penny rimbaud
@pennyrimbaud1
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2013. NOTHING TO SAY, BUT ONGOING.
Joined December 2013
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War is pitiful cowardice. Peace is the inner courage of love, ever rising, everlasting.
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Peace is not a bourgeois commodity, nor an elitist luxury, no, it is the longest and most painful battle know to humankind. After all this time, is this really the best we can do? Stop now, enrol in silence. Know that which is beyond knowing. Peace.
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We all have a story to tell but, more importantly, can we believe it?
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To describe is to prescribe. A tree is not a tree. Less is more, thou also, and then? Hush, the waking sleep.
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The only true value is in breath. Most everything else is either invention and/or acquisition.
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Compassion has no boundaries. Eternity stamps its feet all over. Tides turn to return. We are neither here nor there. Emptiness abounds. Welcome.
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Progress? What progress? A car outruns a horse, but who’s going anywhere? A smartphone outpaces a landline, but who’s got anything to say? A drone outdoes a landmine, but… Hello, hello, where are you?
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When there is no more, things really start moving; empty mind, full potential.
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The flags of nations are the tattered rags of war. Within the horror, we are as one. Think on.
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The only way to become a true artist is to be yourself. The only way to become your true self is to forget/erase the self you imagine yourself to be. Bon chance.
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Humanity, hubris or simply nothing at all? Doubt is self-flattery. Knowledge is idiocy. Insistence is greed. Greed is fear. Nothing is quite as it appears. Emptiness has no doors; the unavoidable void of being.
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Pity the masters of war, pity their bland stupidity, their heartless ignorance, their ugly cupidity. Pity the masters of war, for in their desecration of life, they are already dead.
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What is it that they're seeking, so cold and so deprived? What is it that they dream of in their empty, eyeless heads? Why must we share their lust for war? Can they not die alone? Why must we share their fear of breath, light, life, PEACE? (Crass-1981)
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Frailty, impermanence, and vulnerability are profound expressions of a now that never is. Substance there is none. The wait is over. Awareness is all.
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The capitalist (material) world is policed by political, militaristic and techno mafias operating under the euphemistic codename of ‘democracy’. Press # and sign out. Bye now.
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Bear in mind that mind bears you, not you it. Mind you…
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Conformity is a dangerous and widespread state of trauma suffered by those who quite simply can't let go. Hang loose, the rest will follow.
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Any given moment is an irrevocable sum total, a stasis in defiance of past, future and the fleeting nature of now. In short, we’re going nowhere, because there’s nowhere to go, because we’re already there. Now you see me…
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Such precondition, such assumption. Such tree, such sky, such bird and swathe. Such this and that, such me and you. Such everything which also is nothing. We move as ghosts, bodiless in oceans of infinity.
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Human beings are universally of a kind, yet savagely unkind to each other. There is common ground if we choose to see it, so why bomb it? In all of this, we are in some way complicit. Then let us rewrite the narrative that the heart might tell of the silence of pure love. Peace.
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Seeing is not believing. The greater wisdom conjoins.
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Hate calls for nothing but hate, empty, singular, taking and self-negating. Love calls for total love, fecund, unconditional, universal, giving and selfless. Spot the difference.
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Under the guise of liberal democracy, corporate capitalism and rampant militarism are able to freely exploit the benefits of a compliant global slave population. WHO? Beware, fear is the common enemy, the bloodstream of totalitarian intrigue. Watch the poppies grow.
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As we do, so we don't; the dark maze of the one-dimensional material world.
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This is the eternal moment illuminated by an everlasting love supreme. There are no shadows. There’s no escaping it, we are, after all, concurrent; big fire, big water, big sky, ethereal bliss.
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Whatever is going to happen, is going to happen. Get used to the idea. Become a ‘whateverist’. Whateverism is both solution and salvation.
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To john and yoko with love -
PEACE IS OURS IF WE MAKE IT.
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Look now, eternity abides in the pools of our eyes. There is nothing beyond.
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Knowledge creates a sordid bed of fiction. Wisdom wipes the sheets clean.
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Reason is a noose around the neck of true philosophy. Meaning is ‘poison in a pretty pill’. Silent within the underbelly, grace will out.
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The determination of the bourgeoisie is the ice-covering that holds life at bay; ‘tis a complicity most foul. Come the thaw…
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Great mountains crumble, we too. Every ‘thing’ is self-devouring in its return to the eternal nowhere of essence. Welcome.
