Month: April 2021

If this world was about downloading the void zipped into material existence, would that mean it’s all one big magically connected thing?

For no other reason than it’s all coming from one source?

Appearing as one good-bad-ugly fleeting moment.

If so, “this is that” could mean what makes this possible is what makes that possible too.

Because of having a shared source makes each metaphysically the same.

Giving rise to a hidden deep subterranean connection among all things.

Bubbling-up as the void devolving itself into all manner of separated discrete forms in shared space and time.

If so, on the level of absolute void its emptiness is lossless.

Because it’s whole.

While on the level of relative emptiness discrete distinctions exist as forms of loss.

Assuming form is compacted formlessness.

Because that should mean the universe is the void shattered into bite-sized bits called materialized sense objects.

Not quite as objectively objectified as possibly supposed.

Meaning what’s considered mutually exclusive in a diametrically opposite way could turn-out-to-be fundamentally the same thing.

If all relative concrete particulars are subject to the dictates of one absolute universal emptiness.

It so, assuming materialized emptiness is the void made visible would mean something got subtracted for the wonderful addition of sense objects to happen.

As such subtracted loss might explain why just to exist could cause all to suffer.

For no reason other than having arrived.

As if to be a discrete materialized form is like getting deep sea divers’ decompression bends.

On a sliding scale of not so bad as good to very bad indeed.

What if there was no duality in a starter lossless state?

Having arrived as downloaded from the same source as a zipped into matter shrink-wrapped package.

As if something got subtracted from losslessness for these notes of existence to be sung.

If so, opposites only appear divided into positive and negative from the standpoint of relativity’s essence.

Because subtraction is needed for forward moment.

Like grains of hourglass sand do drop tik-tok.

Meaning what’s positive would be relative to how much negativity is negated.

If so, pleasure, happiness, success, anything considered good, may be what’s bad as if rolled-back on itself.

Consider…

Cops and robbers paired like a dog trying to apprehend it’s own tail.

Joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, success and failure essentially one.

Inherent connection making magic action at-a-distance possible.

War and competition as materialized emptiness fighting itself.

Eating as the universe feeding on itself.

Growth a subtraction process if it is about time running-out.

“It is what it is,” someone says.

“Is that so,” the reply?

What if the response was, “If so, what makes it so?’

Because to suppose the tree of free-falling physical existence is rooted in the metaphysical ground of emptiness.

Calls forth a worldview twist.

By unfreezing winter’s myopic snow pack of unknowing to reveal a hidden secret.

A seed for future harvest.

Cracked-open by sun ray spring melt’s “Why?”

Because if existence is fleeting, partial and flawed, there’s no ultimate fix for what ails.

No, none.

Because wanting something to remain when nothing does.

Is like asking for time to run backwards.

While trying to eat an empty shell of seafood wishes.

Because even the remains don’t remain.

Not in a world of perpetual nonstop change.

Assuming emptiness needed to take a hit to come into existence.

There’s little wiggle room left to insist, “It is what it is.”

Unaware of what that might suggest from the standpoint of nothing lasts.

Like impermanence per se may not be the bugaboo once surmised.

Because it never tasted what might make impermanence itself possible.

The gray matter capable of shattering expectations for a permanent fix.

For a better tap dance underfoot.

Making a bull’s eye turn red (without aiming) is to target hit mad as hell.

Triggering the primal armed alarm wake-up call.

Ruckus.

As this world devolves devouring madness.

A riotous universe kernel of hope sprang forth.

Split mouth-open to announce.

“To exist to suffer,” a living proof?

As if the impossible started all possible loss.

If so, what is trepidation but doom’s horizon felt?

With no possible recourse adding fuel to fiery remembered ashes.

Where an enlightened calm complacency scores a point for the other team.

Like the goalpost of livid insight moved to the yard-line for existence to exist.

Finds a dead-ringer buried carved mask.

Like diving off the bridge of hidden glory.

Throws-off quilted sleep’s cover-up.

This cat’s greeting eye-popping good morning motor purr.

Today’s power banked tank dialed-up full.

It took big-bang to get out of bed today.

As in any new birth.

Like guns of war bullets flew to pierce.

Why there’s something rather than nothing.

Because what if suffering signals there’s no way out.

If existence to exist was before past.

Not because this or that went wrong.

Who’s kidding who?

Because if it goes wrong something fundamentally went wrong first.

If anything is to go wrong.

What went wrong?

How could it?

If it is what it is.

Since this seems to be what makes going wrong possible.

Misses the dotted “i”.

When getting furious over the reason why nothing lasts.

Smack’s dab.

Since shouldn’t impermanence be the hammer?

Pounds reality’s nail to everyday door?

If so, what makes music possible is what kills everything.

Assume death is the theme of existence because emptiness took a hit.

For this very reason existence was hauled into World Court.

Charged with the capital crime of shattering an otherwise peacefully tranquil pristine void?

Actually causing its death.

Giving rise to why things go cockamamie nefarious.

Known as “what-it-is.”

Calling forth eye-for-an-eye punishment.

To make a birth certificate the death certificate.

To arrive and depart with a round-trip ticket.

Filling-up a runway on death’s row.

As inmates awaiting execution.

Good actors and bad alike.

Captives hold tight starlit stardust’s bare-knuckle fright.

“Bring-it-on.”

“It’s on its way.”

The fearless say.

Accident, war, disease, murder, suicide, old age, natural cause.

Enacted extracted.

Truth exacted.

Job well done.

Always one chained heartbeat away.

Without 11th hour clemency hope today.

Who doesn’t pretend it isn’t so?

Because if pattern is plot.

Plot is destiny.

Train-wreckers devoid of void.

Instigated original sin.

Brought forth in heart-beat pattern waves.

Of tension’s rise, climax, fall.

Climb-up, slide-down, feet hit the ground.

Beating drum head’s boom-bop-bap sweet slap.

Reverberating hardwired shared agreement.

Notwithstanding.

Scripted metaphysically on bonez of stone.

Was it worth it?

To break ring’s magic circle.

If no, the void’s return awaits assured.

At the cracked-door open sunset.

If yes, death’s priceless plot is fully paid.

For bargain basement transgression hunters.

To flee such flat-lined empty beingness.