Pure awakening & the array of variants until thick dysfunctional illusion, is a canvas of magical creation.
The Truth that we cherish, the creation upon nature’s axioms, is design over pure energy.
If the Devil is a liar, is God the preferred brand of illusionist? From ‘Let there be light’ to ‘Let the Spirit and the Bride, come!’ how much of our reality is ripe for our own awakening?
In the dying aged, in reports of war and the desecration of nature, in rumors of abuse towards children, and even the sacrifice of innocent hearts, how much do we write off as a lie, or tuck into the corners of our preferred illusions?
The Truth that we cherish, does it prefer we fight for it or awaken from it?
Allow our empathy to embroil us in the lives of others? Or lead them valiantly piper-pied off the page or canvas of a fractured story?
The Churches offer a crucified human as a doorway to our own spirit. The Temples of the East show us a person sitting in silent contemplation. Three monkeys speak, hear and see no evil, also some say.
In the giraffe the view is above the fray. The zebra dances together a snow of visible noise. The hippos hide their secrets in fart and mud. The rhino waits to enforce old freedoms. The elephants are kept like pets for tourists to ride.
In the middle path, can oil and water merge with the salt and spice to brighten the noodles of healthy apathy?
Do we care enough to work for the awakening of others, when the path is defended by others who prefer the profit of selective angles of illumination?
Circling the square, surrendering the will in compassion, where does the stone of Michael’s ego slice the eye of Buddha within your own story?
Proud competition, bums on seats, numbers in the account, clicks and hits, likes and subscribes, slumber on somewhere in the field of lights and shadows.
The creation of life, the fabrication of an infinite moment, from the machine of inevitability to the void of the essential, the truth is perhaps mercifully just beyond reach.
There’s no point, by agreement perhaps. In the mix, how clean will we emerge together from the wash?
Like children, the squabbling goes on still. For how much longer?
Teddy Swims – God Went Crazy
Yello – Of Course I’m Lying
DJ Shadow – Midnight In A Perfect World
Tristan James Johns 