da

The wizened mind, it performs miracles when it comes to formulating coherency. Now take 'time' for instance, that tempo of an hour glass pouring out our life's seconds into the shades of Hades, it is but mere delusion that there is a present in which we live. We live in a continuum as luck may have it, the present being an aberration of human arrogance as our twiddling brains robustly seek gratification in and for the moment. Take the ancient gnarled peduncle of a tree. It lives not for today, but for the millions of generations in it's past as it stands and as a continuum to it's future generations, not once wincing at the human peeing on it's roots.

And take even truth for that matter, 'the truth' is merely an accident of inference. The human mind espouses to infer from it's lifelong vigilante on the savvying of it's surroundings that there is an ounce or two of limpidity to the universe. The universe is what it is, truth be damned. High five to the 'truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth' we lament, yet we infer the truth, as much as our wee minds can grasp, whilst all is really relegated to the sins of commission. There is but commission, and all judgment is based on the inference thereof, disdaining human nature.

Our wizened soul must quixotically assert that there is nothing beyond the senses, consciousness is an emergent property, and that it is foolish to seek what cannot be seen. Life is what it is, yon masses, let a man live happily, let him feed on saffron even though he run into debt, debt relinquishing it's stature to that of truth, that mere accident of inference. Yet we rally forth in our utilitarian social dilemma, our debtor's prisons and bill collectors holding the key to the mysteries of our human hornswoggle. I am in debt, therefore I am, the only postulate of 21st century acumen.

Wisdom lays in the denuded enjoining of pleasure and avoiding pain as far as possible, pain's rhapsodies only useful in providing livelihood to priests. Pristine pleasure requires relinquishment of the moment to live the past and future as one, amusing the omnipresent component to our theosophy, and relinquishing the moment to it's just place in a kaleidoscopic holographic universe where time portrays itself as none other than an aggravant of human awareness. Let one's eyes roll back then in blissful cantatas, abandoning all to the thrill of iniquitous illusion.

Every day we encounter our self awareness, sucking in our egos a tad to envelop humanity as a somewhat supercilious playground for our boffo. But we can relax, our sentience is also but illusion. Evolution has merely played it's cards out teasing us with it's shenanigans. We are but star dust, ad hoc critters in the fecundation of the grand scheme of merrymaking. Self awareness's only purpose is to make us hump, to proliferate the jocularity we refer to as life. The moment is but illusion, consciousness that much more so. The id, the ego, the superego all cherish nothing but the sack, our consciousness nothing more than the callous gnarled bark of human parturience.

We must, to embrace fully our unity with the dust of our stars, take out our mats and meditate upon the verisimilitudes which deceive us. Ohmmm, ohmmm, this moment has been and shall forever be, ohmmm, ohmmm, all is but commission, ohmmm, ohmmm, light of the universe engulf my being. Ohmm, ohmmm, this moment has been and shall forever be, ohmmm, ohmmm, all is but commission, ohmmm, ohmmm, light of the universe engulf my being. When we awake one fine morning unaware of day month or year, when we awake one fine morning oblivious to human truth, that mutilation of the obvious, when we awake one fine morning enraptured by the stardust which pervades all, viewing humanity from the azureous beyond, we will have completed the circle of our universe's epic cycle. Out of nothingness to return to nothingness. So be it.

We, us personas, who inhabit this piece of human real estate as these enlivened jesting possessors, vow that we believe, belief being here inferred, this to be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help us our human coherency, as we create in enthralled rapture, our mystical staircase to the heavens of contentment unto which death shall depart us to, or has departed us to, or is departing us to... oh well. Yes, and you thought you had problems.