20 September 2009

Chapter 254 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)

CCLIV

Wisdom transcends any time or place.
It is without boundaries, and no mythology
Can assume ownership of its absolute content.
The inner eye is oneness prior to all illusion.

* * * *
You cannot hinder anyone determined to hate.
They are imprisoned in an unrelenting,
Unquenchable, self-absorbed
Hell-bound dream.

* * * *
Oh well.

* * * *
Humankind is working hard
At writing itself out of the script.
The maelstrom of blindness
Inevitably trips and falls
On its own sword.

* * * *
Where do the losers
In the monopoly game go?
Competition, winning no matter the cost,
Plays out to a predictable end.

* * * *
Those who seek Armageddon
Will inevitably manifest it.
It's a Pygmalion thing.

* * * *
Is the human mind even capable of peace,
Or is its fundamental nature, its core genetic structure,
So built upon divisiveness that true harmony is all but impossible.

* * * *
Immature reasoning does not for truth make.

* * * *
Superstition is a drowning weight
Cast by the mind bound in ignorance.

* * * *
We all just play out our vain little parts
In this vast theater of absurdity and delusion.
As big or small as in given role may appear to be,
Every brick is equally vital for the wall to be.

* * * *
What madness time in mind invokes.

* * * *
Declare peace within and without,
And a momentous quietude unfolds.

* * * *
Without you,
This universe, as only you imagine it,
Will cease to exist.

* * * *
How long will they wait for Jesus to return?
Another two, three, four, ten thousand years . . .
Before they finally realize it just ain't going to happen.

* * * *
What is the body but a puddle of protoplasm
Hemmed in by an exterior of dead skin cells.

* * * *
No one can lead you
To the source of awareness at the core of your being.
Those who discern it can only point it out.
The rest is entirely up to you.

* * * *
In any given moment,
All the suffering wrought by imagination
Can be transcended forever.
Such is heaven.

* * * *
Everyone trying so hard to make their mark.

* * * *
Life is but a brief journey of mind.

* * * *
The only thing barring anyone
From union within in any given moment
Is the vain attachment to an imaginary existence.

* * * *
Check your assumptions.

* * * *
Hasn't it always been this way?

* * * *
We are all driven by a life force
Too strong for most to even comprehend,
Much less begin to overcome.

* * * *
We are all an infinitesimal piece of immortality
Playing out a brief delusion in a mortal theater.

* * * *
Whoever Jesus was, whatever he really did, really doesn't matter.
He died many moons ago, and he is not coming back.
So sorry . . . deal with it . . . move on.

* * * *
The prophet of doom my finally be worth heeding.

* * * *
Seriously, folks.

* * * *
Mortal players,
And the immortal Soul,
Are different only in appearance.

* * * *
The infinite potential of clayness
Allows imagination, within the bounds of its given stage,
To play out every conceivable possibility.

* * * *
To discern the truth,
You merely need to be the truth.
Harder than it sounds.

* * * *
The further you get from the stillpoint,
The more insane it gets.

* * * *
A collection of perception.

* * * *
More mind gorp

* * * *
Babble on.

* * * *
It really doesn't matter . . .
It really doesn't matter . . .
It really doesn't matter . . .
It really . . .

* * * *
A friend, Roland, suggest writing poetry.
A small town newspaper stint set the discipline
To wander around, notebook in hand, observing, questioning.
Merritt, another friend, said I should write it down,
And somewhere in the many adventures,
The reflections began spilling
From mind to paper.
As Lee said,
Who would have thunk it.

* * * *
The human species is on a shredded raft
A few feet from the roaring falls and jagged rocks below
Still battling over wealth, power and glory,
Or blithely unaware
That anything is amiss at all.

* * * *
"As long as I get mine,"
The common theme.

* * * *
Dominant civilizations generally behave
Like self-absorbed "terrible-two" children
Rampaging through their brief sliver of time.

* * * *
Is it even possible for human beings
To get together and not quibble
Over this bullshit, or that.
Endlessly boggling.

* * * *
You can run from it,
You can deny it,
You can detach from it,
But you can never escape the fact
You are very much alone,
Eternally so.

* * * *
Wishful thinking does not for truth make.

* * * *
The horror . . . the horror . . .
The insanity . . . the insanity . . .
The absurdity . . . the absurdity . . .

* * * *
Some can't put it down.
Most can't help but put it down.
Ever it remains a mystery.

* * * *
Every mind a universe unto it's Self.

