The Rip Post                                                                                              


The Reach
Whatís that buzz
that the preachers
are preaching?

The fruitís a long
way up, you need
a ladder or sturdy
pole to reach it.

Youíve slowed down
the playback to the
point at which you
can hear the real words.

Youíre living beyond
your means, but youíve
got good explanations
in your genes.

The folly of humanfolk
knows no bounds.
That which seemed
fixed, destiny
appointed, is thrown
to the ground.

Itís a reach to teach
the ignorant of bliss.
Itís so close, just
out of reach, so close
a light-year or two.

Donít like this tale,
then make up another.
We are imprisoned by
our beliefs and the stories
we tell ourselves,
reruns and repeats.

The best mirror is a window.
The best window is your soul.
Bide a while with your self,
strip away the pretense,
and unloose your grip on
landmarks, benchmarks,
and similar platitudes.

Itís always now, and always never.
The rain falls and answers the riverís
quandary. That which is elemental
shall endure, as our fleeting lives
intersect with realities best seen
through dreams and rainbow prisms.

Newton looked into it, it was all the apple.
As we look into it, we appeal our penalty,
Then slowly learn that our ego is our
captor, torturer, and grand inquisitor.

The obstacle of liberation derives not from
all those other people, elites and moguls,
presidunces and kings, but rather from
from our own ill-informed conditioned views,
plastered on walls like the unholy news.
        ---Jack Oakes 1/27/08

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