Shrug

Most folks presume that they know who they are.
In fact, they havn't got a clue. At core,
when we've divested every trace, near and far,
of what we think, believe, adore, abhor,

or otherwise attach, what's left? We're not
our job, our learning, or relationships
with friends and family, nor our hotshot
car, our clothes, or wiggle in our hips.

We're not our bank account. We're not our fame.
We're not our body, as it's, but meat and bone.
We are an energy without a name,
arising from a mystic zone unknown.

Don't worship a cross or sprawl on the floor!
A quiet mind, exuding gratitude
mollifies angst, and soothes the soul, far more
than dire prayer, or pious platitude.

Such fabulous success, unfailing luck,
and perfect life, spells out one's god is Right!
Not yours? To see yourself as just a cluck,
who doesn't know a thing about true Light,

at least, describes a willingness to learn.
Real effort, not belief, brings on those ways
that spur uplift, for which, all good men yearn.
A church of One, must vett and reappraise

each badged premise that when loosed. turns profane.
A novel repertoire of what's worth what,
must be developed and deployed to gain
a rung above the locked robotic rut

we think of as, the only way to see.
A spectrum. much like light, describes the scale
and magnitudes of conscious clarity.
All low-zone life, live but a fairytale

that's painful pointless, and certain to fade.
For precise perception, there is no trade.
If wrong, all existential views are crap,
and route truth seekers to a poopy trap.

All life on earth, some beautiful, some strange,
evolves concurrently, in ceaseless kinds
of always new, kaleidoscopic change,
the grains of which, enmasse, can but blow minds!

The universe, from galaxies to quarks,
resonates on a scale, unthinkably vast.
Its boundryless entirety has no marks
to chart a start or end. The Big Bang blast

is still in motion. Things go on and on.
No God was ever born to rule this roost.
Not mere anarchy! Sheer chaos is loosed
upon the last iota of Creation.