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Consciousness is the magician’s rabbit pulled from the hat. We conjure the ephemeral and call it reality. Smug in these conceits, we impose them on others; now you see it, now you don’t. Substance is emptiness.
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Hatred is self-harm. Harm is self-hatred. Violence is absence. Vengeance is void. Power corrupts. Greed erodes. The corporate defiles. The corporeal sucks its own blood. The mighty have fallen. Phew, fancy a walk?
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Beauty is a machine, the beast is in our interpretation of it.
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The material world is a veneer. Context is a false alarm. At any given moment we are all these things. Is there really anybody there?
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Divide and rule, rule and deride. The slippery slope to totalitarianism. Break free. The answer lies within.
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Blanket mist clung to woodland depths. Sullen crows risen , drifted in defiance. Dusk, the nod of lost time where time never was. All else is eternal. Why awake to confinement?
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Wealth ensures poverty. Poverty endorses wealth. The trap i$ laid.
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Consciousness is a precursor of death. The future is now. The past never was. Call it freedom.
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In any psychological conflict, the first enemy is yourself. Deal with that, and love unfolds.
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The complexity of death, let alone any understanding of it, makes a complete platitude of it. There now, never mind. Meanwhile…
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Do we really have to live a lifetime to realise we haven't? Life is solely in the making, and what’s more, now here is nowhere.
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The unthinkable happens alongside the unspeakable. Step back, silence heals.
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Crossroads of the mind; there's no way but this way which is no way.
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Nothing passes. No, it simply returns. There is neither heaven nor earth to be ruled. The clowns are losing their smile.
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The crows rise as sudden plumes of stulted consciousness. The storms rage that better we be determined. Forceful yet, the poppies will grow to challenge conflagration.
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This is a beginning, a fall from grace. On crippled wings we learn to fly (again).
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Consciousness is the indescribable describing the indescribable, a flypaper mobius strip that just won’t let go. Snap out of it, take flight.
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Where poetics are lost, so too the heart. The material world is so seductive in its bland simplicity and tragic lack of metaphor. Tear away the conceits. Walk naked in mind and body. For certain, the dews will rise. The wait is over.
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The wind has no intention, nor the skies a purpose. Illumination is of its own doing. Lay claim, and the lights go out. Evening falls, entrenched. Sleep draws a pretty picture; void. We move in circles and call it a straight line.
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Time stretches, and we with it, beyond containment, beyond doubt; the great undoing which is the done. Come now, there’s no time to waste.
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We enter life innately knowing truth, and from then on we’re systematically pressed to look elsewhere. The construct of self leads to a second-hand existence wherein to do better we only do worse. Reboot, it’s the only way out.
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The mind knows not itself, and hence the endless contradiction. Thou shalt not, but possibly might. The dualistic tease of consciousness. The ceaseless employment of opposites. The binary download. The psychological tangle of illogical assumptions. Nothing is a construct.
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The hoarfrost wraps tight, blinding in thrall. Determination becomes a forgotten luxury. The crows are silent. We too in the blend.
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An eye for an eye is no justice to the blind. The slaughter of innocence is the slaughter of everything that we are or could be. In this context, dignity is an island of despair that together ‘we shall overcome’ with love.
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Silence has body both within and beyond the corporeal. The skies, the seas, the lands are emptiness incarnate. Time merely equates. Space devours. There is nowhere to run, and therein resolution.
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In all our forms, we are immortal. The ego can go take a leap.
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The comfort of war is in the self-righteousness of its advocates whose sense of purpose is matched only by that of its opponents. Dialogue between bigots is notably ineffectual. Have fun, boys.
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A short history of warfare - where no questions are asked, there’s no answers to be given. Ism is schism. Stop. Wait. Listen.
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Fact is a fictional dogma. Truth is a subjective delusion. Emptiness holds weight. Now, as I was saying…
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Body knows. Mind merely makes it up on the spot. Oh, go on then…
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In that they are both dualistic conceits, attachment and detachment are one and the same. Let go? There’s nothing to hang onto and nowhere to fall.
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An I for an I, a me for a mean, a mine for a mind; deadlock. Shadows grow yet are infinitely consumable. Paradox is an oxymoron standing on its head. The magpie takes a dive.
