Breadcrumbs 2023
Leftovers
Self-imagery can be a huge stumbling block.
How You discern another, how another discerns You,
Depends very much on how your frames of reference interface,
And there is really nada-nada either of You can do about it,
Except perhaps somehow remain in total detachment,
Which works for about thirteen seconds, at best.
* * * *
The entire human paradigm is nothing more than stories born of imagination.
Your story is but a collage of perceptions, all founded on a fabricated frame of reference.
The only story You need to end, is your own; without a story, the incessant inner narration falls silent.
You must let it go, as if it never happened, if You wish to be the eternity You are.
One does not need to forever pretend something that is not real.
Without the story, what is a given moment?
* * * *
Resign yourself to the fact that You will likely decline and fall with a very long list,
Of books and movies and music and whatever, unwatched and unread and unheard and unknown.
The cruel reality is that the most anyone can hope to achieve in this dreamtime mystery,
Is a hearty statistical sample, in whatever frame of reference fate allows.
* * * *
What would You have done with your existence, if You were rich beyond rich?
What would You have done with your existence, if You were poor beyond poor?
Who, what, where, when, why, how, are all relative frames of imaginary reference.
Stars twinkle, suns shine, worlds spin, all the same one, each and every eternal moment.
No matter the seed cast by natural selection, the awareness fills all equally, all indifferently.
* * * *
The world we as a species have fashioned –
Overpopulated, full of violence, poisoned in every way imaginable –
Is not the one for which the hunter-gatherer was designed, and many are suffering for it,
Because their nature-nurture, their frame of reference, does not have what it takes to acclimate.
The rules of the quantum matrix are ever the same, and the nightmare is only just getting underway.
* * * *
Any translator bent on accurate translation,
Requires the wit to ever-expand beyond his limits,
Into whatever frame of reference is posed for translation.
Achieving the most accurate renditions require an earnest diligence,
An inherent integrity, an innate veracity, an intrinsic rightness,
Which who knows, how many, or how few, possess.
* * * *
Every mind has a frame of reference to which it clings.
Science may be more rational and exacting and articulate,
But it is no less a belief system than any other belief system.
Is it even possible to discern and function in absolute relativity?
* * * *
So many people just do not have a big enough picture, a big enough frame of reference,
To comprehend the shit-show that is coming at them.
So it goes.
* * * *
You can only know, You can only draw on, whatever You have experienced,
And how those perceptions spin into relevance of the frame-of-reference variety.
* * * *
Everything You experience is translated by your given nature-nurture frame of reference.
And no matter how diligently You work to expand it, it is ever delineated by its limitations.
* * * *
All the human beings You have known as friends and family;
As lovers, acquaintances, coworkers, strangers, adversaries, enemies,
Have all, each and every one, wrought the frame of reference, of the witness,
The mind, the awareness, the Self, that has chanced upon this aphorism.
* * * *
Each and every moment, each and every perception of your existence,
Is a translation, a rendition, an epiphany, a revelation, an insight,
That is continually incorporated into your frame of reference.
The pattern You are, the part You play, was scripted from the get-go.
Soundbites
A large frame of reference may or may not save You from yourself.
* * * *
Every moment, your frame of reference expands.
* * * *
Every culture has its frame of reference.
* * * *
History is the distillation of current events, and the story teller’s frame of reference, and intention.
* * * *
Only the rare few willingly look at anything that does not suit their frame of reference.
* * * *
To expand one’s frame of reference to its infinite potential is a rare calling.
Breadcrumbs
In creating this Sisyphean opus, mustered from a hard-earned frame of reference,
Every aphorism is given equal attention; each, gold-standard handcrafted,
To be read by somebody, someday, maybe, though probably not.
Don Quixote battling windmills is a fitting metaphor.
* * * *
I thank the gods every day for being born in the Rome of current times.
And also to have been born a peasant, free of the weight of political and religious dogma.
With enough of an education, enough of a frame of reference, enough of a mind-body, enough of a spirit,
To rationally observe the human paradigm play out, through many lenses, its endless absurdities.
* * * *
This is as earnest a work as this nature-nurture frame of reference can offer,
For whatever dystopian nightmare is coming at this once-upon-a-time immaculate garden.
If You can find something that suits the times better, sally forth,
But not into more absurdity, please.
