

No body, no identity, no possessions.

Just attentive awareness.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *

The awareness, the spirit, the soul, the essence, the mystery;

How can it be said to belong to anybody, if not everybody and everything?

In the raging sea of metaphors, it is all very much the same.

* * * *

How ludicrous to imagine that we really know anything,

That all our speculations mean diddly-squat,

That all our ceaseless wordplay,

Is any more than another form of wind.

* * * *

The difference between any you and any me, is all in our heads, is all in our minds.

Our perceptions, our imagination, our relentless emphasis on the ever-kaleidoscoping universe,

Playing out every timeless moment, bewildering us all with its inexplicable veil.

And who has the unshakable witness behind the curtain ever been,

But the same You that is Me, the same Me that is You.

* * * *

And if it is perchance in your cards to figure out this mystery of mysteries,

How far will you glean it? What will you say? What will you do?

How will you play this, what might be called, fate of fates?

The Last Page

Those whose destiny it is, to become seers, ponder many things,

Until they gradually become aware of the foundation of consciousness itself.

And in that observant attentiveness to the awareness that never sleeps,

Their minds perceive that from whence all things come and go.

And in that awareness, merge back into the indivisibility,

Of the eternity that is, has ever been, will ever be.

* * * *

Is there any creature, any form, fashioned in this vast universe,

That does not journey to the conclusion of its paradigm?

All nature is naught but patterns within patterns.

All functions of the same choicelessness.

All programming of quantum design.

Indivisible within one and all, for all eternity.

* * * *

If the world, if the universe, was truly real,

How could it, would it, every instant be changing?

Only You do not change, only You have ever been the same,

Only you have ever been the one and only You,

Awareness, witnessing a dream.

* * * *

That quantum essence that you truly are, cannot die, for it was never born.

You are eternity, the stuff of stars, come to life in a dreaming of time.

There is no who, no what, no where, no when, no why, no how.

You are the nothing more, the nothing less, the nothing but.