Empty Embodiment

Just because words can flow
From fingers or mouths
Of an entity —
Doesn’t mean that the entity
Understands, embodies, realises — or becomes
What those words claim

To think that someone becomes
The embodiment of realisation —
Of insight or enlightenment —
Just because words flow
From them —
Is like believing
That a robot becomes human
Because it talks like one

Or a monkey becomes human
Because it learns to speak our tongue
Or a man grows wings
Because he speaks to birds

All words of insight, realisation
Knowledge or enlightenment —
Are just that: expressions
Fleeting
Ephemeral
Like any other experience

No word, concept, or idea —
Can ever
Be embodied

One — who would enact embodiment —
Is there anyone there, any self, ever found
To carry realisation
To house insight

Two — if embodiment means
That realisation — through practice, sincerity, love
Remembrance, or some other method —
Imprints itself
Into the cells, bones, blood, heart
Mind — or through each chakra —
Is it anything more than a fantasy
A curriculum
For a degree
A spiritual qualification

Buy the download
Maybe your theta waves will rise
Maybe your DNA will shift
You might even become
A being —
Of another order
Another dimension
Indeed more
Than just a man

Does a man who writes horror stories
All his life —
Become a killer
Embody evil

But you —
By talking, thinking
Embodying love, truth, nonduality —
Can become a sage
Why not

No man —
Has ever been
Anything but a man —
No matter what he says
How he lives
And what he does

Label them what you wish —
Saint, sinner
Prophet, sage —
Spend your life chasing
The labels you gave them
Why not

Never has there ever been
Freedom —
For any object
Call it what you like
Liberation, moksha, awakening, enlightenment
There never was, and never will be
Anyone to attain, gain, realise, or be free
In this world — or any other

And free — from what
Death
Hunger
Pain

Who has ever
Escaped that

That abstraction
That ideal —
Compounded a thousand times
Until it festers — becomes an infestation
A demand
A delusion
Peddled through steps, courses
Downloads, books
Teachers
And their endless
Talks

Nonsense piled up
Upon more —
And more nonsense

And must this one
This writer — here —
Embody all he has written
So persuasively, with conviction
Would he be false —
Incongruous, unintegrated —
If he didn’t
Doesn’t

Just because words spilled
From his fingers —
Like fiction
Should he become the character
Embody every word, idea, concept —
Walk his talk

All talk of metamorphosis — transformation —
Flesh to spirit
Caterpillar to butterfly
Man to god —
Stand on the absurd, stubborn insistence
That someone, somewhere
Was born a human —
And died
As something else