Leonardo Ruiz

All these 'things' are veiled through shallow consciousness. We know of the wrongdoing (delusion), but carry on unabated. Gotcha!

Alone we are together, together we are as one. Welcome.

Haunted by the elemental, we eke out an existence within the sodden slobber of corporate capitalism and its citadels of fear. But see now, the escape awaits within the soothing depths of immortality and its unremitting constancy. Turn then, turn, angelic, we fly.

Birth is not a singular event, but a multidimensional continuation, before, after, back and beyond. Eternity is but a moment.

The fraudulence of prophets and priests. The cruel indifference of politicians and their military. The wretched disfigurements of nationalism. The ragged untruths of the media. The rotting meat of academia. The pornography of the everyday. Thou shalt? Thou shalt what?

Here's the turning point. Time is a horizontal delusion countered by a perpendicular ‘now’. Shadows find their own way home.

To see, yet not see. To hear, yet not hear. The enormity of being. The minutiae of existence. All these things, but none of them. Infinite, immortal, multidimensional, we fly the night. The crows are invisible in these conceits.

An eye for an eye is a short cut to communal blindness. It’s a clear case of the blind leading the blind, so take a long look before it’s too late. Can’t see it coming? Point made.

‘I’ is the primary heresy of consciousness in that it feigns isolation from the symbiotic whole. Thus lost to the universe, we sink into obscurity, helpless against the tides. Wake up, there’s no-one there.

Cogito, ergo sum - never mind the who, what about the what? Cogito, ego, sum.

To make an enemy is to abandon love.

In the beginning there was nothing at all. What's changed?

There is no this nor that, only a silent emptiness into which we weave our singular conceits. The doing is in the done.

These empty spaces where we abide to curse ourselves with considerations. Identity is a poor man’s [sic] folly.

We hold the hand of death, amused by the ease of it. Are we so very lost? Then heal the wounds with a love that calls no names. Emptiness alone can clean the slate.