Yes, but is the "One" physical & ever-changing, or meta-physical & omni-potential? — Gnomon
It remains as the physical One; its rearrangements are temporary; it doesn't make new substances; it is ever itself.
Eterne’s Great Wheel e’er whirls its energy,
It having to turn and return, to be,
'Transmuting', as ne’er still—eternally,
Into life’s temporary pattern-trees.
Moves of the Eterne dooms forms’ permanence;
But the patient time til their expiration
Restrains for some while the shapes’ destructance;
Thus they can slowly traverse life’s distance.
Is that what psychics "see" as the human Aura? — Gnomon
Not at all. It is the contents of consciousness.
So the answer is Be Here Now? Don't worry about what was, or will be. Sufficient unto the day . . . . . . . — Gnomon
"No salvation." — Gnomon
Would you your sparkle of Existence spend
Beyond The ‘Vacuum’—quick about it, Friend!
A Hair perhaps divides the False from True—
And upon what, prithee, may all depend?
The Simple Hair divides the False and True;
Yes; and the single Alif is the clue,
As the Quantum Field—to the Treasure-house,
Though not adventure in The Master’s brew.
Forget about the blame and also the fame—
The Great Wheel’s not designed in any name,
Since, with no beginning, it ne’er became;
Thus no Alif through Ye: it’s e’er the same.
My spirit to the Causeless was near blind:
Quoth I, ‘If the Beginning you could find—
The Alif—of word, phrase, and uni-verse,
Thou needs not the alphabet—all’s been mined.’
Seize the moment or lose its momentum,
Wearing time as your royal diadem;
Richly accelerate life’s momentous gem,
Letting your motto be ‘Carpe diem’.
World does not pass by; you pass through it;
Clear your being so the treasure may arrive;
This spirit sparkles of a different light,
The gemstones are of a different mine,
Whose secret Presence through transient veins
Running Quicksilver-like fuels your gains;
Taking all shapes from fish to moon as
They change and perish all—but It remains.
The best of all that is below the moon
And above the fish is beauty’s commune,
In her wine poured and sipped, all else forgone,
From Mah to Mahi, raptured noon to noon.
The Secret guessed—then back behind the Fold
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll’d
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
Doth It all contrive, enact, and get told.
’Twas writ each time, whatever was to be,
By quill, unheeding bliss or misery,
Yea, writ upon each tablet universe—
To murmur or resist is vanity.
Outputs must have inputs, they in turning
Becoming inputs to more fates churning,
Temporary; all is writ, on every path,
As in ours, so what must be will e’er spring.
Each morn springs thee over the wasteland’s brink,
And on time’s sand you the oasis drink.
Life’s strange caravan through the desert winds,
Back toward Nothing; drink—afore the stars sink.
O unenlightened race of humankind,
Ye are temporary, built on empty wind!
Yea, a mere nothing, hovering in the abyss,
Writ on water with smoke and fog, resigned!
And so in vain, down on the stubborn Floor
Of Earth, and up to Heav’n’s unopening Door,
You gaze To-day, while You are You—how then
To-morrow, when You shall be You no more.(Omar direct)