One's purest state of Being, nearest to the psychic sun,
is found by taming darting wings in flocks of scattered thought.
As most are now, a vexing, rude untaught disaster's son
(or daughter), work on Self, must be done to bring back the tot
we were (and never stopped being) to rewrite our book of rules,
omitting guilt and fear. The toxic vice of unearned pride,
and shrewish asp of vanity, are far the worst of Ego's ghouls,
evicted from the book. Lazy-ass raw-dog lust and greedy-eyed,
Midas minds, in league with gluttony and wrath, pretty well
disqualify a would-be soul from Beauty, Goodness, Truth and Grace.
The violence and deception that besets this world of Hell,
is wrought by those whose ethics shame the total human race.
Everybody owes, not one of us is clear of vines that strangle.
We don't admit that we have flaws, and build our homes on sand.
We issue blame and justify our faults, by working every angle
so as to walk away, with our faux dignity in hand.
To fix our mis-parked minds, so that they work the right way round,
may take a while. Many years (or lifetimes) spent held fast
to principles that point the proper path to the Profound,
will garner understandings that re-constitute your past.
A rightly Conscious human being is what we're meant to be.
Our makers wrote a higher growth of Being, in our DNA,
but this knowledge has no welcome amongst the fiddily-dees
who thrive on superficial things. Fast cars on the motorway
dripping with chrome, and posh clothes from just the right boutique,
in part, portray attachments of those doomed to reappear
in some life worse than this. One's attitudes and foul moods, speak
boxcars of bad news, about one's liklihood to spear
the whisper of a chance to shuck the blockage that retards
emergence of the angel at your core. When one admits
he's rife with limitations that he lies about, the cards
can change for him, because he's quit the ranks of hypocrites.