Breadcrumbs 2021


Leftovers

 

Belief, faith, hope, certainty, conviction,

And other notions of a whimsical nature,

Do not long dwell in the arena of doubt.

 

* * * *

Great doubt, whether through hesitation or disbelief,

Is the motivation, the momentum, the impetus, the stimulus,

That sets canvas and rudder to whatever parts known and unknown,

Any given wanderer, any given rambler, any given gypsy, any given sailor,

From harbor to harbor, from adventure to adventure, from birth to death, may tack.

 

* * * *

Consciousness, judgment, belief, imagery, measurement, inventiveness,

Imagination, visualization, fantasy, hallucination, meditation, contemplation, revelation,

Perception, thought, reflection, deliberation, observation, conception, prescience,

Creativity, understanding, planning, problem-solving, problem-making,

Dreaming, opinion, notion, theory, philosophy, theory, design …

All very much the same time-bound movement of mind.

 

* * * *

Why would anyone even begin to believe, to imagine,

The indelible mystery could ever not be whole,

That it could ever separate in any way from its awareness.

You are the mystery, you are the awareness, witness to all and none.

 

* * * *

One of our bigger errors was thinking, believing, expecting, it would be any different.

Giving power to the masses has generally been frowned upon by the bigger club-carriers.

To in any way hope that might change in these our modern times, was naïve from the get-go.

 

* * * *

Is humankind really all that different from the panda,

Whose daily-without-fail regimen is ninety-nine percent bamboo?

How probable is it that any creature can sidestep its nature-nurture patterning,

No matter how apparently complex evolution has sculpted it.

 

* * * *

Vanity plays out the narrative to which you are so attached,

So conditioned by nature-nurture to every moment play out.

 

* * * *

Those who control the narrative, shape history’s perception,

Down whatever future-past its tenuous nature lays claim.

The routine of tradition is a strong force in the human psyche,

So there is a loyal penchant to cling to whatever story is provided.

How many cultures have played out in humanity’s relatively brief epoch,

Is but one of the beyond-countless things that can never be more than speculated.

 

* * * *

Why is it so enticing, so beguiling, for you to know that which can never be known?

Why is it necessary for you to continue believing whatever imaginary stories your culture has spun?

Or for you to continue believing whatever imaginary narratives you have yourself spun?

Why is it so arduous to be in concord, in harmony, with the mystery you are?

To just serenely be the moment to which awareness is witness.

 

* * * *

One moment you are the dreamer, the conditioned part imagination routinely plays.

And the next, you are the awareness, the one and only you, dreaming.

Dreamer and dreaming, back and forth, forth and back.

Not at all an easy thing to stay awake.

 

* * * *

The fate of the universe is the fate of the universe.

The fate of the world is the fate of the world.

The fate of all life is the fate of all life.

The fate of you is the fate of you.

All just aspects of the same mystery

No need to make anything more than it is.

 

* * * *

Doubt is the key ingredient.

Believing anything, assuming anything,

Is the sure road to any and every imaginable delusion.

 

* * * *

It is a mysterious mystery.

It is an absolute mystery.

It is an immeasurable mystery.

It is an immaculate mystery.

It is a sovereign mystery.

It is an indelible mystery.

It is an unadulterated mystery.

It is an indivisible mystery.

It is an inexplicable mystery.

It is an ultimate mystery.

It is an unknowable mystery.

It is a timeless mystery.

It is a quintessential mystery.

It is a spaceless mystery.

It is an imperishable mystery.

It is an unfathomable mystery.

It is a pristine mystery.

It is an indecipherable mystery.

It is a seamless mystery.

It is an interminable mystery.

It is a baffling mystery.

It is an unmitigated mystery.

It is an unspoiled mystery.

It is an impeccable mystery.

It is an enigmatic mystery.

It is an inconceivable mystery.

It is an untainted mystery.

It is an ineffable mystery.

It is an inscrutable mystery.

It is a precise mystery.

It is an impenetrable mystery.

It is an ideal mystery.

It is a flawless mystery.

It is an unborn mystery.

It is an undying mystery.

It is an eternal mystery.

It is an unparalleled mystery.

It is a supreme mystery.

It is an architype mystery.

It is a superlative mystery.

It is an unavoidable mystery.

It is a creative mystery.

It is a destructive mystery.

It is an inventive mystery.

It is an imaginative mystery.

It is an unprecedented mystery.

It is a singular mystery.

It is a spectacular mystery.

It is an unusual mystery.

It is a novel mystery.

It is an innovative mystery.

It is a spontaneous mystery.

It is a kaleidoscoping mystery.

It is a unique mystery.

It is a paradigm mystery.

It is a metaphorical mystery.

