CCXXXIV
Each of us is bound by the random circumstances
Of geography, culture, linguistics, socio-economics, anatomy,
And whatever other capacities and limitations contribute to the given context.
We all swim serendipitously in the relative currents of dreamtime.
It is the commonality of each and every manifest form
To participate in one destiny or another.
* * * *
For as long as it takes,
And not a moment longer.
* * * *
Leaves may hide the nest or origin,
But only from those who cannot see.
* * * *
If it is as good as you can do or be,
Then it will do or be.
You are the perfect you.
Let the critics judge themselves
In their absurd, moralistic, trivial pursuits.
* * * *
The master of time is the player
Least concerned about its passing.
* * * *
Remember nothing.
* * * *
The sheath of any form
Only temporarily masks
The inexplicable infinity.
* * * *
For better or worse, these many thoughts tinker with the future of consciousness,
Another attempt to redirect the way humanity has up to now played it.
Whether it will be a gift or a curse, only time will tell.
Many apologies if it is the latter.
Rest assured,
Best wishes were the only intention.
* * * *
The many coverings of which seers speak
Are all only illusory veils, mirages of consciousness,
All vain pretenders to the origin’s lotus throne,
That upon which you already reside.
* * * *
Water, air and soil daily become increasingly murky and foul,
And humanity is too blinded by greed and vanity
To clearly see the time of unraveling
That is bound to come.
* * * *
The progeny of all creatures great and small
Will pay dearly for the countless poisons
We have poured about the garden.
* * * *
Rhyme and reason is often permeated
By an utter deficiency of rhyme or reason.
* * * *
Human history has typically had predictability as its favored bedfellow,
But if consciousness ever fathoms a true paradigm shift,
Now that might well be worth writing about.
* * * *
The conventional is doomed
To a rigidity hell well knows.
* * * *
This stream of consciousness lengthens day by day
Amid the chores and puttering of work and play.
* * * *
Intuition is the most unconditional means
Of expressing eternity’s infinite potential.
* * * *
Free will is all you are.
Will you surrender it
Merely to survive?
* * * *
None read thoughts such as these by accident.
Everything in the dream of your existence
Has brought you to this point in time.
It is like playing out a role in an impromptu theater
In which every player spontaneously acts out as the moment calls.
* * * *
To boldly go where no man has gone before.
* * * *
Comprehend that language
Is the both source and the solution.
The limits of concept rein in the intuitive potential,
Which is the key to the piercing of the veil
Into the freedom of eternal life.
* * * *
To be born again,
One must die to time.
* * * *
Imagination is the source of all addiction.
* * * *
It is generally for the young to forge true change.
Vested interests and the desire for continuity
Preclude those who have too many years
From bringing about the paradigm shift
That is required of the human spirit.
* * * *
To get back to the beginner’s ground,
One must see there are really no experts.
Too many are too restricted in scope
To comprehend the eternal nature
Entwining all in the given now.
* * * *
Only foolish mad hatters bother
To point out the paradox of this dreamy milieu.
That it both matters and does not
Is a part of the irony.
* * * *
You are the seed of humanity.
* * * *
Only in the most recent evolution of the forebrain
Can the intuitive aspect be discerned and mobilized.
Not all have the capacity, much less the inclination.
* * * *
All our theories and systems will never
Put Humpty-Dumpty back together again.
* * * *
Little self-absorption is the crux of the matter.
Big Self-absorption would play out
Much less a burden.
* * * *
True revolution is not about power.
It is about realization and liberation.
* * * *
Once the truth of this is seen,
Then all you see, all you do,
Will be swimmingly eternal.
* * * *
You must become a bit foolish in the eyes of the world,
Or the crashing waves and the trickling streams
Will have no one to hear their harmony.
* * * *
Ten thousand names by which no name is known.
* * * *
Would you intentionally kill, main or diminish
Your own children, or their children’s children?
Alas, together we already have in so many ways.
How we would feel if those who have come before
Had sold out this point in time for a handful gold coins?
Those yet to be born will not look kindly upon their legacy,
Of that we can be sure.
* * * *
A channel to eternity, the final vanity.
* * * *
Across the world, disintegration of every sort
Is eroding humanity’s communal fabric.
The new Dark Age is brewing.
* * * *
One gets freer by the moment.
It is not a time-bound thing.
* * * *
You may see yourself
As a pure-bred or a mutt,
As a Brahman or a half-caste,
But in any given vision you are ever
A seed of the same divine origin.
* * * *
However you look at it,
Empty, half-empty, half-full or full,
Or any possible combination contrived by mind,
It is all brewed of the same essence.
* * * *
The time of humankind, and the universe,
Is but an ephemeral blip of vanity
In the infinity of eternity.
* * * *
Existence is really only
One mirage after another.
