20 September 2009

Chapter 252 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


Does time exist, or is it all merely
A ceaseless, seamless holographic enterprise,
In which all witnesses are the same now,
Infinitely immense, infinitely small,
And everything between,
As played out
In the theater of mind.

* * * *
Thought is the thunder of neurons given meaning.

* * * *
No matter how many eyes witness the mystery,
Even all combined can never contain
Its unfathomable mystery.

* * * *
Light is just light.
Sound is just sound.
Forms are just forms.
The source is prior
To all attributes.

* * * *
A rubber band,
Stretched as far as it will,
Manages to return to its natural state.
Why not you?

* * * *
Hollowed be thy name.

* * * *
The sexual drive, coupled with an insatiable imagination,
Drives most of us to ever again seek the highest natural high.
Bewailing vainly all the while that we cannot have
That pleasurable state of hedonism
Be a permanent state.

* * * *
Phases are you.

* * * *
If you truly love your progeny,
How can you abide the direction
This world now so blindly careens?

* * * *
Human beings have evolved
Into the most proficient manipulators
This greenhouse world has ever manifested.
So efficient that we are quickly manipulating ourselves
Right out of existence.

* * * *
We must be quite fascinating
To all those undetectable, shy aliens
Hovering out there somewhere watching us.

* * * *
As tempting as they so often are,
You need not always submit
To those many impulsive urges.
Self-discipline is a most useful attribute.

* * * *

Would that you were so deluded.

* * * *
Believe me, I do not expect anything in the human drama to change.
I am just reflecting on whatever comes to mind; making a variety of suggestions.
I hold out little hope that our cancerous species is even remotely capable
Of reigning in its passionate mind and many instinctual urges.
My prediction for the future is not in any way optimistic.
More of the same old, same old is more than likely
But only for so long as Mother Nature
Condescends our existence.

* * * *
Few vested interests ever voluntarily
Relinquish power, status and treasury.
It almost always requires great intention
From outside the given sphere of influence
To compel their transformation or demise.

* * * *
The devil born of separation is you and me
As we have ignorantly chosen to live
In ill-fated, mortal desperation
For the something more
That has never been.

* * * *
All idealistic notions about humanity
Are, for all practical purposes,
Completely meaningless.

* * * *
Be as attuned as the circling hawk questing the mouse,
And the mouse completely still avoiding the hawk’s gaze.

* * * *
In whatever form you may currently reside,
Eternity has always been the same vastness,
The same causeless, indivisibly absolute oneness.

* * * *
Contemporary times are an anthropological grab bag.

* * * *
If you only take, take, take.
At some point the casks will be empty,
And violent melees for scraps are never a pretty sight.

* * * *
Personality is merely
The adaptation to genetic coding
Irrigated, fertilized, pruned, thinned and graded
By the winds of time and circumstance.

* * * *
Christian babble, Muslim babble, Jewish babble, Hindu babble
Buddhist babble, Taoist babble . . . and every other sort of ist-ism babble.
Babble, babble, babble . . . nothing but ceaseless babble.
None of us really listening to anything
But differences in babble.

* * * *
This could be your last breath.
Will it be a free one?

* * * *
No way out but through
The blood alley of consequences.
Many, many consequences.

* * * *
Too dark, too dark to see clearly now.

* * * *
As long as you have good health,
You possess the only thing
There really is to have.

* * * *
You cannot find what is not there to find.

* * * *
As much as the young may not want to see it,
All pleasure aside, the sexual union is intended,
First and foremost, as an act of procreation,
To which too much casualness is often
Meted out severe consequences.

* * * *
You are that which is called by many names,
Yet the mere knowledge of words and concepts
Has little meaning outside the context of their hubris.

* * * *
The immeasurable mind is a solitary show.

* * * *
All is one.
How much more of a unified theory
Do you need than that?

* * * *
If you cannot see the obvious,
Are you really looking?

* * * *
Take the high road.

* * * *
In childhood, before time began, it passed timelessly.
After it ends, it will again pass timelessly.
Between is the drama of mind
And all its fabrications..

* * * *
Someone has to relish
Entertaining the restless mob,
Else it may haphazardly occur to them
To entertain their own thoughts.

* * * *
Regarding truth,
Be wary of any fixed views,
Even these.

* * * *
Always remember that anything
Can and will be used against you.

* * * *
The blessing and curse of existence
Is the reality we the living must all endure.

* * * *
A still mind is a still mind,
No matter the movement about it.

* * * *
Your aloneness,
Despite every conceivable distraction,
Is ultimately inescapable.

* * * *
The bitter is an acquired taste.

* * * *
Irony is a prerequisite for the joyful mirth
Toward the inanity of this quaint theater.