It is a adamant mystery.

It is a metaphorical mystery.

It is an inescapable mystery.

It is an unchangeable mystery.

It is a relentless mystery.

It is an inflexible mystery.

It is an ironic mystery.

It is a paradoxical mystery.

It is a boggling mystery.

It is an unrivaled mystery.

It is an unequaled mystery.

It is an unmatched mystery.

It is an unsurpassed mystery.

It is a special mystery.

It is an outstanding mystery.

It is a brilliant mystery.

It is an inexorable mystery.

It is an exclusive mystery.

It is an incomprehensible mystery.

It is a distinctive mystery.

It is an exceptional mystery.

It is an inimitable mystery.

It is a matchless mystery.

It is a one-off mystery.

It is an outstanding mystery.

It is an irreplaceable mystery.

It is a hypothetical mystery.

It is a theoretical mystery.

It is an implausible mystery.

It is a surreptitious mystery.

It is an unsolvable mystery.

It is a cryptic mystery.

It is a puzzling mystery.

It is an extraordinary mystery.

It is a profound mystery.

It is a ruthless mystery.

It is a perplexing mystery.

It is a complex mystery.

It is an incomparable mystery.

It is a peculiar mystery.

It is a weird mystery.

It is an audacious mystery.

It is a cagey mystery.

It is a fearless mystery.

It is an intrepid mystery.

It is a courageous mystery.

It is a puzzling mystery.

It is an obscure mystery.

It is a hidden mystery.

It is an ambiguous mystery.

It is an abyss mystery.

It is an empty mystery.

It is an obtuse mystery.

It is a vacuous mystery.

It is a streaming mystery.

It is a bottomless mystery.

It is a shrewd mystery.

It is a perceptive mystery.

It is a wise mystery.

It is a judicious mystery.

It is an incisive mystery.

It is an intelligent mystery.

It is a sensible mystery.

It is a never-ending mystery.

It is a limitless mystery.

It is a boundless mystery.

It is an effortless mystery.

It is an unpretentious mystery.

It is an artless mystery.

It is an inherent mystery.

It is an actual mystery.

It is a predictable mystery.

It is a foolish mystery.

It is an instinctive mystery.

It is a hollow mystery.

It is a vague mystery.

It is a vibrating mystery.

It is a pointless mystery.

It is a hard-hearted mystery.

It is a methodical mystery.

It is an oscillating mystery.

It is a quantum mystery.

It is a scientific mystery.

It is a logical mystery.

It is a precise mystery.

It is a detached mystery.

It is a forthright mystery.

It is a natural mystery.

It is an exact mystery.

It is a systematic mystery.

It is a complete mystery.

It is a definitive mystery.

It is a state-of-the-art mystery.

It is a true mystery.

It is an implacable mystery.

It is a merciless mystery.

It is an unbending mystery.

It is a callous mystery.

It is an abundant mystery.

It is an everything mystery.

It is an unbreakable mystery.

It is an immortal mystery.

It is a ground mystery.

It is a demanding mystery.

It is a meticulous mystery.

It is a holographic mystery.

It is a matrix mystery.

It is a patternless mystery.

It is an arcane mystery.

It is an esoteric mystery.

It is an untraceable mystery.

It is a pathless mystery.

It is an indescribable mystery.

It is a majestic mystery.

It is a nothing mystery.

It is a fastidious mystery.

It is an unexplainable mystery.

It is an unyielding mystery.

It is an infinite mystery.

It is a bona fide mystery.

It is a mysterious mystery.

 

It is … a mystery.

 

* * * *

Your sensory mind-body, your world, your cosmos, is a quantum construct of imagination.

Since birth, you have been conditioned, mesmerized, brainwashed, compelled,

By the given nature-nurture, to play a part that partakes it all real.

Few see it for what it is; fewer still live it for what it is.

 

* * * *

Cultures across all times, all geographies, have all fashioned mythologies,

Legends, folklores, traditions, fables, sagas, fairytales, parables,

Allegories, beliefs, creeds, convictions, and dogmas.

All founded on imaginary underpinnings

Stemming from the same inexplicable, unnamable mystery.

 

* * * *

You know that you do not know what the fuck is going on here,

And you do not believe nor trust nor hope that anyone else truly does, either.

And thus, you wander all alone, through any and all camps, watching, waiting, wondering.

 

* * * *

What a bizarre thing to supposedly be created by some supreme being,

Only to be cast forever into hell or purgatory for not falling into line

With a controversial collection of desert-dweller commandments,

Or an implausible messiah and his frothing cult of true-believers.

Even if there is some sort of Santa Claus rendering of a god on high,

Have you really lived such a despicable existence to be all that apprehensive

About being eternally damned in the byzantine abysses of some Dante-esque inferno?