There is actually nothing to do
But wake up to the delusion of all.
* * * *
What are you but a breath full of imagination.
* * * *
Nothingness is a fact.
* * * *
The harvest of wisdom is one
For which few have inclination.
* * * *
Loose the bonds that tie you to mortality.
* * * *
The essential
Has no need to wrangle
With the countless limitations of mind.
It is whatever it is, with or without
The consent of vain notion.
* * * *
You are that which is godness,
And godness is that which is you.
* * * *
How extraordinary to have discerned,
And to then spend one’s brief existence witnessing
The vast essential reality inherently common
To all manifestations great and small.
* * * *
All groupings in all geographies
Are but vain, hectic anthills to the eternal eye.
Pride in any way, shape or form is absurd and meaningless,
And is foolishly destroying so much for such wretched, short-sighted gain.
* * * *
Rest assured,
It is not this garden planet
That is sprinting toward a bleak end.
Our species is but another dusty layer of compost
In eternity’s vast play of time and space.
* * * *
Our survival is important only to us.
No other genus, nor any imagined great being,
Truly gives a tinker’s damn whether we exist or go extinct.
* * * *
Food for the thoughtless to chew on
As they dash toward the precipice.
* * * *
Be very clear about this.
* * * *
What keeps anyone from discerning the eternal reality?
Perhaps something as simple as clenching a breath,
Allowing thought to run to and fro like a squirrel,
When all it really seeks is a bit more oxygen.
* * * *
Allow every child an innocent childhood,
So that they can someday rediscover and abide
In that most eternal of mind’s potentials.
* * * *
Who has created all the guilt-ridden anguish
But the many reflections of authority surrounding you
Since your seed of consciousness took root in this garden world.
Cast the authority of the imagined other into the wind,
And fathom the fundamental sovereignty
Of the immortal absoluteness.
* * * *
The nuances of bullshit
Are seemingly endless.
* * * *
Another breath come and gone.
* * * *
To be in this world, and not of it;
Very challenging, indeed.
* * * *
The conditioning is deep-rooted beast.
* * * *
Go causeless.
* * * *
You are not in the presence of godness,
You are the presence of godness.
* * * *
Another unfolding calamity.
* * * *
Neither light nor sound can touch the essential nature.
* * * *
The Great Reaper pardons none.
* * * *
What’s a tad scary is that these thoughts
Would be considered revolutionary by many.
* * * *
Cause and effect dissolve when stillness reigns.
* * * *
Jesus was not a Christian.
Buddha was not a Buddhist.
Mohammed was not a Muslim.
Lao Tzu was not a Taoist.
Labels mean nothing.
* * * *
Imitation is a herd thing.
* * * *
Great things come from small things,
Small things from great things,
And yet they ever remain
Very much the same.
* * * *
We are all brief figments of imagination
Imagining ourselves, imagining each other.
* * * *
The greatest mystery ever told.
* * * *
Evaporating mind.
* * * *
Doing nothing takes on a whole new meaning.
* * * *
Like a key to a lock,
Words can imprison you,
Words can free you.
* * * *
Fucking up is just part of any given day.
* * * *
So many scientists, philosophers and assorted scholars
Probing a mystery that really has no need of a solution.
* * * *
If you want peace,
Be still.
* * * *
Enjoy it while you may; eat, drink, be merry.
Suffer your imagination in every way imaginable.
Time will come bearing the gift of death soon enough.
* * * *
Each moment, you move closer to that final breath,
And when that guarantee of birth does arrive,
If you have not already discerned it,
You shall have one last mortal moment
To realize the bliss of infinite absoluteness.
* * * *
By its nature, the ego,
The imaginary illusion of free will
The sensory dream of being an individual
Is separation from the godness.
* * * *
The great abyss of infinite oblivion
Yawns at the quibble of mortal fare.
* * * *
Do not assume you know a Christ or Buddha
Until you see the shining of your own light.
* * * *
Without the stillness of awareness,
The movement could not be recognized.
* * * *
Immaculate conception,
Immaculate deception,
Is there a difference?
* * * *
The good and evil you see on the screen
Would not be without the projector,
Which is the imaginary you.
* * * *
How can you even claim to be an individual
When even proving you exist is impossible?
* * * *
Only a true student of science
Will discern the immensity
Of relativity’s reality.
* * * *
We are so enamored by our naming
That we have long since lost sight
Of the stillness from which they come.
* * * *
To so many, truth seems cruel
But only to those who cannot
Peer into their own reflection.
* * * *
Words are sounds.
Sounds are vibrations.
Vibrations are the universe.
The cosmos is but a minute speck
Of the immeasurable infinity.
* * * *
To be attached to any sound,
Any form, any concept, to anything at all,
Is to impart credence to illusion.
* * * *
How can that which is immeasurable ever be measured?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved