[UnbornBuddha]

—Tis the story of the little possessed monk.

There was once a little monk who daily recited scripture song.
The child was the perfect symbol of simple love with no animal lusts.
He always chanted with a nimble hum, and a humble heart.
Yet, even though he appeared so soft
He began to hear chattering whispers that schizo’s got.
Sucked into despair and disparage he tried to live in peace along
This religious audience that made his head beep and throb.
He began to weep his light trying to seek and pluck these demon foxes.
His essence began to leak out like a dripping faucet.
Exhaustion made him start to believe what the faux said.
Things like “become a faun for your displeased as Faust is”.
The poster child of flawless manners began to be tarnished.
It seemed the ether sprung this evil crumbs from thin air,
And he ate them like an inward starved sinner
Who felt so guilty he started to have cramps & seizures
Due to becoming something other than a divine receiver
Whose signal is ever so contorted from his own hypno.
Where he saw factories of the blood entailed by Sinclair
As well as visions of the day cataclysm comes
Where the only survivors are flocks of cannibalistic chumps
Who enforce their rule with mechanistic guns.
Alas, the days where his steps were like nimbus clouds
Are long gone, now his aura has an intense drought.
Infinite sound once came out this near infant’s pout.
But now pestilent miasma covers his innocent mouth.
This same “night air” that contains a poisonous insect’s house
is the very same one where herpes simplex sprouts.
Where Black Death and cholera colors terra with more gloom than the cold era.
Swollen sclera’s become scarred due to the polar reversal
That happened when the boy lost his better half to omen terrestrials.
Luckily a merciful healer knows a serum
which is collected from the syrup of golden perennials.
All he had to do was caress the earth collect the herb-
And make the boy smell its aroma and surrender.
The little boy who had convulsed into a coma turned celestial.
Once dispersed of the anger angelical pedals & pedestals arose
leading to the reception for those who’ve conquered their exceptional foes
Non beneficial ghosts, and other ancestral monsters
Who leave a trail of chemical sulfur.
And because they inevitably suffer
They try to do the same to the receptacles of the essential mana
Inflicting them with existential woe
That as we’ve seen was the sensory nerve musculoskeletal curse.
Those who don’t think in self & other differential terms,
live in non duality and don’t have consequential thirst.
A hunger that yearns to fulfill non essential girth.
The boy was able again to ponder the elemental splendors of reverential wonders,
Able again to listen and transmit the other dimensional concerts.
Peril avoided, once again the world rejoicing.
But what of the boy’s visions of all the destroying,
the world’s eroding into all sorts of corrosion?
Well that’s something his working to foil,
using the lesson gathered from the quarreling voices.
So he toils away,
but now never forgetting to drain his boils engrained…
His still giving, but also now nourishes his own soil innate,
and not just when his soul in pain with local complaints.
He truly now sees that his corpse, his abode is part of the royal domain.
He’s also cautious of the otherworldly forces that come to spoil the course he was chosen.
Yet his not afraid, because the inner lord’s emerald orb has awoken,
And with it he can take on hordes of opposing opponents,
And be ridiculed by them and not be insulted.
Who knew the life of a little monk was so potent.