I mean, seriously?

 

* * * *

A vast horde of conglomerate empires, voracious dinosaurs, insatiable lizard-brains,

Daily, bit by bit, greedily devastating this garden planet and all its creations.

What hope can there be in the face of such overwhelming synergy?

 

* * * *

Any language evolves from its history,

Any history is imbedded in its language,

For as long as the given culture abides.

 

* * * *

Books wait patiently detached for any minds seeking to feast on whatever it is they offer.

A book without plot, without goal, without purpose, without meaning, what is that about?

 

* * * *

You know that you do not know what the fuck is going on here,

And you do not believe, do not trust, that anyone else really does, either.

But for the greater part of the human mass, and its paradigm of vanity and greed,

The belief, the faith, the assumption, the conviction, the confidence, that someone else does,

Has directed the human absurdity into the deafening crescendo it has become in these modern times.

 

* * * *

How can something be either ‘meant’ to happen or ‘not meant’ to happen?

It simply does or does not; there is no higher power moving you about some chessboard.

Only vanity contrives deities to give meaning and purpose to a mystery that is oblivious to any and all.

 

* * * *

How can you possibly let go of it, until you every moment discern it all illusion?

And is it truly worth all the exertion? All the effort? And for what, really?

When it does not at all ultimately matter in any way-shape-form.

So … Red Pill? … Or Blue? … You choose, as destiny (i.e., vanity) calls.

 

* * * *

No one is at the helm of your illusory fate but you.

Calm or stormy, you will sail on and on,

To one sorry end or another,

This brief existence being what it is.

 

* * * *

The quantum theater, time and space, are ultimately not real,

So, beginnings and endings are little more than moot assertions.

Illusory fabrications of the senses feeding into the neural transmitter.

A biological matrix founded on the Darwinian happenstance of evolution.

 

* * * *

Has there ever been even just one human culture across all times, all geographies,

That has not contrived a belief system of one sort or another?

Is a question that can never be answered.

 

* * * *

If you are of a contemplative, reflective, pondering, meditative nature,

Cease hunting for meaning and purpose, knowledge and wisdom, in this world or any other.

It is nothing but the ceaseless distraction of a quantum dream.

Journey the still abyss within.

 

* * * *

For all practical purposes, you are as anonymous to the universe as it is to you.

Even the most powerful, even the most wealthy, even the most known,

Are already forgotten in the timeless expanses of eternity.

 

* * * *

You are not your mind.

You are not your body.

You are not your mask.

You are not your nature.

You are not your nurture.

You are not your imagination.

You are not your perceptions.

You are not your memories.

You are not your vanities.

You are not your dreams.

You are not your hopes.

You are not your values.

You are not your history.

You are not your language.

You are not your identity.

You are not your name.

You are not your ethnicity.

You are not your gender.

You are not your family.

You are not your tribe.

You are not your caste.

You are not your culture.

You are not your country.

You are not your religion.

You are not your work.

You are not your talents.

You are not your hobbies.

You are not your things.

You are not your successes.

You are not your failures.

You are not your desires.

You are not your fears.

You are not your ecstasies.

You are not your agonies.

You are not your time.

You are not your space.

You are not your world.

You are not your universe.

You are not your dimension.

You are not anything; you are not everything.

You are not … You are not … You are not … You are not …

But the awareness, the indivisibility, the mystery, permeating all … and none.

 

* * * *

Time is the creation, the dance, the dream, the frolic, the bane, of memory cells.

It was the means for imagination’s gradual usurpation of instinct,

The make-believe of self, and the pretense of free will.

 

* * * *

The trick to not collecting followers is to become somewhat unappealing in one way or another.

It is enough for any who cross your path to have gleaned your message.

Far better they wander on under their own steam,

To do with their nature-nurture dream, whatever the Fates deign.

 

* * * *

How can time be wasted if there is no such thing?

Only vanity would ever contrive meaning and purpose.

 

* * * *

A frame of reference is a stew, a blend, a fusion, a union, a brew, a mélange,

A double-double-toil-and-trouble-fire-burn-and-caldron-bubble,

That the fate, the destiny, the kismet, the nature-nurture,

Has through happenstance-happenchance,

In imagination played.

 

* * * *

The expert is someone who has studied something so much,

That s/he really truly believes they actually know something.

 

* * * *

All self-imagery is based on the blend, on the fusion, on the synergy,

Of all the patterning, all the molding, all the conditioning, of the given nature-nurture,

Including all the cultural, political, religious, racial, linguistic, educational,

Gender, socio-economic, emotional, et cetera, influences.

