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Thursday, May 30, 2013

the just of oneness * 5/30/13


Time is a slight of hand,
a wick for the flicker of self-reflection.
Time/space are the cross hairs, scoping us out.
Time is baited questions about motives and goals.
Time is a deaf mute by presence
yet time is humbled when reality shuffles time
out of order and lets the measures of time
bleed into each other,
lets the frames randomly thicken and thin,
lets the soup of time through its jugular,
adrenal, dreamlike, or coma.
Time feels for these as pulse,
the projective source of reality bringing time down
to a boundaryless faint remembrance.
It is as remote as a groundless inkling, 
almost as an impulse that swallows itself.
Reality beyond time,
is this the source of infinitesimal commingling?
Is this a now without reference?
Is this an experience with no mind?
Is witness then just the bouncer
at the oneness entry door?
Is knowing just the whale of us
surfacing for reality's air?
Are we the free-fall becoming our own breath
of re-embrace?
When does this mindlessness reveal for itself a face?
Who is there left to make the sound
emerging from involuntary physical lips, 
featuring the impact of the facets of meaning
landing on us all as scintillating residue?
Are we all just the butt of the joke of dust?
The jest of the just of oneness?


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