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Vulnerability is the seed of passion.
Less we are, more it is. Bless.
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When the tempests blow, are we to be lessened, or should we shriek epiphany, or mirror torn horizons as feigned salvation? Being is in the undoing.
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Attachment is entanglement. Emptiness is the physiography of freedom. The mind is a manacle. Ouch!
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The unspoken word is the silence that exists around us, but is there anything to be said? Love is beyond frail mumblings. We the incarnate are the true expression of it. Bless.
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Every heaven has a hell. Every way has an out. Mind the gap.
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True beauty blooms, bursts and then inverts. Therein it transmutes into eternal love, the very configuration of being. Consider the lilies...
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The true pandemic is that of laissez-faire ignorance. 'Thou shalt' is nobody's business but your own.
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Against the sordid corruptions of corporate avarice and lewd magnate prurience, military bestiality and political ineptitude, religious bigotry and nationalist delusions, personal indifference and downright lies, we stand alone. The power is ours. Take it.
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Form is consciousness. Consciousness is the price we pay. Equally, we are other, formless and free of intention. The swallow and the Sphinx wait on no-one.
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Birds fly, leaves fall, and we the observer, devoid. Weather weathers, life lifes, and we the vacuum of the ever-removed. Yet still the seasons leave their mark. The Sphynx awaits the swallows’ call.
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Without going out of the door, more or less, less is more. Particle or particular, these many things are the void, inverting and self-devouring. There is nothing between us. Love is all.
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Emptiness is an infinity; immortality is its name. Nothing doing.
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‘Yes’, ‘no’, the digital loop of doing. ‘Maybe’, the analogue flow of being. Knowledge effaces. Wisdom allows. The symbiosis engulfs such vanities. Disperse, then, disperse.
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Within the dark intrigues of conspiracy theories, the dominant capitalist narrative, as supported by militaristic intervention, reigns supreme. While they lie, we’re told to buy, buy, buy, and have a nice day. But hey, check out the headlines. That’s the price we have to pay.
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Duality singularises. Plurality emphasises and exaggerates the conceit. There are no two things nor multiples of them. Essence is totality and will suffer no division.
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Hold to nothing that nothing might hold, and therein liberation. Peace.
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Set in wildness, the sparrowhawk swoops in a perfect arc. The sparrows are one less. Each fight their own corner, singular and isolated. We too; all these things.
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Knowing it all means nothing at all. All things are equal in their emptiness. Form is discontent.
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Beyond delusions of linear time, we are all these things and many more. Space doesn’t get a look in. The seal of conformity is a hard one to break. On wings of fire…
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Logic is counter intuitive. Reason is counter creative. Religions deprive. Politics deprave. Thoughts enslave. Above and beyond, we are none of these things. Pigeons roost on noble conceits.
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The liar negates their very existence which in itself is a lie; the abyss is ever-ready to devour.
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Totally says it in total. Divisions are divisive. Singularity is singularly delusive. Breath can’t operate without air. Wanna give it a try? From then on...
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We are the silence. We are the emptiness. We are the belonging which knows no time. We are the ever-flowing collision point and, yes, we are the love that abides, the point of no return.
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The ‘now’ occurs microseconds before our perception of it. In short, it’s never now, only then, and then again. Of course we can’t keep up. In any case, who’s going anywhere?
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The fundamental of materialism, duality, creates a culture of profound contradictions wherein the innate is buried in a mire of individualised psychological complexities. Wake up, ‘I am thou as thou art I’. War is over.
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We hold the hand of death, amused by the ease of it. Are we so very lost? Then heal the wounds with a love that calls no names. Emptiness alone can clean the slate.
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When isness inverts to in-ness, the materialist trap is laid. Watch your step.
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The mean-mindedness of materialism. The buy now, live later cynicism of capitalism. The deathcamp mentality of militarism. The banana skin joke of democracy. The spiritual bankruptcy of religion. Wake up. Take a walk on the wild side; peace and freedom are an existent reality.
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And from this void there rises imaginings through which we seek to confirm presence within the delusions of the so-called real (read ‘material’) world. As mere shadow, we are ever alone. As pure essence we are eternally bound. Then cast off these cloaks of darkness.
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Existence is constant immediacy unchanged by delusions of time and space. We are yet we are not. There is no measure, only invention. Beware of those who assert anything more. Now then…
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