 

* * * *

As much as you might believe it to be more,

As much as you might achingly yearn for it to be more,

It is not more, nor has it ever been more, nor will it ever be more.

Nor is it less, nor has it ever been less, nor will it ever be less.

Oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

 

* * * *

If you make it about any person or place or thing,

Then you have missed the whole point and purpose.

 

* * * *

The so much that you believe you know, is infinitely dwarfed by all that you do not.

And what, pray tell, do you really know of anything, but the huff ‘n puff of imagination?

 

* * * *

The incessant recording the inner voice plays over and over in your mind

Is the conditioning of your frame of reference, your nature-nurture programming.

Naught but an algorithm born of genetic design … nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

 

* * * *

As long as you believe you are the sensory body,

You will suffer its perpetual potpourri of agonies and ecstasies,

As you meander all the sights and sounds and tastes and smells and touches,

That the mind’s cosmos has to offer in its nature-nurture realm.

To be liberated is to surrender without reservation,

To the awareness prior to consciousness.

 

* * * *

Existence is only as viable as the neuron matrix,

Which facilitates consciousness (a.k.a., imagination)

To dance away, to whirl and twirl in eternal awareness.

 

* * * *

All anyone can know about the mystery, about the awareness,

Is all the speculations that traditions around the world have contrived.

Stories, stories, and more stories, none more valid than any other.

Not authentic knowing in any way, any shape, any form.

 

* * * *

The genetic lottery spins a matrix in which the dreaming you imagine real and true,

Will witness the agony and ecstasy of each and every moment destiny has in store.

 

* * * *

Have you ever beheld even one moment of awareness,

Where ethics or any other imaginary notion or sentiment,

Had any say, any validity, any reality, any truth, whatsoever?

The eternal mystery does not give a flying hooey about anything.

Oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.

Irony and paradox and absurdity rule.

Practice detachment.

 

* * * *

You did not choose your birth.

You did not choose your body.

You did not choose your mind.

You did not choose your family.

You did not choose your gender.

You did not choose your culture.

You did not choose your tradition.

You did not choose your language.

You did not choose your geography.

You did not choose your education.

You did not choose your ethnicity.

You did not choose your customs.

You did not choose your politics.

You did not choose your history.

You did not choose your mores.

You did not choose your creed.

You did not choose your status.

You did not choose your caste.

You did not choose your time.

You did not choose your space.

Have you ever really had any choice,

In your long and winding journey to destiny?

 

* * * *

The only way to undo the patterning of mind and body is to become very still in every way.

Only in pure, unadulterated, absolute awareness can you be free of all claims.

And then, alas, only for as long as you manage to stay there.

 

* * * *

No matter how you meditate or breath or practice asanas or whatever else,

If it is not your destiny to wake up, then so it goes and oh well,

To all the revelry and whoring you missed out on.

 

* * * *

There is no yoke, no millstone, no chains, no shackles, in seeing, in being, the mystery you ever are.

No idolatries, no tribes, no traditions, no dogmas, no symbols, no rituals, no rewards, no punishments.

Just you, pristine awareness, the eternal eye, the mystery itself, witnessing the ever-present moment.

 

* * * *

Tribe, family, clan, kin, community,

Society, culture, tradition, faction, company, congress,

Council, assembly, convention, conference, meeting, circle, crew, force, corps,

Troop, unit, troupe, party, bloc, team, band, set, clique, cadre, coterie, herd, flock, drove, pack, group.

All signifying the highly social, uniquely cooperative keystone of the human paradigm.

 

* * * *

Every other tribe, every other group, every other culture,

Is barbaric, brutish, bestial, savage, inhuman,

And you, the same to them.

 

* * * *

Perhaps it will be your fate, your destiny, that words such as these,

Will foster unlocking your mind into the freedom of the unknown.

 

* * * *

The mind-body has its fate, the imaginary persona has its fate,

But the real You, the awareness, the moment, Self, itself,

What fate can there possibly be but all and none.

 

* * * *

Awareness does not require faith.

Awareness does not require belief.

Awareness does not require dogma.

Awareness does not require anything.

 

* * * *

For those not inquiring deeply, for those with misguided intent,

The destiny of any teachings, any writings, risk becoming dogma.

 

* * * *

If it is belief, it is false.

Nothing more than an invention born of consciousness.

Seeing is not believing.

 

* * * *

True believers lack the wit to grasp the subtleties of irony and paradox,

And the nuances required for deep refection in the earnest quest for truth.

 

* * * *

So many ways to view history:

First that come to mind: politics, economics,

Science, culture, language, art, music, architecture, war …

But one onscreen academic source has come up with twelve branches:

Military history, history of religion, social history, cultural history, diplomatic history,

Economic history, environmental history, world history, universal history,

Intellectual history, gender history and public history.

