Where is your sense of BEING?
How many such devices do you cling to, O man, to conjure a sense of freedom? Here, within the innermost, wildly overgrown depths of a beached whale named World.
The past has draped you in the rain-sodden desert of the wanderings of the desert folk. Who shall strike the rock anew, that the living source of being may burst forth? An unseemly fatality leans upon karma´s rotted crutch, long ago consumed by maggot and mold. A grey world of human relics, graveyard remains that lead to naught.
Why build ever anew? Are they not wise, those who sooner ot later tumble into the tomb-deep oblivion? Or do they forever suckle upon the young blood of their own progeny?
The Human wheel of nescience turns on and on for the people of blood and clay. Only the carousel operator has long since vanished. The folk of the churchyards kick their heels, pushing off the earth, praying it might never cease. Better a slow crawl than a standstill. The deceptive meaningfulness of the world´s tides is everywhere. The illusions of an eye for a tooth, a tooth for an eye, are the zenith of self-estrangement. The blooms upon the altar of gnosis-perhaps of atonement-have long since withered and fallen. A treacherous certainty of freedom, or the free certainty of illusion? This wordplay rends the infinite fibers of the flesh of human incarnation. The light at the end of the tunnel never shone, for even the tunnel never truly has been.
How many such devices do you need. O man, so as not to be free? Mammon? Might? Estate? Rank? Kin? Self-indulgence? Self-abasement? Self-acceptance? Do you believe you possess even God Most High?
Is not this litany, in the end, the sole jewel of free will? And what if one could step beyond it all? What if The Author of the World, after all, left somenting undone? What if, upon that seventh day of stillness, something did indeed transpire? Perhaps it suffices to catch the final grain of His Masterpiece, which holds within it all that is.
ALL THAT IS - contained within this single, final, and most minute grain of being!
