I believe beliefs are overrated.

I believe what I think isn't a very good representation
of anything but
what I think.

I think after awhile all these
concepts and assumptions and ideas
become pretty good walls
but not so good doors.

I believe there isn't really a me
that resembles anything
remotely like
the little boy
or the grown man
he became.

I believe the boundary
between where my life ends
and your's begins
is an illusion.

And I believe even that belief
is wrong.

I believe the sound of the bell,
the lure of the bottle,
and the sweat of hard labor
are all a piece
of the very same cake.

I believe the seamless tapestry
of this mind-life,
whether embraced
eagerly
like a child,
or warily
like a wild hungry bear,
cares little
for the neurotic worry
of ego's past errors,

and goes merrily on
inexorably towards a fitting end,
naked and alone.

I sometimes wonder
when that time comes
if there'll be
begging and crying
for the alluring embrace
of long dead
mommies and daddies,
in gut level remorse
for a life
lived poorly,

or maybe standing up
in this place now
brave and aware,
neither glancing
forward nor back,

as these billowing waves of mind
bring a seamless end
to the only universe
I have ever known.

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