Leading physics ‘boffins’ now concur with Abidharma,
That it’s we who are the authors, of our individual dramas.
The Universe, they say is a membrane; of wobbly ‘not matter’.
It’s about a zillionth, of a millimetre thick! Or not much fatter.
We roll and fold it about with our minds, in a process of perceiving.
But all that we come up with, is a means of self deceiving.
Since ‘self’ as such, is not the case; there really is no ‘you’.
As ‘you’, are an agglomeration, of all sorts of stuff, and goo.
It seems that what ‘first’ happens is the membrane; has a blip.
A plasma instability that causes it to rip.
Well ‘ripple’ more than rip is right. Remember this thing wobbles?
And the wibbling in this wobbling is the cause of all our troubles.
This wibbling is reaction, it creates an interface.
In which we fold the stuff about to construct time and space.
We start out as a springy thingy; a non reactive wave.
Then we start to assert ourselves, getting rather brave.
Other waves and impulses, shove and bounce us around.
Then we take up the impulse, to shove back, or stand our ground.
So we start to ‘sense’ and ‘feel’ and in all this wavy shunting,
We carve ourselves a space in time, and think that we are something.
But if we don’t react to impulses; refuse to take them personally!
There’s nothing at all, for us to perceive: Speaking Universally!
The Abidharma authors, knew about all this, way back.
The brilliant old Buddha man, put them on the right track.
He said we, ‘emerge as impulse’, from the cloud of unknowing.
And by grasping at sensations our perceptions begin growing.
Sensations become feelings. And feelings become force!
And what do you do with force? Well you push things round of course.
We make worlds and stars and atoms, forcing little whirls and rolls.
That gain gravity as spheres; a real load of balls.
Like kids with sticks in puddles we go stirring, making waves.
Then the waves roll back and hem us in. We make ourselves wave slaves.
The example of the ‘Chariot’, was how Buddha explained our lot.
Wheels and shafts and a cradle together! And see what you have got?
But take away the parts and you do not have a whole.
Take away all our perceptions; we don’t even have a soul.
So the ‘you’ is just composed of the bits of mind’s perception.
And ‘you’, literally are; the fruits, of your own conception.
But desire drives sensation, and we feel and force and quest.
Nosiness! Possessiveness! Mean ego without rest.
From unknowing into knowing, We leap into infinity
And when we find we’re in a mess, we appeal to some divinity.
Ah! But it’s all down to us. We make the thing with mind.
We look for things, and often are distressed at what we find.
For duality is the demon, because we always insist,
On a double edged capacity, in all that we make exist.
We want ‘better’! That’s the trouble. In fact it’s a real curse.
Because if we make a ‘better’. We have to have a ‘worse’.
And worse is all we’ll ever have. For nothing meets the test,
Of the underlying gnosis; that what we have is never best.
We rush around for greener grass, for deeper love, for brighter gems.
And the angst that we won’t obtain them, is from where all fear stems.
We sacrifice our peace and lives, in a rat race to be free.
But by grabbing and holding on to things; we’re cluttered up! You see?
Chained and bound like Marley’s ghost, with stuff that we acquire.
A detritus we drag around collected by desire.
Encumbered thus we move through fields of energy that swirls.
Billows and bobs in little waves, and great big monstrous curls.
The energy of mind inhabits vehicles in succession,
And we drag collected burdens, through lifetimes long progressions.
Attachments form attachments and our burden won’t be cast,
Until sweet realisation, dawns on us at last.
Of course the temporal notion, is all our own construct.
We cram ‘before’, and ‘after’, in a dualistic duct.
A metempsychotic morphing, of ‘mine’ laying, in the places,
We return to, just to have them, blow right up into our faces.
A singularity of will, that forces a wormhole
Through fractal flakes and wobble wibbles, blibs and blobs and all.
So mind swirls in chaos wormholes, into worses; into betters.
Greed desire, pain and fear, welding attachment’s fetters.
We push and twist and whirl and turn, in being we are bound.
For as long as we just incarnate, to screw our ‘selves’ around.
