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The Root of my Demise

Could it be the thing I would despise

would be the root of my demise,

would be facade of my disguise,

should be the thing I hate is what I would become.

Yet nothing you deplore is anymore

than what you're so implored to explore,

by what reason the intention is implicit

beyond your capacity to ignore.

Why should the function follow form if form follows mind?

Behind mind intrinsically intention,

what discriminates direction?

Mind is the ocean of cosmic space out of which

the universe of matter is a lower dimensional condensate.

What brought the body into being is Mind.

Mind contains and produces the world of form.

That which is form is precisly void and that which is void is precisely form.

If the void yields the form, and the form mirrors the void,

mind is the void, the nature of the mind is as the void,

as the oceanspace of infinite possibility of eternal recurrence.

The world is a direct reflection and mirror of the Mind.

Thou art by no command,

no law writ by man or heaven moves thy will,

for thy will is not a will beget by knowledge,

thy true will is the unknown - soft surrender unto It.



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I am nothing more than a passing ghost through the dream you call life.

 

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”