 

* * * *

Regarding the fate of the human paradigm, is there really any point in saying anything,

When the species is careening full bore towards the edge of the Petri dish,

And not more than the barest squeal of brakes to be heard.

All hopeful endeavors are destined to fail.

 

* * * *

All mythologies, all legends, all folklores, all traditions, all customs,

Are nothing more than human-created, fear-based, greed-laced,

Egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric-heliocentric mind gorp.

When they are not imparting pearls of wisdom, that is.

 

* * * *

No matter how tainted, no matter how corrupt, no matter how vile, no matter how despicable,

The imaginary, the make-believe, the fictitious, the pretend, the illusory role you play,

The you that is real, the you that is true, the you that is eternal, is immaculate.

Free of all that the ever-ebbing-ever-flowing currents of consciousness are capable.

 

* * * *

What is ambition but vanity’s hungry cry for more, more, more.

For imagination’s insatiable craving to be renowned, celebrated, notorious,

Through whatever combination of power and fame and fortune the Fates condescend.

 

* * * *

Do you really believe every group, every culture, across the human experience

Was not, is not, very much the same in their own very unique, very distinct way?

How much all humans have in common is far more defining than all the differences.

 

* * * *

Imagination swells larger and larger in the matrix of space and time,

But the moment, the awareness in which it transpires, is ever the same.

 

* * * *

If timeless awareness is all that is, and is not,

Then how can it hold on to anything, or anything hold on to it?

How would reincarnation, heavens or hells or purgatories, or any other afterlives,

Be even remotely possible as anything more than imaginary, illusory, fictional, make-believe identities,

As unreal as all to which humankind has so steadfastly clung through all its history?

 

* * * *

Why feel obligated to believe in, to idolize, to fear, any deity or deities,

Or any other so-called spiritual notions formulated by imagination, human or otherwise?

Being the awareness, being the moment, is the matchless state of existence.

No need for faith, no need for prayer, no need for doctrine.

 

* * * *

Aloneness is without vanity … without point, without purpose, without meaning,

But the voyage into the unfathomable enigma begets every distraction imaginable.

 

* * * *

How can there be any more meaning and purpose to existence,

Than giving complete attention and right response,

To the passing moment, ever the same?

 

* * * *

Awareness is eternal witness to the omnipresent, kaleidoscoping quantum theater.

All identity, all personality, is but the conditioned response of imagination

To all the causes, to all the effects, played out in each and every mind.

The you that you think you are, the you that you believe you are,

Is but an electromagnetically-induced chemical perception,

An illusion, a delusion, a deception, born of a mystery

Whose immeasurable truth can never be known

But by those rare seekers who become it.

 

* * * *

Regarding reincarnation, which so many belief systems endlessly speculate,

What exactly is it that can be reborn other than imaginary notion?

How can spaceless awareness, how can timeless awareness,

Ever be blemished by any imaginary attribute?

Any given seed is but a one-ride-only space-time machine,

Playing out the nature-nurture patterning into which it is spawned.

 

* * * *

There is no time in awareness, there is no space in awareness.

There is no cause in awareness, there is no effect in awareness.

There is no beginning in awareness, there is no end in awareness.

There is no purpose in awareness, there is no meaning in awareness.

There is only the indelible moment, to which awareness is witness.

 

* * * *

What is any culture but a dynamic stew of agreements and disagreements,

All playing out their groupthink over their given duration of time and space.

 

* * * *

Tradition inevitably binds a culture to such a degree,

That it becomes terminally inflexible to the ever-changing moment.

The world is strewn with the carcasses of peoples and civilizations come and gone,

Because they could not discard the history, the mindset, that bore them.

They could not surrender to the changes required for survival.

 

* * * *

Awareness is the eternal moment.

It is without time, without space.

It is without cause, without effect.

It is without beginning, without end.

It is without purpose, without meaning.

It is absolute aloneness, unborn, undying.

 

* * * *

Everyone has a conditioned mindset,

A worldview that can, only with great discrimination,

Be only partially undone, redirected into something just as habitual,

But perhaps more enlightened, and a tad freer to carry on the long and arduous trek,

Down the long and winding road less traveled.

 

* * * *

The imaginary you, believes you exist, that you were born, that you will one day die.

That time, that space, are real, that the mind and senses distinguish the universe.

That the rise of humankind and all its civilizations, all its countless creations,

Is somehow ordained by deities on high, machinating with demons below.

And if not that, perhaps some grand, all-encompassing, scientific theory.

Or perhaps the artless nature of the fool too oblivious to even question.

