27 September 2009

Chapter 225 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


Dump whatever we will into the ground,
Spew clouds of venom into the air,
Pour rivers of toxic waste into the water,
Torment any given life form any way imaginable,
And then destroy whatever still survives any way possible.
If that’s what it takes for human vanity to awaken
To what’s really running the show here,
C’est la vie with a shrug.

* * * *
After all, we’re only human.

* * * *
‘Tis but another bout with ye old windmill, I’m a-feared.

* * * *
God is cast a harsh judge, yet is there
Really anyone but you judging yourself?

* * * *
The passion of the day is unrelenting.

* * * *
You are that
Which is before all precedents,
The true lawful lawlessness
Prior to all mortal edicts.

* * * *
Think what you will
Do whatever you please.
Who would ever even know?
Who would even care
But you

* * * *
What a world this could be
If we could really trust one another,
If we really had each other’s interest in mind,

* * * *
Specialization has a tendency to weaken the capacity
To survive the tumultuous inevitability of change.
The generalists will abide, and even thrive
The harshness of any given time.

* * * *
How can you really be forgiven
If you do not forgive yourself?

* * * *
Another case of youthful idealism
Morphing into pragmatic insight.

* * * *
You are the goal.

* * * *
Bow to no concept.
They are all relative.

* * * *
Don’t you grow weary of all the scams
Devised to coax your desire for more?

* * * *
Students of life and death
Are never without a classroom.

* * * *
You need not please the many masks.
It is obviously impossible anyway.

* * * *
Each must discern the infinite center
From which awareness springs eternal.

* * * *
Time need not age the eyes.

* * * *
What a waste to take thought so seriously.
We pander our minds like spoiled children.

* * * *
You continue to think one form or another
Will appease your insatiable hunger.

* * * *
Each of us experiences
The agonies and ecstasies
Of the mindset to which we cling.

* * * *
Mystics are not necessarily saints,
Nor are saints inevitably mystics.

* * * *
Overstating the obvious.
Seems to be this scribe’s fate.

* * * *
There almost inevitably forms an insulated bubble
About the wealthy, powerful, and famous.
A separation that deprives them
Of the companionship
Of the anonymous masses
To which they are really quite equal.

* * * *
It is not a question of happiness, compassion or love.
Truth is prior to any concepts or emotions of mind or body.

* * * *
Try as hard as they might,
There are those who can never feel
Quite at home in any field of the human drama.
Those who do may call them insane,
But that is only cosmic irony.

* * * *
Gravity never loses.

* * * *
Imagine what you were before you were born,
What you will be after,
And what that makes you now.

* * * *
We are but an infinitesimal fragment
Of what is, for all practical purposes,
An infinite chemistry experiment.

* * * *
Drama, dreama.

* * * *
The flag you wave is your delusion.

* * * *
Any given mind, even those in the gutter,
Ceaselessly glories in its thoughts.
But all greatness is delusion.
Even saints and sages
Can tumble in the near infinity
Of proud permutations born of imagination.

* * * *
Truth is prior to all belief.
It does not require any
Approval or compensation.

* * * *
I am.
As detached as the sun,
As sure as any burning bush.

* * * *
In every decision, small or large,
Ramifications in time and space ripple.
Until you see time does not exist,
They will rock your world.

* * * *
How unfair for you to be born into this world,
And not be told that in every way
From beginning to end
You are one
With this divine orchestration.
The sovereignty of godness is within all.

* * * *
The world does not require a savior,
For is only those with masks who perish.

* * * *
Consciousness will dance
In every permutation possible
Until the lights are turned down,
The dance floor disappears,
And the band goes home.

* * * *
And it will always be you dancing.

* * * *
It does no matter one whit
What you conceive or what you believe,
For no concept, no belief can ever
Come close to touching it.

* * * *
Oblivion’s fount has no attachment
To creation, preservation, or destruction.
Such vanity is you own concoction.

* * * *
Even the greatest being in this immeasurable drama
Is as impermanent, as transitory as any other.
Even the greatest fire turns to ash.

* * * *
The blind cannot see what their eyes tell them.
The deaf cannot hear the good news around them.
Truth is wasted upon those without eye or ear.

* * * *
The sage will nod,
The seeker will question,
The deluded will take no notice,
And the fool will laugh.

* * * *
The mirage of the day entices us all
To continue our little worldly play.

* * * *
Good and evil are the dualistic notions
Born of humanity’s vain self-absorption.
We mortals, not some imagined god,
Are the creators of heaven and hell.

* * * *
All ages are really the same,
No matter the player, the stage, the costume
Or the dreams of consciousness.

* * * *
Those discerning the truth of the eternal nature
Are really no more exceptional than any other.
All forms are equal in the divine play godness.

