The Suchness And The Void

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Is anxiety a measure of regret?

Or of things unaddressed?

We live adrift

In ape avatars sharing reality,

Blurting out utterances from meat holes,

That are somehow supposed to convey

Enlightenment,

Consciousness, the Suchness and the Void,

Of all the things that exist behind our eyes,

That we call “me.”

 

Spirituality is the spectrum of reality,

That exists behind every conscious creature.

Long tentacles extending behind our eyes,

Constituted of the mess we call

Consciousness,

Memories,

Insecurities and hopes,

The inexpressible Suchness and the Void.

Long invisible tentacles tinted,

In colors outside our observable world,

 

Our lovers are not

Tranquil thighs,

Or symmetric smiles signaling

Potential ape mates,

But these tentacles composed of emotions,

Future reactions, of mistakes and wisdom.

 

 

Is anxiety a measure of regret?

Or a word we give to panic,

Sneaking out

From accepting “realistic expectations,”

Repressing failures to a low resonance,

That’s never quite,

Silent enough,

For what our lives

Have become.

 

Or is anxiety the symptom of sorrow

Seeping up from silent fates,

Their tentacles composed of

Our inaction, the CEO's greed, their suffering,

Their ape bodies thrashing against

Loss,

Grasping for a humane branch of survival,

Held,

Out of reach,

At the profit line's leisure.

 

Suffering is a segment of

Our shared reality,

It's symptoms bleed into our tentacles,

Churning nebulous voices into a moshing mob,

As we try,

Desperately

To drown spiritualistic diseases

With materialistic fetishes,

And when all that fails,

 

 

We tell ourselves

That this is just how,

It has,

To be:

 

“The world is a circus!

A horrifying madhouse!

Where it's perfectly sane,

To devote most resources

Towards annihilating fellow apes.”

 

So perhaps,

Anxiety is a measure of defeat.

The loss of those ideals you once believed,

The ghost of love chained

To the machine for eternity.

While the gargantuan arm of civilization

Crushes life and life and life.

 

But they'll crawl up on quiet nights,

Swarming over your consciousness,

Whispering

What you’ve always known:

 

That it simply

Does not

Have to be,

This way.