The older I become
The more I understand
But the less I’m understood
Because subterranean mumbles can only be heard by diggers of mystical tunnels
in the bedrock of forever unknowings.
Where very few people venture to go
because the lack of any definitive can bring a sense of absence in being
Where there is no distinction between anything perceived
In the great immensity of singular expanse.
There are so many things in modern living that take us away from the essence.
Insidious distractions of desire grown not from the earth but the bank vaults of currencies.
Spinning our destiny’s into the hollows of profit based insignificance.
We stand in the middle of Divine wonderment while searching for a WiFi connection to a manipulated nowhere.
And miss the true movement of the earth spinning in the essential wonderment of mystical revelry.
Where the wind of the spin whispers the ‘knowing’
that will continue to go tragically unnoticed
until the spinning simply stops.
bongdoogle doodles 