* * * *
Sure, somebody else probably could have written it better,
But nobody else was willing to do it for nothing,
And had the frame of reference required.
Breadcrumbs 2024
Leftovers
You can only know your own frame of reference.
And that is but a paltry speck, of all that imagination has created,
To distract (and perchance amuse) the fickle awareness, the source of all eternity,
In any given right-here-right-now, unborn-undying moment,
From its ever-present, blissful quietude.
* * * *
What You call your life is really nothing more,
Than an ethereal array of chemically-induced perceptions.
A frame of reference, from which imagination gauges a quantum illusion,
Born of merely five senses – sight, smell, hearing, taste, touch –
Plugged into a gooey vat of neurons, encased in a skull.
Assumptions beyond counting, are requisite.
Keeps imagination very busy, indeed.
* * * *
Nature-nurture frames every mind to play out one dream-identity or another.
In discerning this truth, the secular mind can be recalibrated,
Into the eternal mind, into the eternal life.
Eternal freedom is an ageless walkabout unto thy Self.
* * * *
It is but a world-wide collusion of imagination.
Every mind a unique spin of its nature-nurtured frame of reference.
All hypnotized, all mesmerized, by a dreamtime reality, only the rarest minds can discern,
And even they are swept up in this delusional, Shakespearian, théâtre de l’absurde.
This whirling-twirling pale blue dot, upon which we all are marooned.
* * * *
Continuity is imagination’s fallacious delusion, over the mind-body’s sensory-born illusion.
The delusion fashioned by its intoxication with the vague perceptions,
The frame of reference, posted on its neuron trails.
It is the deception, the irony and paradox, of consciousness,
In its usurpation of the awareness, its usurpation of the timeless moment,
To seemingly fly through the eternal stillness, upon its magic carpet of space and time.
It is Shakespearian cuisine, upon a quantum stage, whereupon the mystery-born sentience, forges all.
* * * *
The world, the cosmos, the dreamtime,
You see, You hear, You taste, You smell, You feel,
Is but an ever-expanding frame of reference, You alone imagine.
* * * *
Every awakening is its own mind.
Every awakening is its own dream.
Every awakening is its own story.
Every awakening is its own time.
Every awakening is its own space.
Every awakening is its own pattern.
Every awakening is its own frame.
Every awakening is its own stage.
Every awakening is its own tempo.
Every awakening is its own blend.
Every awakening is its own values.
Every awakening is its own fluency.
Every awakening is its own dark.
Every awakening is its own gray.
Every awakening is its own light.
Every awakening is its own display.
Every awakening is its own muddle.
Every awakening is its own mania.
Every awakening is its own agony.
Every awakening is its own ecstasy.
Every awakening is its own clarity.
Every awakening is its own logic.
Every awakening is its own merit.
Every awakening is its own lucidity.
Every awakening is its own menagerie.
Every awakening is its own beginning.
Every awakening is its own process.
Every awakening is its own end.
No two alike.
* * * *
It only happened that way, because You perceived it that way.
And anyone else present perceived it in their way.
Every frame of reference is matchless.
All histories, minor to major, are but perspectives.
And is there anything forcing You to ponder anything ever again?
* * * *
Everything You – perceived, thought, believed, hoped, dreamed – happened, in any given moment,
Is entirely constructed by your lifetime’s accumulated nature-nurture frame-of-reference.
All the incalculable perceptions that your mind-body has wandered and retained.
And the reality is, that it can all, never be more, than a vague and ever-changing perception.
Soundbites
All imaginary notion to the contrary, You are not your frame of reference.
Breadcrumbs 2025
Leftovers
Every life form is completely alone for all eternity, all equally created of the same ineffable mystery.
Everyone wanders – a labyrinth, a maze, a frame of reference, a muddle – of their own imaginary design.
Philosophical inquiry by those who answer the call of eternity, is rarely without great time and effort.
How can there be a point, when the moment passes too quickly, for one to land, much less stick.
* * * *
Everyone wanders, everyone meanders, everyone roams,
A labyrinth, a maze, a frame of reference, a muddle,
Of their own nature-nurtured imaginary design.
* * * *
Hard to debate someone, who will not, cannot, look at, or listen to,
Something, anything, their given frame of reference does not allow.
* * * *
Everyone wanders, everyone meanders, everyone roams,
A labyrinth, a maze, a frame of reference, a muddle,
Of their own nature-nurtured imaginary design.