Wake up, wake up, wherever you are, it is but illusion, You, its mystery.

 

* * * *

… Stop believing …

… Stop believing all you know …

… Stop believing in the world …

… Stop believing in the universe …

… Stop believing in deities and demons …

… Stop believing you are a human being …

… Stop believing you are alive …

… Stop believing you will die …

… Stop believing you were ever born …

… Stop believing you are more than awareness …

… Stop believing you are even awareness …

… Just stop …

 

* * * *

Despite imagination’s interminable penchant for make-believe,

There is no other time, there is no other space, that you can possibly be,

But this very right-here-right-now, unborn-undying, eternally absolute moment.

 

* * * *

For all practical purpose, vanity is hardwired into the human genome.

Some religious folk like to call it original sin for their own pious reasonings,

But it is really nothing more than the long and arduous path of natural selection.

The morphing evolution of breeding choices in the brewing stews of cultural theaters,

As the species gradually migrated every direction out of the African jungles of so long ago.

It is much less about sin than the inevitable outcome of all the dynamics this mystery has coined.

And awareness, the eternal, indivisible, unborn-undying witness in every sentient creation.

 

* * * *

The challenge is not making such a challenge of it.

Learn to endure the rises and falls, the ebbs and flows of the given mind.

As much as imagination would like to believe, nothing you do really ultimately matters even one iota.

Look for yourself, let go all the propaganda endlessly contrived for selfish purpose

By all the parasitic middlemen throughout the human epoch.

You are it, it is you, it is that simple.

* * * *

What is ego but little self’s identification with, little self's attachment to,

All the assumptions, all the habituation, that consciousness has imagined.

 

* * * *

The deities, singular or plural, were all fabricated by the mind of humankind.

They are vanity’s narcissistic-hedonistic need for meaning and purpose.

For some raison d'etre for this often banal, often painful existence.

For validation of the unquenchable craving for the unattainable more.

 

* * * *

Ethics and aesthetics are so vainly subjective in any given mind,

As to warrant little more than a token sidebar of serious discussion.

 

* * * *

Religion is a shell game

In which truth is veiled from the masses,

Who are mindlessly satisfied with titillating make-believe.

The endlessly absurd bunk of all their deities and dogmas and superstitions,

And were it possible, be chucked into the trash heap of history, and forever more disregarded.

 

* * * *

What will your existence manifest if you are irrational?

Unwise, silly, senseless, wild, cracked, stupid, outrageous, unrealistic,

Outlandish, ridiculous, bizarre, peculiar, useless, eccentric, odd, zany, daft, hollow,

Passionate, fanatical, mad, extreme, preposterous, absurd, unreasonable, incredible, nonsensical,

Crazy, zealous, foolish, nutty, dippy, rash, reckless, foolhardy, lacking, wacky, screwy, futile,

Unconventional, preposterous, vain, futile, meaningless, fantastical, eccentric, illogical,

Capricious, implausible, farfetched, empty, unlikely, unbelievable, preposterous,

Strange, weird, whimsical, incongruous, ludicrous, pointless, offbeat, odd,

Farcical, idiotic, purposeless, fanciful, wacked out, off your head,

Generally, just jam-packed with every assortment of magical thinking?

What will it manifest, what will it convey, if you are at least reasonably rational?

 

* * * *

Only consciousness conceives.

Only consciousness believes.

Only consciousness judges.

Only consciousness cares.

Only consciousness loves.

Only consciousness hates.

Only consciousness wants.

Only consciousness creates.

Only consciousness preserves.

Only consciousness destroys.

 

* * * *

All ideas, all theories, all beliefs, all opinions,

Are conceptual frameworks concocted by imagination.

Awareness is the moment prior to all movements of consciousness.

 

* * * *

Every moment you are born, every moment you die.

Unborn-undying every moment, why hold fast to anything?

Unborn-undying every moment, why be troubled about anything?

Unborn-undying every moment, why believe in anything?

 

* * * *

Space-time is a quantum illusion , an unfathomable theater,

Created by the magic of evolution, playing out in the mystery of awareness.

There is really only the inexplicable, intangible, immeasurable, unknowable, timeless moment,

Through which dreamtime streams, unfolds, unfurls, displays, kaleidoscopes,

In the mind-body patterning of each and every sentient being,

All extemporaneously interacting together,

All very much alone.

 

* * * *

Mind-bodies too dynamic to keep still, have concocted everything imaginable under the human sun.

Culture, religion, commerce, industry, art, music, writing, architecture, war …

Even the most still ones rarely stay still for all that long.

The order of chaos rules.

