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søndag 6. november 2011

Voices, dogs and inhospitable habitats

But it all feels so real!
The tastes,
The sights,
That yearning,
Burning on the inside.

The voices
Sort of like
 A spoken interaction
With the world around me,
Unheared and breathless,
Yet ceaselessly,
Commenting, evaluating,
Deciding, guessing and

Anticipated action.

Some voices are more
Then others,
Some more subtle.

Then there is
“The ogre”,
Always harassing,
Always insisting
That he is owed something,
Like an eternal
Self-sustaining debt.

Sometimes patting the back,
As if suspiciously friendly,
Other times belching curses,
Demanding with threats.

In all honesty,
I feed this dog.
I do.
I throw him a bone.
Even at times
When he comes crawling home
After a fight, defeated,
Practically on the verge of death,
I go to the lengths of
CPR, or even
Administering any kind of
Life prolonging medicine
At my disposal.
(Even sometimes
Praying for his recovery… )

How pathetic!

The dog to emerge victorious
Is the dog that is fed the most.
It is a simple fact.
Common sense, really.

Why then seek out to explore
Those foggy landscapes
Of the mind and senses?
The damp mist of speculation
And contemplation of sense objects.

The ogrelike dog
Broken away from his leash,
Has you stumbling around, chasing him,
In this marchland habitat.
Waving arms in front,
You trip over every root
As he taunts you with barking
In the distance.
Here there is every chance
Of again falling into
That material pool,
Reeking of decay.

Feed the good dog.
He is ever faithful
To the master.
Like a blind dog
Trained to be that
Trusty, dependable companion,
He will not lead u astray.
He stays on his leash,
He can sniff out the path
Leading out.
Out of the fog.
Passed the pools.

But he must be fed
To survive.
And what is his favorite treat?

                Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna,
                Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare,
                Hare Rama, Hare Rama,
                Rama Rama, Hare Hare.

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