Put Things Right
Where arrogance is shot on sight, and bullshit feeds the garden plot,
ugly, prideful swine-brains suck, so they do NOT abound.
This bit of holy ground comes of space, once held by Ego's Bot,
but now it's owned by all who know, Life is mystic and profound.
Ancesttral essences are present and permeate our hall of echoes.
Brand-Name luxuries ensnare the business end of most who seek
to learn about their Soul's Divinity. Lost in the throes
of plot and drama, most forget their goals, and join the clique
of prideful posers, all of whom believe they are their name.
The worship of wealth and status becomes their grail search,
and the science of conjuring the Soul, a parlor game.
That, or they find God, climbing down the chimney of their church.
One's 'Real I', is not a mix of traits and states and memories
that live within the mind. Real I's, an experience of 'concrete
duration' whose origin eclipses all creation stories,
and whose depth of virtue touches Grace, where Truth and Wisdom meet.
The whole caboodle needs acknoledgement. It's True, You're Not!
Like Galileo tried to show, it works the other way around.
"The first be last and last be first", a total turn of thought
must come to pass before a link with Light will ever be found.
Real I has no name in this world, it comes from a deep place.
Most splash and play in shallows at the surface of their souls,
unwilling to immerse and plumb the depths of inner space.
Real I has gravity and Grace, beyond the reach of trolls
who trawl with hopes to snag I's microphone that amplifies
'I want', to an artform. Real I awaits your cosmic law degree.
The one that shows you're rightly on your way to being wise
to Ego's tacts and tricks and set to learn new ways to see.
aive, most folks believe that the whole of a man
is visible. The world inside the skull exists beyond
what can be seen by eyes. The outworld, all men can scan,
but no man sees another's mind. The import hasn't dawned
in far too many heads. When looking at a stadium throng,
ten thousand separate and unique inner cosmoses cheer
and boo. Wholly unlike, yet all can sing a single song.
There is an unseen otherside to Life, whose locals steer
certain energies to our food bowl, like we're their pet.
How much this mystic force can reach, depends on what we've done
to shape our character. As lazy souls with shiftless goals forget
to clear the path to holy ground, they never sense the inner sun.