Woke up again this fine morning,
A dog-tired mind in an achy, battered sack of organized goo.
Like it or no, another day in the purgatory of human design, streaming its merry way.
All meaning and purpose, all rhyme and reason, lost and gone forever.
Son-of-Santa-Claus Jesus may be coming back to save us,
But you can bet this me-myself-and-I sure as hell,
Would not go to such troublesome bother.
* * * *
If there is any ultimate meaning and purpose to all this sandbox play,
Then surely it must be to realize that which You truly are.
What would be the point of anything less?
* * * *
Only minds shackled to time and space, require meaning and purpose.
The sage wanders freely in the quietude of eternal awareness.
All meaning and purpose evaporates when you do.
* * * *
So many seeking meaning and purpose, without ever questioning the assumption.
The mind’s never-ending quest for significance, for justification,
Is merely an absurd perception of self-importance.
Absolutely unwarranted and meaningless.
A stupor that keeps one from seeing,
The incomprehensible, for what it truly is.
* * * *
Passion is the harbor of all meaning and purpose,
And ultimately meaningless and without purpose.
* * * *
Meaning and purpose … pffft.
* * * *
You are the original source, the light that creates,
All form and shadow, all meaning and purpose,
All duality, in every imaginary way possible.
* * * *
Here you are: eating, drinking, sitting, walking, running;
Living out each and every day, sleeping through each and every night.
Here you are, witnessing the sensory dream playing out every moment in your mind.
Here you are, seeking meaning and purpose, in a vista that offers none,
But through imaginary intercourse with perception.