* * * *
Your specialness is in the beingness,
Not the imagined personality.
The personality is a temporary, mortal concoction,
But the beingess is the timeless nature prior to any mask or costume.
It is the absoluteness before any dream of consciousness,
Unbound by any collusion concocted by mind.

* * * *
Being a human being is truly quite impossible.
The human drama is really only a game of make believe,
A delusionary, time-bound recreation fabricated by consciousness.

* * * *
That which has never existed cannot be touched.
The eternal quintessence has never been born, and thus never dies.
Despite all the reflections, all the mirages, all the delusions,
Each of us only pretends the mortal faire real.

* * * *
What you want truth to be, and what it is,
That gap is the degree to which you suffer.

* * * *
A breath free of craving,
Free of fear,
Is a remarkable mystery.

* * * *
Nothing has to be the way it is.

* * * *
You are no more an identity than the man in the moon.

* * * *
Most seekers merely pamper their vanity
With grandiose delusions eternity will not sustain.
Until you fully embrace your death,
It is all a joke on you.

* * * *
Try tossing away your greatest vanity
Just for the sake of experimentation.

* * * *
Become that which is prior to all concoctions of mind.

* * * *
The irony is you must use the mind to free the mind.

* * * *
“I Am” is the good news.

* * * *
All attributes are merely the coating,
The play of light upon your true being,
Upon the oblivion of your essential state.

* * * *
To become the way, the truth, and the light,
You must die to your sense of identity.
Are you sure you are ready for oblivion?

* * * *
Funny how so many
Self-proclaimed spiritual people
Often believe they are privy
To God’s divine plan.

* * * *
The song of god is sung with your voice.

* * * *
Moralists bound in duality create heavens and hells,
And heave those who do not agree with them
Into the dungeons born of imagination.

* * * *
Idealists often seem to expect others
To achieve their ideal before they do.

* * * *
You will not discover your true Self
Until you no longer want something from some god,
Until you are fearless enough to discern the divinity of your own eye.

* * * *
Take on the bluntness of words such as these,
Or dilly-dally on one comfortable detour or another
Until you finally long for where all manmade channels
Must inevitably come to their eternal, pathless end.

* * * *
Flesh becomes less and less enticing as it rots off.

* * * *
Each must find their own route to the indivisible.
Some quickly, some slowly, many not at all.

* * * *
I am That I Am.
You are That I Am.
We are all That I Am.
There is nothing that is not
That I Am.

* * * *
Grin and bear it.

* * * *
Absorb the bluntness of thoughts such as these,
Or dawdle bemused on one comfortable path or another
Until finally ready for where those avenues, too, must surely end.

* * * *
Each must find their own path to the indivisible.
Some do it quickly, some slowly, most never.

* * * *
Reincarnation and being born again
Are easy excuses for complacency.

* * * *
What is reborn but a set of concepts?

* * * *
How different existence is for those whose lives
Are never touched by the knowledge
Fabricated by technology.

* * * *
What is there which can quench the mystical thirst
Except total fusion into the oblivion of the unmanifest?

* * * *
You cannot hedge your bets
With this inquiry into your essential nature.
It is an all or nothing proposition.

* * * *
You will never see your face
Because, truly, you do not have one.

* * * *
You may surrender to whatever or whomever you will
Until you discern everything and everyone
Is but a grand play of illusion.

* * * *
Maya, kiddo, maya.

* * * *
The yoke is on you.

* * * *
Life is an opportunity to awaken if it is your fate
In this brief time to partake the destiny of all destinies.

* * * *
You must disengage all judgment, all delusion,
All yearning for reward, all craving for more,
To examine what is really being said here.

* * * *
Succumbing to desire can often be measured
By its impact on the lives of others.
Seeing the truth of this
Requires a capacity
Many find all but impossible
Because the keystone of their existence
Is embedded in gratification rather than compassion.

* * * *
The consequences of yielding to your many hedonistic inclinations
Is inevitably made apparent when it impacts the lives of others.
Seeing it requires an empathy that may be difficult to muster
When values are grounded in gratification rather than compassion.

* * * *
If you found out you wouldn’t be waking up tomorrow morning,
Would you stay up until the break of dawn, or go to bed early?

* * * *
In every step, all things come to pass.

* * * *
The waves of time are the lightning storms of your mind.

* * * *
What is there to worship
When idolatry falls away?

* * * *
The sun and all its planets and moons
Are merely particles of dust swirling
In the infinity of the cosmic dance.

* * * *
You may recollect that you did not ask to be here,
And there is no point in praying to be staying.
So why not do your best? Why make assumptions?
Why take anything personally? And why not love your Self?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved