Just be. Exist in the viscosity of emotions. Let it flow. The rage, the hate, the love, the generosity and the promiscuity. Why should anything matter? The rule being there are no rules.
Just think what fun this would be, the unfolding of life in all its sweetness and bitterness.
Why is there order? Dress codes, rituals and stifling traditions incarcerate our souls in a world hurtling through space…the darkness of eternity.
Some die. Some live, limping along, amidst the burgeoning crowds racing to buy, buy, buy, the carcinogenic dreams of millions.
Share the link. Share the photo. Plaster your image across the net or be plastered on the windscreen of a passing fancy. The glare of headlights lighting up the nether regions and tickling the ego to fornicate with a lesser mortal, the power of domination. The feeling of planting one’s seed without reason. The rhyme is left for those that nurture the sublime. New life is left to its own devices.
Words are just noise. Music is noise in rhyme. Poetry, the song of angels, fallen and destitute, is left to rummage in human waste searching vainly for the truth in life.
Rain falls, rivers dry up and forests burn down while life unfolds in the first green shoots that emerge amidst the ashes. The churning of the earth continues, grinds mud, rocks, leaves and animals into compost for another generation of living things. The creepy crawlies come out to devour one another.
Imagination is an illusion meant to seduce us from the reality of an unfolding life.
All those beautiful things that we create is mere stone and bone placed together to physically create our imagination. But what is it really? What does it really do for us, this art? Nothing. For it panders to the self-righteousness of the ego. And for this we pay a high price.
Unfolding life is nothing more than the next breath that is taken unconsciously. And then exhaled along with the day’s leftovers.
As my friend Rainy says, “It is what it is, don’t make a meal out of it.”
Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om
© Mark Ulyseas