Fruits of the earth, shared and eaten, seeds strewn carelessly. Saplings sprout into trees only to be cut down senselessly by incontinence of spirit. Words imprison and images seduce the dream of wanting, feeling, longing to be apart from the menagerie of people each jostling for space on a planet hurtling in time. And as one imaginary year ends, another begins to creep slowly upon an aging life, engaging the sullen spirit of selfishness.
New Year expectations are like dumb charades, we keep guessing and attempting to interpret what is the obvious staring us in the face. The inebriated soul often finds solace in plastic reality that is soulless in spirit and purpose. The fragile membrane of existence quivers to the intrusive effect of remembrances.
Why does the past continue to nag and the future play truant with one and all? Is this a senile Divine Being playing tic tac toe to amuse the Self?
Sages suck on the nectar of la dolce vita whilst mendacity mangles our memories.
Where does it begin and end? And is there a beginning and an end?
Or, is this a freak of nature in the Universal womb?
Days, months, years and millennium are man made for in the grand scheme of things Time is not relative…it is love.
Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om
marculyseas 