 

* * * *

Science, philosophy, religion, spirituality, belief, superstition,

Dogma, worship, exaltation, glorification, adulation, conviction, respect,

Idolization, praise, veneration, reverence, devotion, ceremony, sacrament, adoration,

Commandment, law, creed, canon, doctrine, principle, theory, code, rule, ritual, formula, model,

Speculation, conjecture, estimation, inference, intuition, fantasy, guess, notion …

What use does awareness have, what use does the moment have,

For any arbitrary invention of consciousness?

 

* * * *

Whether many deities or just one, all religions, all mythologies,

Are nothing more than human vanity’s superstitious, delusional need,

To pretend it is of first and foremost relevance to the inexplicable unknown.

Only path-less-followed minds see through the make-believe,

And stand alone, clear and unknowing.

 

* * * *

Who wrote this?

Who do you think? And why would it matter?

All that matters is that you have the keenness to read it, and unlock the given mind,

From the shackles of a conditioned nature-nurture dream.

Awareness is all, all is awareness.

 

* * * *

What is the meaning, what is the purpose of existence?

Why, everyone unremittingly telling everyone else,

What they should believe and do, obviously.

 

* * * *

Something may seem strange or wrong now, but obviously did not in whatever when.

What point judging history and all the numberless values the times of mind do ordain?

 

* * * *

The quickest, easiest way to put any given true believer behind you

Is to listen for a bit, nod a few times, offer thanks, and then meander on.

If you discuss or argue further, you risk wasting who knows how much time,

That would be better spent wandering alone in your own sovereignty.

 

* * * *

All nothing more than the make-believe-pretend

Of the electromagnetic spectrum (a.k.a., quantum)

Riding the coattails of the mystery of awareness.

 

* * * *

Everything you think is a record of your nature-nurture habituation,

The conditioning that plays over and over and over, until death do you part.

Understand the difference between believing the record, and witnessing the record.

 

* * * *

Despite all evidence, all beliefs, all theories, all assumptions to the contrary,

It is nothing more than a manifest dream, a touchy-feely mirage,

That has no ultimate meaning or purpose, whatsoever.

Only vanity ever make-believes it more.

 

* * * *

What concern have you for any heavens and hells,

For reincarnation, karma, or any other time-bound conception?

Of past lives, you have no memory; of future lives, you have no certainty.

All that matters is this very right-here-right-now timeless moment.

As it would have been, will be, in any future-past ever coined.

 

 

Soundbites

 

Tradition losing its grip on the future, would that be such a bad thing?

 

* * * *

When cultures collide, sometimes they meld; sometimes they decline and forever disappear.

 

* * * *

Alliances have their collective purpose, but alone, you are free.

 

* * * *

Doubt requires no belief.

 

* * * *

The quantum matrix offers whatever draws, whatever distracts, the churning monkey-mind.

 

* * * *

So that’s your fate: Both unpredictable and predictable.

 

* * * *

Both believer and atheist assume they know something they do not, never could, never will.

 

* * * *

Hope is akin to believing you can win in Las Vegas.

 

* * * *

A book without plot, without goal, without purpose, without meaning, what is that about?

 

* * * *

Only vanity believes there is a problem; only vanity believes there is an answer.

 

* * * *

Can you ever really do more than flail at your fate?

 

* * * *

Observe the matrix about you with the same detachment you would any stage or screen play.

 

* * * *

It is but vanity that believes its self or anything else matters.

 

* * * *

Hard to believe how stupid, how insane, how absurd, so many can be. 

 

* * * *

The vanity of science is believing all its measurements count for something.

 

* * * *
Every moment streams you closer and closer to your final fate.

 

* * * *

Only vanity believes anything matters.

* * * *
Enjoying what you do is meaning and purpose enough.

* * * *

Life values life, life endures; death values nothing.

 

* * * *

The karmas of consequence are the hydras of future-past.

 

* * * *

You really believe that!?

 

* * * *

No questions, no answers, no purpose, no reason, why would there be?

 

* * * *

Why believe in anything?

 

* * * *

The blame game is a predicable outcome to any clusterfuck.

 

* * * *

Believing your thoughts real and true is the first and last delusion.

 

* * * *

Destiny is dust.

 

* * * *

Embrace your fate, or resist it, your destiny will happen just the same.

 

* * * *

Fate is like an asshole, everyone has one.

 

* * * *

You cannot outwit a destiny that cannot be changed.

 

* * * *

Death trumps destiny yet again.

 

* * * *

Suicide is fate interrupted.

 

* * * *

Good agnostic that you are, treat aliens like you do God, believe in ‘em when you sees ‘em.

 

* * * *

Brainwashing, there ain’t nothing cleansing about it.

 

* * * *

Some decisions, some doors in the maze, are far more fateful than others.