* * * *
Curious how often the nature of a persona
Is etched upon any given face and body.

* * * *
Even very intelligent people
Inevitably invoke a variety
Of very stupid things.

* * * *
It's never too late to tack your life a new direction.

* * * *
There are worse forms of madness inner vision can take.

* * * *
No matter how gilded the cage,
There is no freedom within its bars.

* * * *
Language is the means
Through which different life forms
Attempt to communicate their imaginary universes.

* * * *
You would think people would care
About the inheritance they leave their progeny,
But, if the state of the world is any indication, it seems not.

* * * *
A packed mind
Is ever challenged
By the constant juggling
Required to recollect its millstone.

* * * *
We are all nowing alone, together.

* * * *
Maybe most cannot see
What is so clearly obvious to you.
Or maybe you are mistaken,
As mad as any hatter.
Oh well, oh well,
Does it really matter?

* * * *
Death is an equal-opportunity change-agent.
All deeds are washed into oblivion
With undying detachment.

* * * *
Like surfers waiting for the wave,
Revolutionaries must bide their time.

* * * *
Those who will see
Cannot be stopped from seeing.
All destinies are ultimately written in the sands
For time's brief flowing to have them consciously witnessed.

* * * *
Why is it considered necessary
To confess your sins to another?
Just forgive yourself, and let them go.

* * * *
From dust to dust,
From oblivion to oblivion.
All life but a brief dream between.

* * * *
After all, it's only time.

* * * *
Middlemen are just beggars
Seeking more than quarters.

* * * *
Life has always been an insecure thing.
Mortality can never be anything less.
Even those who discern the immortal source
Must inevitably succumb in one moment or another.

* * * *
The ever-unfolding state of nowness
Is an indivisible, sovereign awareness
That requires no self-serving middlemen
To ornately whittle it into one lie or another.

* * * *
Another mirage fades into oblivion.

* * * *
Alas, ignored and usurped yet again.

* * * *
Time and circumstance easily forgets
That which it is not prepared to embrace.

* * * *
We are all the lead dreamer in our individual dreams.
No matter the form taken, from beginning to end, there is truly no other.
Your entire existence is truly spent interacting with your Self.

* * * *
The only difference
Between you and anybody else
Is imaginary perspective.

* * * *
Across the world
The human species
Has always imagined itself
Far more consequential than it is.
Across the board, a little humility is in order.

* * * *
We had better insert some long term wisdom
Into our self-absorbed thinking pretty darned quickly,
Else the future will pay even more dearly
Than it already has in store.

* * * *
Those to whom we are now ancestors
Will surely condemn our time for the garden
We have so assuredly deprived them.

* * * *
So much effort, so much busy-ness.
To what end, this imaginary theater?

* * * *
Drifting, still.

* * * *
How ironic that so many
Deprive others of well-being,
And even existence itself,
That they might exist
Whimsically free.

* * * *
Cancer is defined by one source as the disease caused by
An uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body,
A malignant growth or tumor resulting from such a division of cells,
A figurative a practice or phenomenon perceived to be evil
Or destructive and hard to contain or eradicate.
Hmmm . . .

* * * *
It is just a body, a meat machine.
Respect its needs, and it
May allow many years of adventure.
Disregard it, and it will give it back in spades.
And in the end, no matter how well you have maintained it,
Things will likely get at least a tad bumpy, anyway.
Such is the nature of mortal theater.

* * * *
Time for grace.

* * * *
Is Armageddon really any more
Than a vain big dog pissing contest?

* * * *
Who doesn't really believe they are worth
More than the paycheck they're getting?

* * * *
The food and drink go down,
And within a few hours or days,
A variety of things start coming out
That aren't quite as appealing.

* * * *
It's the best that could be done on short notice, sorry.

* * * *
The truth of it is more than obvious.
One merely needs to connect the dots.

* * * *
The human drama is long overdue
A big picture infusion.

* * * *
What a cooperative venture this universe truly is.
How ironic how pathetically ill-suited
We are to abide in it.

* * * *
Remarkable how quickly flesh
Can melt away into fodder
For the next flowerbed.

* * * *
In a god eat god world,
A day well existed is a day in which
As many creatures as possible, both great and small,
Survive, perhaps even thrive, to abide yet another round of adventure...

* * * *
The lines have been drawn and redrawn throughout history.
Isn't it about time we saw the arbitrary nature of it all?

* * * *
We've had our fun.
Time to grow up
And face the music.

* * * *
All the knowledge in the world
Does not for wisdom make.

* * * *
What a relatively small sampling any of us has
With which to measure our ephemeral mortal existence.
For it to bring about an immeasurable inner vision is rare, indeed.

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