The Box
The box I live in, has four walls,a ceiling and a floor;
it's made of stuff as strong as steel;
to keep what's locked, no door;
No windows here to look through,
no way to see beyond,
Our lives like little boxes keep
us hidden from what's One;
The walls of stuff so clever,
there to mesmerize a child;
a room of mirrors, a circus,
just to make our lives so wild;
I see among the mirrors,
the bodies here with me,
the people like myself locked up,
for so long, we now can't see;
No dreams of escape either,
for each in their own way,
is happy with their place within
the box of life today;
Some are happy to feel awful,
some do think that they are free,
and others seek their only love,
or gloat in their self-glee;
Each in their own way separate,
from everyone with them,
a prisoner of their own world,
perception is their friend;
It all begins so clever,
with the wee thought: "i believe"
which like some fruit fermenting,
becomes "my truth" indeed;
Then once the potion ages,
it inebriates the mind,
who now believes it is the truth,
the 'truth' that lives inside;
"Go find the proof that i am right
look everywhere you go,
for proof that I'm not error,
for the proof that I do know";
Then stuff we see reflected,
that does my truth not fit ,
we do ignore or say "it's faults",
blame those who are but shit;
For i am right, my truth does say,
and if you do agree,
then "friend" you are,
make no mistake, until you don't agree;
And those who black or different,
those who think not like me,
i define them as but bastards,
all those less smart than me;
We thus do build a story,
an epic like in old,
when armies came to kill us,
cause we stole their very gold;
We fight each day amongst ourselves,
we win, they loose today;
tomorrow they do win o'r us,
and we to god then pray;
We drink to forget failure,
we piss when we do want
on anyone who is but near,
for we're the truth, we thought;
No Truth within to look-upon
for everything I see,
Is but what I do hate in me,
reflected back to me;
What I hate in each person,
i also hate in me,
but push it out to them instead
to keep myself so free;
The box that i constructed,
is but my mind that mirrors,
my own thoughts projected,
to a world that hides my fears;
Convinced that I am different,
a better sort of guy,
i bless the lower forms of life,
for sin there see but i;
Authority, i do not like,
it's there to take from me,
something i value that i stole,
it's like sad comedy;
But what if we were wrong,
when we were wee and thought,
that 'i believe' was error,
a thought that was mis-thought?
Then "my truth" not fermented,
never bubbled to a froth,
and my box not reflected back,
the thoughts of hate and loss;
Not looking for some little thing,
inside a box made-up,
of little truths and emptiness,
the thoughts of "me"
gave up.
Truth & Belief
Belief is only a thought. It can change. It says that "this is the truth, I don't have to look any further. I know."Then we evaluate other thoughts against this one. The natural way here is to want to prove that I am right. This then directs my perception. Others who are wrong, prove to me that I am right. Others who agree with me also prove the same.
My belief has blinded me. I live in a box.