* * * *
Every creation inevitably surrenders to destruction,
And destruction succumbs to creation.
'Tis ever the way of it.

* * * *
In full view, yet ever your remain hidden.

* * * *
A lot of effort for practically nothing.

* * * *
Taking the debate to a whole new level.

* * * *
Prior to absurdity.

* * * *
There is no hope
But what toss of the dice
The mystery allows.

* * * *
Those who somehow survive
The human train wreck coming its way
Will abide in a world far different from our own.

* * * *
Now that's exciting.

* * * *
You can't easily con a con
Or schmooze a schmoozer.

* * * *
There is no order.
There is nothing but order.

* * * *
Once you have been hooked into believing in Santa Claus,
The Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Peter Pan or any other fanciful being,
You are all but doomed into accepting one idiocy or another.
So many nonsensical, smothering burdens
Absurdity endlessly presses
Upon innocence.

* * * *
All sense of karma just sort of drops away
As you realize it never existed in the first place.

* * * *
Absoluteley seamless.

* * * *
Humankind is so deluded
That most cannot even begin
To fathom the incredible arrogance
With which we have seceded from the garden.

* * * *
You seek aliens?
Look in a microscope.
Go to the bottom of the ocean.
Wander the streets of San Francisco.
Take a long gaze into a mirror.

* * * *
Through randomness, happenchance, serendipity,
The rare audience for these reflections are found.
One never knows for whom these words will toll.

* * * *
The awareness is eternal.
Consciousness is the creator time.
Awareness is the portal into totality's infinity.
Consciousness is the sandbox of the manifest duality.
It's that simple.

* * * *
Curious how you continue
To look for something to want . . .
And everything so timeless.

* * * *
Some live only to take,
Some only live with the help of others.
And whoever's left live to serve.

* * * *
The only way to follow anyone
Into this fire of awakening
Is by doing it your Self.

* * * *
Assume nothing.

* * * *
Attention to breath is a timeless art.

* * * *
One infernal now or another.

* * * *
The ramblings of a mind gone wild.

* * * *
Play with knives,
And, sooner or later,
You will likely get sliced,
Perhaps even diced.

* * * *
Just be glad you aren't your great grandchildren.

* * * *
The tripe that organized religions
Spew across the world
Is unending.
So much gibberish
To ignore as best you can.

* * * *
This work has been supported
By a variety of day jobs.
So no worries
About it ever being read
By anyone, anywhere, anytime.

* * * *
Loyal to all and one.

* * * *.
The lines leading to Armageddon
Have been fearfully drawn.

* * * *
Never accept blame or credit
For another's choices.

* * * *
At the core, it is not really necessary
To hold on to any sense of history, personal or otherwise.
No one can force you to participate in this dream
Without your voluntary subscription.

* * * *
Just more idolatrous blasphemy.

* * * *
In this universe,
But not of it.

* * * *
The world is your birthing ground.
The world is your home.
The world is your garden.
The world is your playground
The world will be your graveyard.
Who cares where the bones are scattered?

* * * *
Another non-issue so passionately raised.

* * * *
The body you call yours is a biological collective;
A host to myriad viruses, bacteria,
And a slough of other.
Where, in fact,
Do they end, and you begin?

* * * *
And versa-vice.

* * * *
What an insecure, neurotic, paranoid species we are.

* * * *
Do you really believe it is your self-absorbed,
Neurotic, bumbling, fumbling, conditioned,
Time-ridden personality that is immortal?
Now, that's laughable.

* * * *
Breathe!
Inject some oxygen into that troubled mind.

* * * *
Seven blind men touch different parts of an elephant.
One designates the head Christianity.
Another calls the ear Judaism.
The tusk is named Islam.
The trunk, Buddism.
The body, Taoism.
The foot, Hinduism.
And the back, tail and tail's tip
Are each cloaked in one assumption or another.
Soon the blind men are arguing over which speculation is truly the elephant.
How can anyone ever discern the whole if they cannot
Extrapolate beyond the parts?

* * * *
In the ethereal awareness of the mind,
All the bubbles and troubles of consciousness
Subside into the quietude of true nature.
Imagination is naught but a blip
In the vast singularity
Of eternity.

* * * *
Truth, a four-letter word
Given more weight than its timeless reality
Can be bothered to sustain.

* * * *
Idealism has a peculiar way
Of turning into hamburger in a hail of bullets,
Or mush beneath the tracks of tanks.

* * * *
Pray tell, what is so terrible
About being randomly selected?

* * * *
Not easy for vanity to resign,
Much less align with oblivion.


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