20 September 2009

Chapter 255 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)

CCLV

Human beings across the world
Have unceasingly contrived gods and idols
That they might endlessly praise
Their insipid narcissism.

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Regarding power, the question is:
Can you be inwardly empowered
Without disempowering another?

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Real respect is not a product of fear.

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Children play with toys and make up games.
Adults put away childish things.
Will we ever grow up?

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Hearsay, superstition and idealism
Should never be confused with truth.

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Eternal salvation is just shutting up,
And paying attention to the moment.

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Real faith is so much more than dogma.

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No matter the label,
It is ever, has ever, will ever remain
The same eternal, sovereign, inexplicable mystery.

* * * *
Yet another bogus charade.

* * * *
Asserting dogma does not make it so.

* * * *
How can you save something
That cannot be lost or destroyed?

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So many lies to which so many cling.
Self-deception is the root of all evil.

* * * *
There is no order
But the mind's innate ability
To ceaselessly organize and orchestrate
Its many vague perceptions.

* * * *
The inherent flaw of science,
Despite its assertions of objectivity,
Is that it is, as are all things mind-made, founded
On the subjective limits of perception.

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All in one,
And one in all.

* * * *
You see what you project.

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History has a way of forgetting itself.

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The only now there was, is, and will ever be.

* * * *
Not necessarily meant
To be read in one or three sittings
By all but the most prepared.

* * * *
As interesting as it can be
History has an inevitable tendency
To weigh down the present.

* * * *
Who can you save from what.

* * * *
Do jellyfish cling to their drifting memories the way humans do?
What heavens and hells must they endure
To win their god's favor?

* * * *
The Reaper makes meager picking of all things.

* * * *
The worry . . . the worry.

* * * *
Absurdity is surely only a human creation.

* * * *
Any given is history is but a temporary game;
Good only as long as the collusion endures.

* * * *
Truth is a drift of fine sand
Taking whatever shape
The wind contrives.

* * * *
Dullingly predictable.

* * * *
All things happen in time's shadow.

* * * *
Blessing and curses are merely
Imagination's inflated parley
With its own fabrications.

* * * *
As if the eternal
Is really concerned
With all your silliness.

* * * *
You are in reality that
Which you are not.

* * * *
All suffer in innumerable ways,
But few discern the common thread
Weaving its painful tapestry
In every mind.

* * * *
Numbers flash on the digital clock,
But has any time truly passed?

* * * *
The many colors and shapes
Are collusions of the senses and mind,
The deception of light and sound
That you ever existed at all.

* * * *
You are but a temporal synapse of totality,
An intuitive, mystical comprehension
Discerned by few and far between.

* * * *
Your real tribe has no distinguishing traits
Except an enduring inquiry into true nature.

* * * *
What sound is any sound,
Sight any sight, taste any taste,
Smell any smell, touch any touch,
But what any given mind
Has chosen it to be?

* * * *
A certain amount of arrogance
Is required to write such things.

* * * *
What difference is there really
Between being awake and asleep
But an ethereal conscious perception.

* * * *
The difference between birth and death
Is but a few moments of perception.

* * * *
How can you be free,
And not allow others
The same privilege?

* * * *
So be it.

* * * *
Who kills any other
But themselves
In yet another form?

* * * *
All wander aimlessly
Though relatively few
Ever begin to realize it.

* * * *
So many believe
It is really they
Who do any of it.

* * * *
Do what you need to do.
Leave it behind when you are done.

* * * *
What a shock it must have been be to be born,
To depart from the relative tranquillity of the womb
Into this sensory garden born of consciousness.

* * * *
The wheel of illusion
Has innumerable spokes
Girding its suffering nature.

* * * *
In even the greatest beauty there are flaws,
And in the most decrepit, there is gold.

* * * *
Gold is dust, and dust is gold.

* * * *
Where do you end,
And the universe begin.

* * * *
What trip has not been played out
In this earthbound play of time.

* * * *
Time as our species has concocted it
Is little more than an arbitrary invention
Of the relativity of this spinning dust ball.

* * * *
Awakening to your birthright is an inward process
That no other can ever truly tack for anyone else.