* * * *
For You to be reading, to be pondering, anything in these many pages,
Means that it resonates with your inner vision of this mystery theater.
All are drawn to whatever suits their ever-expanding frame of reference.
And if this is your moment to embrace the totality, these words are for You.
* * * *
To what degree does anyone awaken, in a mystery that is immeasurably immaculate?
To what degree does anyone awaken, in a dream that is nothing more than quantum illusion?
To what degree does anyone awaken, when they are totally alone in a pristine state of awareness?
To what degree does anyone awaken, when every mind is but a neural network of ecstasies and agonies?
To what degree does anyone awaken, when every mind is a solitary invention, an absolute handiwork?
To what degree does anyone awaken, when within their sensory theater, they are sovereign witness?
To what degree does anyone awaken, when tribal associations and alliances no longer hold sway?
To what degree does anyone awaken, when every mind is but an imaginary frame of reference?
And to what degree does any degree prevail, when no degree exists in this indivisible matrix?
* * * *
Like snowflakes, like fingerprints,
No two dreamtimes, no two frames of reference,
Even once exactly the same, across this entire ineffable mystery.
* * * *
Every mind has its own indivisible frame of reference.
You and everyone else have a completely unique perspective.
No translation, no rendition, no interpretation, can ever be the same.
* * * *
There it was, right there, right then,
And now, gone, gone, forever gone.
Naught but a flicker upon a neuron trail.
A perception in a mortal frame of reference.
* * * *
Any memory, any history, is the fluke of any given neural matrix,
And all the many perceptions of an ever-streaming dream.
Can any family, any tribe, any society, hold fast,
Without a binding communal vision,
A frame of reference upon which all agree?
* * * *
That memory, that perception, that vision, that insight, from the way back when,
Is no more or less real, than the memory-perception-vision-insight kaleidoscoped through just now.
Nor is it any more or less real, than the projected future imagined by the frame of reference,
Playing out in the space-time, that does not exist, has never existed, will never exist.
The eternal moment, the eternal ever-present, the eternal awareness, is all.
* * * *
What could possibly be more omniscient-omnipresent-omnipotent,
Than the dimensionless, immaculate awareness, permeating all eternity.
It is through naught but a frame of reference that You perceive your universe.
Call it by whatever sound, whatever vibration, You will … You are it, and it is You.
* * * *
Your world, your cosmos, is an ever-changing set of mind-body perceptions,
That hinge on age, on frame of reference, on what is remembered, on what is forgotten,
On what is valued, on what is not, and in large part, on the circumstances of the given moment.
There is no right or wrong to it … there is simply the … it is what is … so it goes … of it.
The challenge, is realizing that the real You is not the sensory-bound mind-body.
That You are none of it, have never been any of it, will never be any of it.
* * * *
What any given mind-body perceives, is distilled by its own frame of reference,
Into its own account, its own narrative, its own chronicle, its own story, its own saga.
* * * *
Sometimes frameless in eternal awareness, sometimes framed in mundane imagination;
Sometimes detached, unborn-undying, inscrutable; sometimes attached, temporal;
You ever in the indifferent moment, wander a kaleidoscoping dreamtime.
* * * *
Truth cannot be taught.
Everyone is entirely on their own,
And whatever any mind ‘gets’ or ‘does not get’,
Is absolutely based on a frame of reference only it perceives.
All the ‘belief’ systems of the human paradigm wander well beyond absurdity.
What inspires any seer, any sage, to craft a venue to share their insights?
Where would any be if we had never penned or uttered a word?
Had all our so many ponderings never been imparted?
The silent mind is an impenetrable emptiness,
Untarnished by any irony, any paradox,
Ever contrived by imagination.
* * * *
The reality is, any given reader may or may not grasp thoughts such as these as they were meant.
The reflections offered are ever subject to the frame of reference of the observer.
No thinker, no philosopher, can ever presume his or her views,
Will not be used for unintended purpose.
* * * *
Detachment is not an ideal, nor is it a goal, nor is it a principle.
It is a state, a frame, a quality, a serenity, of mind,
Free of desire, free of fear, free of dread,
Free of any passion, whatsoever.
It is the You, it is the Self,
At the most natural, essential core.
This dream is always in turmoil and conflict.
To amble through it, placidly detached, is the challenge.