 

* * * *

Your destiny is the ever-present moment.

 

* * * *

The moment happens; only vanity gives it reason and purpose.

 

* * * *

The faces and names change, but the patterns ever remain the same.

 

* * * *

What the Fates have in store can never be more than speculated.

 

* * * *

Fulfilling one’s destiny can be filled with agony or ecstasy, you decide.

 

* * * *

One destiny, all.

 

* * * *

Seeing is not believing.

 

* * * *

There you are – right here, right now – fulfilling this imaginary fate.

 

* * * *

What is history but the play of patterns.

* * * *

Patterns within patterns within patterns within patterns within pattern within patterns …

 

* * * *

Why write a story when the moral is the point and purpose?

 

* * * *

If dallying with imagination is your calling, you likely will not dally long here.

 

* * * *

Break through the fog of conditioned thinking.

 

* * * *

Breaking through the fog of conditional thinking is easier than you think.

 

* * * *

It is all the make-believe of vanity, the whole shebang, the whole enchilada.

 

* * * *

Imagination believes it lives; imagination believes it dies.

 

* * * *

Ethics and aesthetics are so subjective as to not be worth more than trifling discourse.

 

* * * *

If it requires belief, it is not truth.

 

* * * *

Less a belief system, than a seeing dynamic.

 

* * * *

Good or evil, modest or vain, rich or poor, sage or fool, fate holds none aloft.

 

* * * *

You cannot change your fate, you cannot avoid your fate.

 

* * * *

It is only as real as you believe it.

 

* * * *

Just because billions of people believe something delusional, does not make it any less absurd.

 

* * * *

Brainwashing, nothing cleansing about it.

 

* * * *

Any given life is chock-full of miscalculations that lend themselves to the fated endgame.

 

* * * *

Are you really any more than a lifetime’s collection of habits?

 

* * * *

Toga or three-piece suit, the patterns are the same.

 

* * * *

If you believe humanity’s endless parade of deities and dogmas, really mean anything, guess again.

 

* * * *

Patterns unending.

 

* * * *

Anatomy and character are the sculptors of destiny.

 

* * * *

The final vanity is believing you are enlightened.

 

* * * *

How you end your window of time is the final pattern.

 

* * * *

History toys with all who believe.

 

 

Breadcrumbs

 

Books wait patiently detached for any minds seeking to feast on whatever it is they offer.

A book without plot, without goal, without purpose, without meaning, what is that about?

 

* * * *

I do not believe, expect, or in any way, hope,

These words will have any meaningful impact on the future, at all.

Writing and editing and organizing them on the world wide web for free, was just too hard to resist.

Believe me, when I testify that none of this would have ever happened to the degree it has,

If I had, had to write books, generate a following to buy them, build an ashram,

Sit up on stage having every word be closely judged, maybe filmed,

Pose on some golden throne for hours and hours comforting the miserable,

Or arguing over absurdly meaningless dogmatic details with true believers of every ilk.

 

If you make it about me, you have missed the whole point and purpose.

 

* * * *

How weary I sometimes am of the intensity of this conditioned mind.

 

* * * *

It would be hard to believe that most everything yappable

Has not been yapped about somewhere in this aphoristic edifice.

 

* * * *

My vocation, my fate, in a nutshell, seems to be to spend many years scribing all sorts of thoughts,

That will more than likely only be read by me; many, more than a few times.

Oh well, so it went, dealt with it, got over it, moved on.

 

* * * *

This lifetime exploration of consciousness, of imagination,

Has been a long and winding expedition down the road less traveled.

A destiny to which I have been haphazardly, matter-of-factly, irrevocably drawn,

As the world, the universe, gradually lost its hold over the intelligence prior to consciousness.

 

* * * *

This mind has become like one of those Magic 8-Balls,

The plastic sphere, made to look like an eight-ball,

That is used for fortune-telling or seeking advice.

Each thought placidly coming into mind’s eye,

Slowly finding its way to those whose fate it is part.

 

* * * *

Good agnostic that I am, I treats aliens like I do God, I'll believe in ‘em when I sees ‘em.

 

* * * *

No grand Nietzsche-esque treatise to be usurped in this body of work.

Hopefully, history will either use these many thoughts to rational ends, or ignore me entirely.

If not, at least hopefully it will not seize them for abominable purpose,

As it has the writings of far too many other seers.

 

* * * *

By this mind-body, and the cosmos and world it has somehow fashioned,

I, whatever ‘I’ imagines itself to be, will not much longer be afflicted by this reverie of space and time.

One moment in some relatively near-soon, by, if the fates deign it, this own crippled hand,

This inexplicable awareness shall back into the serenity of oblivion be cast.