* * * *
Being true to your Self
Is perhaps the highest law
In this lawless theater.

* * * *
The passions that others evoke in you
Are merely innumerable variations of desire
Playing out a seemingly endless array
Of attachments to sensory illusion.

* * * *
The truth is that truth can never be spoken,
Only intuited in the beingness of awareness.

* * * *
Setting things right is an arduous task.

* * * *
Take pause
As often as it is necessary
To regain clarity.

* * * *
Zen do we go?

* * * *
Seers are like springs freely flowing.

* * * *
Those who imitate others are like parrots
Constantly repeating remnants
Of vague memories.

* * * *
It certainly is entertaining and perhaps rarely boring
If you surround yourself with enough distractions.

* * * *
What is there to justify or explain?
It is the delusion of the other
To whom you surrender
Your sovereignty.

* * * *
You are the dancing cosmic dust of totality
Temporarily cast in the refraction of light.

* * * *
Keeping desire at a simple level
Helps make life far less vexing.

* * * *
What hells the expectations of others can create.

* * * *
Do not live in fear of what some imaginary god wants from you.
In reality, it was the same as what you wanted for your Self.

* * * *
On the whole, humankind seems to be a far cry
From figuring out what civilized life truly is.

* * * *
After the coming fall,
Human vanity will likely continue,
Albeit on a revised scale

* * * *
Ride every moment as a surfer does a wave.

* * * *
In every holographic,
Infinitesimal, seamless moment,
You are the incomprehensible, eternal vastness.

* * * *
Within the insecurity of aloneness,
There is an indefinable security.

* * * *
Any given seed cannot know
Into what function it will be cast.
All life adapts to time and circumstance
As time and circumstance allow.

* * * *
The savage beast
Is potential within all,
Yet so is the true human being
Who pushes beyond the animal nature.

* * * *
When you are completely alone,
What else could possibly matter?

* * * *
That which you truly are is no lover of personalities.

* * * *
Study any black box long enough,
And its contents will inevitably fall into
One logical order or another.

* * * *
The highest does not exclude the lowest.

* * * *
The speculations mankind concocts
To explain this unknowable, irrational mystery
Are feeble, droll and meaningless.
Like dry, brittle leaves
Blowing this way and that.

* * * *
Decorate the table however you will,
The finest china, silverware and glassware
Can do little more than camouflage
What ever remains the savage,
Bloodthirsty enterprise
Of any predator.

* * * *
Humanity's ability to manipulate nearly everything it touches
Has bent back the limitations of natural law,
But only temporarily.
Like a rubber band, Mother Nature
Will eventually snap her world back into alignment.
And it will likely not be a pretty sight.

* * * *
No part is ever not whole in reality.

* * * *
All personality
Is merely subjective adaptation
To a given context.

* * * *
A complete life is too full to remember.

* * * *
The body knows where it needs to be
If you surrender it to your Self.

* * * *
With the aid of those who have discerned it before you,
You have the opportunity to become your own guide.

* * * *
Funny how some people will not let you past
All those little chips on their shoulder.

* * * *
The body is a container, a vehicle;
Useful to experience the manifest theater,
But only for a relatively brief time.
No use getting too attached.

* * * *
The pleasures and pains inspired by the nervous system
Fool you again and again into believing
All this is truly real.

* * * *
Those who truly see may well be inspired
To snigger at the body's innumerable frailties
When they are not writhing and screaming in pain.

* * * *
Wars seem glorious from the parade ground.
Perspective changes when it's your boots
Tromping through the muddy trenches.

* * * *
The common sense that is not so common
Will very likely not be center stage
For some time to come.

* * * *
See all the differences you can imagine for what they are.
How simple it is to heal the fragmented mind
Once you discern that wholeness
Is its essential nature.

* * * *
Of the scribe, it can be said:
He came, he saw, he wrote.

* * * *
What a timeless enterprise this has been.

* * * *
The unrepentant film of dust that daily return
Is a constant reminder of your origin.

* * * *
It is really only what you think of your Self that counts.
All the assertions, opinions and chatter of others
Is but distraction from the eternal within.


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