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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Monday, April 20, 2015

(132)

He lives in denial,
Blind to all the years that lie ahead of him.
Turns his consciousness away from each moment
That passes unheeded, unneeded, falling into irredeemable nonexistence.
His forward gaze slips seamlessly into an infinite projection of itself,
He sees only himself looking.
His remembrance sublimates without a trace into instant oblivion,
The present is an effect without any cause.
His mind is still,
Judgement not clouded by a vision of the future
Nor thoughts weighed down by memories of the past.

He is...
He wasn’t
He won’t be
He... is.

This here-and-now is immeasurable, indivisible.
He stands in the center of His universe, encompassing it, filling it,
Unchallenged and free, his tranquility unending.

Crippled and alone, his torment unrelieved,
He lies in the center of His universe, encompassing it, filling it.
This here-and-now is immeasurable, indivisible.

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