"Die here, born there - die there, born here", some folks believe this thought
in some way, has a place in the grander scheme of things.
What we are, goes with us when we pass, as germ for our next shot,
which is the reason why, its best to separate from strings
that keep us stuck and stranded in our poorest, darkest slum.
All men have an inner countryside, not unlike here.
Mechanical activity, largely gets us to and from
the places that we go. And though all feel, it's they who steer,
they're ninty nine percent delusional. They're quite asleep
to the real Truth. They riccochet about, and think they know.
They'll take offense and fight, at any ruffle to their pride, and keep
a ledger of who owes what, and every crime from long ago.
"Not me", we say, (it's called denial). "The reason that I did this thing,
was cause I was the victim here," is uttered countless times
a day, and not, " I did it right the first time." Wakefulness will bring
the certainty there is a set of things to do. Our crimes
of telling lies and pointing blame that fill our days, should prove
a lot goes on beyond our claims of, 'firmly in control.'
Until we make repair to how we vet the world, and move
our thought pile enmasse, to better serve our growing Soul,
we'll drift along oblivious, down to the lemming's ledge.
We're born alone, we die alone, so in between it's true,
though most would say we're not. We point to others at the edge
of our periphery and state "we are all here". "Cuckoo,"
the deeper Truth would say. "Those folks who share your 3D space,
are each unique, and pilot of a singularity
that all call 'I'. All folks might share a common Grace,
but not one knows the goings on, within the head of he
who stands beside. Their bodies, acts and words serve to convey
the image how that they would like to be perceived. We buy
of it what serves our plans, but it's us that never stray
beyond our flesh and bone abode, that we live in til we die.
Our mind's experience, and definition of some thing
or person may be wrong, (and often is.) A small mistake
can trash an enterprise, derailing many years. To cling
to untrue things insures a would-be seer, will never wake.