Since civilization's beginning, the haves have controlled the have-nots to their own ends.
Conquests and revolutions are merely exchanges of power, of might makes right.
The masses whine and grumble, but ever accept the crumbs and carnivals.
* * * *
How many more concepts there are,
With the passage of time.
In every realm there are vocabularies,
Which did not even begin to exist in prior times.
The impetuous, harsh sharpness of our unsheathed scholarship,
Is an undiscerning blade of creation and destruction,
We are not even remotely close to mastering.
* * * *
What is there to be, but what you already are?
How can fruit know what it is to ripen?
Caterpillars to fly? Buds to flower?
Any pattern to reach maturation,
But through faith in nowness,
That isness will ever be so.
* * * *
Any given mythos may try to explain the journey,
But none can convey any, to where all paths end.
* * * *
Real suffering is that of a physical nature,
Of sickness, injury, aging, and dying,
And those only while they last.
All psychological pain is self-inflicted.
* * * *
Humankind has but a fleeting window of opportunity,
To observe beyond its destructive attachments,
To geography, culture, politics, economics, and religion,
To perceive, to distinguish, the broadest picture, the greatest whole.
* * * *
All humankind seems to have really gleaned from history’s passing,
Are endless techniques and might, to ravage the garden,
And its little folk, with savage efficiency.
* * * *
Coming to grips with the realization of your ultimate nature,
With the fact that you are the clayness of which everything is founded,
That you are one with the power, the light, and the wonder,
Is a journey, limited only by your inner vision.