Occasionally die on purpose
Observe the comings and goings
Ins and outs of existence

The mallet of judgment
Will not strike you
No longer an automatous competitor
Chasing the carrot hooked to the wand of Hollywood
Or the one hooked to the stick of corporate greed
Held by men of no spiritual competence
A cubicle of space becomes an infinite plane

You are who you were before birth
And the same after death
Occasionally die on purpose