Sunday, January 13, 2013

Ours is a World...

Appearances are miraculous, 
and the hopeful thread the world is strung upon
slackens and tightens with every tensing and releasing
of our mental bodies.

This is a world of spirit, 
and it is also a world of flesh.
This is a world of intangible currents,
and it is also a world of sewage and muck.

Our task, my task, 
is perhaps to grow large enough to experience all of it
without becoming knotted up in that hopeful thread.

Ours is a world of fungus, of life - 
of screeching tires, shrieking children,
and incensed parents exchanging angry justifications
over the silent, sullen heads of their children's teammates.

Ours is a world of temperance,
of wise elders admonishing patience
and children happily enjoying the experience of generosity.

Ours is a world of inspiration,
soulbeacons held aloft by those bold humans with enough courage
to step into the truth of continuity:
your pain doesn't cease at the borders of you,
it flows out and into all the rest of us.

Ours is a world of nausea, and vertigo:
dizzying polarities demanding so much of us 
that many prefer to retreat 
into commercialbreaks and boozefests.

Ours is a world of idiocy. 
Complacent fools furiously churning 
their smallminded hamsterwheels of progress,
and blissful junkies happy to blind themselves 
in order to avoid growing pains.

Ours is a world of beauty.
Voracious truths channeled through crystalline distillations,
inspirations which pierce through every obfuscation 
to find their way inside.

Ours is a world of fantasy,
of drugged-up clerics 
spouting doctrines of superiority 
to congregations of sheep, 
rutting and "bahhing" in the aisles.

Ours is a world of ferocity.
Mothers of every breed mobilizing 
as their children are threatened,
undettered and unmoved 
no matter the odds against them.

Ours is a world of music - 
achingly sweet passages of noise
somehow meeting us 
in all the spaces of ourselves 
we have yet to find,
leading us inwards.

Ours is a world of silence.
Trembling echoes of age upon age encompass 
damp grass, bare feet, distant rain
and a sky full of stars.

Ours is a world of questions.
For some reason we apes insist on
demanding answers out of life,
and we'll foolishly fork over good money
to anyone who claims to have figured it out.

Ours is a world of pretending.
Our gurus, our politicians and our popstars
make a career out of actingasif
and because it's far less scary 
to trust some other idiot 
than it is to trust yourself,
we let them.

Ours is a world of truth.
Over and over again countless numbers of us
have taken the necessary heartbreaking steps
into the wilderness of authentic selfencounter.
Almost all of them have been unknown to the wider world,
yet those brave ones have ignited such hopeful fires
in the hearts of those around them
that their legacy will never, ever be extinguished.

Ours is a world of promise.
God doesn't make junk, 
contrary to the ongoing bullshit 
perpetuated by both the socalled powersthatbe
and plenty of everyday JoeSchmoes.
We are here for a reason.

Ours is a world of clarity.
No matter how many TV shows and BigMacs ingested,
sit any two friends down together long enough
and their sharing will gradually be illuminated 
with the souls true light.

Ours is a world of confusion.
What seems like contrast is perhaps not,
what seems like conflict
is perhaps something we don't understand.

Ours is a world of oversimplifications - 
big and small, light and dark, true and false.

Ours is a world of choice.
Whatever it is,
it's up to us.

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