what you don’t want

To you.


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The shadow of the gnomon*
slides at a steady rate.
Even if the dial is ancient,
the time itself is up to date.
Though the train sleeps in the station,
the sun just will not wait.

And the ever moving sun
and the clocks that tick and chime
are the chains we use to bind our minds
and imprison them in Time.

Time has no bird, no scythe,
no power over man or Fate.
Having wanted to be early,
we decide that we are late.

*A gnomon is the part of a sundial that casts a shadow.


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In the Beginning
(or perhaps a little later)
there was I.

And then, because I was lonely,
there was me.

And we got on like a house on fire!
And, so that we could have something in common,
there was mine.
And we got on like a house on fire.
(Very much like a house on fire!)

And then you came along
and spoilt everything
because you wanted yours;
and what you called yours
was actually mine.

And to make matters worse,
you brought him with you;
and he wanted his.

And although he could have shared yours,
he didn’t. He wanted it all to himself.
And he wanted mine.

And so it all went wrong.
There was the Spanish Armada
and the French Revolution
and the Second World War
and Vietnam
and Tony Blair
and it’s all such a mess!

And yet, it started out so well!


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Meister Eckhart says:
The eye with which I
see God
is the same with which God
sees me.
My eye
and God’s eye
is one eye,
and one sight,
and one knowledge,
and one love.

Eckhart Tolle says:
God is undifferentiated Consciousness.

Gnome says:
When thinking stops
while you are looking at the world,
God is looking out
through your eyes
at your world.


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Power aims
at Freedom To;
finds itself
on a collision course
with all the other Freedoms To
that inhabit gods and men and beast;
storm and drought and pestilence;
sickness, old age and death.

Wisdom aims
for Freedom From
discovers that all the competing Freedom To’s
struggle within the stadium of life
and win and lose and win and lose
and lose at last at the gates
of old age and death.

Discovers that he who enters not
the arena of the breath
suffers no loss and dies no death.


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A boat
on the stream
of time.

On either bank
the dream;
a banquet for the senses.
A blaze
of colour and livingness
of music and messages
to tempt and amaze;
enticements and instant memories;
the enchanting voice
of the serpent.

on the stream
from nowhere
to nothing.


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All you have to do is accept
that what happened happened
and move on from there;
not whether you were wrong
nor whether you were right.

Whenever the Truth arises
in whatever place and guise,
a thousand mouths will appear before long
to claim it for their own,
and argue and fight.


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