KINDRED SPIRITS

Here and local is this seemingly foreign land
I guess I know the gestures and I guess I know the ways
But the people seem distant and of another mold
But I guess they just allowed themselves to be trained
by the prevailing schools and mindsets
I was a seeker of knowledge and joy and emotional riches
turning over stones along the line of healthy quest and obsession
I am still here but from a more practiced perspective
Now the seeking is fine in itself
To succeed or not is not so important
But to live with authenticity, that is the trick.
Living in this Borderland is just an illusion anyway.
The barbarian hordes are as enlightened as any deities.
We are kindred by our common quest for happiness.
And this obsession for happiness is what ails us so.
To make our dreams come true, but who is the dreamer,
what is dreamed, and as the dead bard said,
"What exactly is a dream?" The dream, the dreamer,
and the dreaming all change and sparkle like facets reflecting
the same stream of mind. But the body calls us back.
The past is gone, the future yet to be
There is only Now and that won't stay still.
There is only the dance of time and space, Mahamaya
We are dancers and so lets dance
Somehow we are building pillars in the void of someone
else's dream – doors where the wise children of the future
can seek refuge from the dregs of the monolithic snowball.
But the real work is the untangling of habitual suicide
and discovering the joy of the new freedom.
Every little effort for them is a drop in the bucket.
In this mess of selfishness we are confined and stifled.
If I seek you for me, to adorn me, then what use
has this momentary show? What is this life but a
series of momentary shows? We kill and maim each other
to keep up this illusion of the joy of the moment.
So this seeking is only a fallacy, a stage to be cast away.
Rest in the naked presence of the everchanging moment.