Duck the Quack
Most act as if they're always right, and when dismissed,
whip out derisive tools to batter down and undermine
the impudent pretender. They say a good proctologist
can "help you pass that turd you call a brain, ditzy swine!"
We speak as if a parent, or a jury were wired in.
and seek to box, pin down, or sucker our opponent,
by threats or baited hooks. We want our way. We want to win,
but arn't secure to drop the props, and so we sabotage consent,
by ploys and plying our most weasley heists and cons.
An open mind, an open soul and open heart, gain more
of that which truly matters, and we witness witless johns
and their tempters tangled up in leaky lies, (and done for!).
This malware of the mind has got to be excised before
the inner ears will hear cathedral bells, tolling through the Soul.
The temple of one's Spirit keeps a private diaphanous door,
which touches higher planes, where Consciousness will kill the troll
who postures as the one, and only You. Many fingers not your own,
grab at the michrophone, to cast their pearls, of what they want
and what they don't, and even take a stab at sitting on the throne,
until some other want will push him down, and claim itself savant.
It's not by accident we're born in Hell. The worthy will transcend
the grime and slime of slum-bred sloth, by work to cleanse, retrain
and raise their eyes to climb the inner cliffs. Unless we lend
complete attention to extraction from the monkey brain,
our future gets no better than, and likely worse, than what
awaits us all beyond the cryptic wall of Death. The call
to come awake is why we're here, otherwise a coconut
compares and bests, the ego fangled phoney-faced fictious doll,
all carry and fret about. The entire empire of 'I and me',
is grease-paint and stage, ham actors, dull drama's and all.
With floodlights off and curtains closed, vacant seats and marquee
made dark, the real show still goes on. Behind Persona's thrall
with primal 'I and me', deep Consciousness exists. Our ken
does not include the means to know this as a 3D fact,
it takes a different kind of sight. Certain work changes men,
and earns for them conclusory cognition, that a pact
exists between all seekers of pure Consciousness and Grace;
the Good all-knowing Spirit of the Galaxy.
If one has lost the freedom in his Mind, to pick the place
and way he'll honor the Miraculous, he'd better call a taxi!