What is fear?
Is it a distorted perception of the unknown?
Of what are we afraid, the lack of control?
We are not and may never but believe we are,
does this ignite confusion?
Does this feed the flames of our fears?
Is the fire of modern truth fuelled by lies
in this world of infinite unknowns?
Do these flames not rage out of control (seemingly unstoppable)
forcing us further away from ourselves?
Should we accept this murder of the senses, this raping of instinct?
Can we not just throw caution to the wind
when faced with a universe of what, if, why's?
To understand everything, to know all reason,
what point would life have after then?
Without out challenges, without the unknown,
without facing fearhow do we grow, become stronger?
Is it not the never ending cycle that we must embrace
Significant insignificance, irrelevant relevance,
why do we run away from this concept?
Could it not be a beautiful realisation that through our humility
when we accept that meaning is meaningless,
everything becomes meaningful?
So to what end do our journeys lead?
Back to the beginning, into nothing or even up towards heaven?
Does focusing on a destination hold any purpose
when walking our many paths?
Does belief in God make us forget that in us
all that is, already is, and has always been?
Are we not part of this everything, symbiotic equal partner to all life?
Is looking for the prize blinding, buying an instant fix numbing?
Through being at one with the present
could we not know all we need to know?
Do you even know what you believe?
Should you even care when opinion is merely relative?
Where are these absolutes, these constants promised by science?
Where is this kingdom of heaven?
Is it possible to be sure of anything?
In the end we make a choice that is right for us, but does it matter?
Should we embrace the here and now if this is all we have?
Or bury ourselves in past and future tenses?
Can we all find this awareness of inner peace if we seek without seeking?
Perhaps, perhaps not, maybe only your journey will unlock the door to the prison of meaning?Where words fail does instinct remain?
And on the edge of ruin are we most humble?
Is it in our broken state where we can be free enough to see?
Do we have to destroy ourselves in order to truly let go?
Maybe you cannot find for what you look when you are looking?
So maybe, but only maybe, must you be lost on order to be found?
Do these questions have a place in your thoughts?
Who am I to know?
Do the same questions not burn through me also?
Who are you to know?
Can order find it's own place through this chaos?
Who are we to know?
In the end, is it not you, who is me, who is us, who is them?I
n the end, is it not now, that was then, that is forever?
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