Incomprehensible

We’re a continuous body of energy, no empty spaces.. All our chasms imagined, we design complicated definitions... express quite untenable,  incomplete propositions, trying to envelop this vast expanse of vibrating energy, without cease it contains no beginning or end, we make up the structure, we draw out the lines and pretend. Tools of the mind, Perverted, deny… the stuff they consist of. In every consideration, the truth gets laid aside, as it is incomprehensible, we can’t wrap our minds around the intangible, it’s deserted and it’s divine. We learn to strive for practicality, misleading our basic motivation; to absorb and grow from every moment, become it as it passes by. Instead we relate to objects as a superficial value, No spirit, no body or mind. We leave the true nature of all things behind, the natural thirst for wisdom pacified, by the occasional imagined prize. We pass along this malfunction of the mind, caressing each other with the comfort of normalcy, touching only through the gloves of definition, the illusion manifests as a sense of belonging.; this is the delusion of being defined. We stumble over again and again, the paradox of "I." We build castles and kill inch by inch, validating the most destructive of lies. As we move forward on our imagined missions, we constantly fall behind. I think we probably all realize these things, Only when it's our time to die. No words can envelope high understanding, wisdom belongs to no body, or mind, These things all are only an expanse of energy, the oscillating infinity we imagine we manifest from, absorbing us back always eventually into its imperceivable skies. We are only the programs and lessons created, when our ancesters, acutely aware of a moment, were touched deeply inside. Our only purpose is to cope in constant change, feel and touch each unspeakable secret gem every moment, then will the lessons to a child, each genetic mutation, a mark of a human in a moment of wisdom, taking every nuance inside. So that despite the deleterious mutations slowly consuming our race, Something of us may yet survive, though they will not be able to say why. Written February 7th, 2002 © on Feb 07 2002 10:03 AM PST, Neurosine    0 • 10