Projections like fans of water,
splayed out in fervent increments of release,
assume the mantle of disbelief,
the truth so scattered, and lies mad-hatter-ed,
yet human animals their grief so matters
they dress the truth in afferent attire
to relieve their utter confusion,
as minds aspire symmetry to ease their pain.
Ravenous these projections,
these lies of profound perfection,
when make-believe is far greater than truth,
and concealed those elusive dreams,
buried with harm and everything,
to keep secure the tentative nature
of the free will ruse, but what is true
when no-one else is in the room?
Living is a delusion of being so rife,
swallowed lies and compromise
the shadow life of human identity,
woven into an accepted being of worth,
regardless of point of view, truth or any proof
of reality posed, just a proposed state
within which we can sate
some modicum of joy in our prison.
So we project, not ourselves
but an approximation of wants,
of desired perceptions that placate
the deep-seated angst we carry as our burden,
the doubts and realities of our ineptitudes,
our flaws and sins a collective
of internal musing, conflicts and sedition,
we carry like chains of bondage.
Our Roots Are Deep
Our pride of place, clinging to spaces
that attest some delusion of worth,
when all is just a haze of projection,
a predilection of wants and scope,
as we in human skin begin
to discover the self, our innate sin,
and the burden of free will.
The earth is our garden,
the playing field of the construct
within which we create
associations of worth, our
choices and the girth of our plans,
all based upon belief about who we are,
our ego’s place in eternity’s wake.
We may flourish,
find success in physical pursuits,
yet it is not the ego that requires feeding
but the spiritual knowledge and growth
that learning manifests,
that pain, failure and loss
begs to question.
The ego in expression is choice:
pretence, exaggeration, aggression,
determination, obstinacy and the like
keeps the light from influence,
as we see the self as our centre,
the purpose and means to happiness,
so far, elusive.
We are like trees,
our roots in time become
more vast than the tree itself,
suckling from the earth with the same intention,
yet it is the tree that basks in sunlight,
grows in leaf and bow and propagates
within the glory of being.
Which path do you choose?
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