Last Updated on December 11, 2011
Queen Street, 11:55pm, April 25th, the year 2006.
..and yet as I sit here I must remind myself this is Auckland—a relatively small city of only 1.5 million or so.
What of Los Angeles, London, Hong Kong, Singapore, New York—and so many others—where there are suburbs with more people than this entire city?
Hundreds, oh perhaps thousands of people going nowhere.
Round and round in circles, like the wheels on which their swooped up cars are rolling.
Extensions of the unenlightened ego behind yet another wheel—steering as blindly as the feet upon the peddles.
To what end?
All with mobile phones, for sure, providing the comfort and convenience of a false sense of connectivity.
A frail illusion bridging the vast gap of separation here in the ego’s world on this 12th hour.
Ads on nearly every wall—touting the many solutions to our discontent.
In drunken stupor—by alcohol or not—walking to no where on the leaf and litter strewn street.
A Dream that came and went faster than the human mind could imagine…and yet, Here I Am, how long shall this last, I wonder?
The next world war will not be waged between nations, nor neighbours.
No.
The next world war is already being waged within the human heart as it breaks loose from all the lies, ignorance, and deception.
What is it that makes people settle for this?
The only revolution that awaits us is a revolution of human consciousness—the rebellion within, as Truth unveils its triumph over the ego’s deception. Strutting out images up and down the street at this late hour as if our very lives depended on it. Cars, music, cloths, and accessories magically made into a representation of Self.
Poor substitutes at best, are they not?
Yet we’re none the wiser despite tomorrow’s continued dissatisfaction being no less than today’s, and more than that remembered from yesteryear. Where have all the warriors gone? What of their swords, integrity, and a vision to fight for? And what too of all the women? I see none.
Veiled—or replaced?—by smoothly shaved legs, child-like prepubesant armpits and vagina, manicured eye brows, layers of make-up, and a “yes-no have sex with me” attitude. Dressed up to attract the attention of a male sexual ego, yet often afraid of such an approach.
Enamoured by steel and tyres, fabric and hairdos—are we just ghosts in biological machines?
Welcome to the human zoo.
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