CCLVIII
Who is it who experiences the experiencing but an invention of consciousness.
A temporal, imagined entity, born of the immaculate nature,
A quantum fiction that can never exist
As more than a fleeting neurological dream.
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So much time, so much energy, spent seeking an answer,
A point, a raison d'etre, to this manifest quantum reverie?
But who will be left when the answer becomes apparent?
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Another thing about which you will have to plead agnostic.
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To make your peace with the mystery, seek within.
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Your manifest existence is really no different than that of any other seed.
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You can attach to nothing but through your thoughts about it.
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You need only prove anything to your own satisfaction.
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Who do you offend, who do you deceive, who do you wound, who do you kill,
But your Self in another being? And does it really matter?
Whether you believe it does, or does not,
Is your dream's answer.
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Extrapolate into infinity.
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It is really an inquiry without conclusion, except for those who collude in delusion.
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These words are for those
Who will not be deterred by any falsehood,
No matter how extraordinary.
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All seeds of the manifest
Bud, blossom, decline, dissolve.
The timeless theater playing out in time.
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If and when you discover this, you will know everything there is to know.
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To sow a seed assures its death.
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Is karma real and true in the vast play of time,
Or merely another fabrication of consciousness?
Only if you give it the weight of your acquiescence.
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Can the dualistic nature of consciousness ever reconcile with its indivisible nature?
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Discerning this, does your patterning change?
The language, the habits, the knowledge do not change;
Simply the understanding of their function in a much larger context.
Very different, yet very much the same.
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Did god create man, or man, god?
The mind, evolved of sensory separation,
Is not hardwired to effortlessly grasp the actuality,
That in reality, absolutely nothing is separate from anything.
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Neither chaos nor order, it is both more and less, than imagination can ever imagine.
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So many obligations you burden your Self with.
How well your mythos has convinced you
To carry out its dogmatic bidding.
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Still the myriad thoughts, and dissolve into the quantum indivisibility.
The immaculate awareness you truly are, have ever been, will ever be.
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When concepts no longer confine you, karma is among them.
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From reality's perspective, it does not matter what you think, or if you even think at all.
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How the waves do relish their crashing play,
Forgetting all the while they are only
The fringes of the depths.
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Every moment, from the depths of awareness,
You gaze out upon your creation.
Does it please you?
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Over and over we have seen
That wisdom cannot be transmitted.
It is earned, not learned.
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If humanity wishes to have its seed line
Continue the innumerable adventures
Offered by the theater of space and time,
It must realign with the staid rhythms of nature.
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What inane concoctions we invent to rationalize our mercurial behavior.
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With the universe unfolding within you,
How can you as witness not discern ironic humor
In every aspect of the theater so congested by human pathos.
So feel free to pass in levity whatever moments are left in this life's journey,
For there is truly no other jester better suited to contain it.
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Curious how so many human beings
Are so irrationally obsessed with their inanities
That they truly believe they are the center of the universe,
That they are the core raison d'etre for its creation.
How is it that they do not discern awareness
Equally witnesses under every sun?
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The indisputable certainty that all creation is of the same indivisibility
Is a view relatively few seem ready to fathom at this point in time.
Whether that will change in epochs to come, only time will tell.
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Put whatever masks you will upon your idolatry,
It is to the faceless nature prior to all forms
To which all devotion is ultimately made.
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A sense of true humility arises when you clearly discern,
That in the absolute reality, you are equal to everything.
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The cancer of human consciousness is about to undergo a most profound surgery.
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The only true revolution is born of one mind.
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The conjectures of Malthus and Darwin, have been only temporarily postponed
Through humankind's energetic ingenuity, and the insatiable narcissism for more.
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You will never be all of it; you will never not be all of it.
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Every life form has a fate, a destiny, a karma, a kismet,
The rhyme and reason of which can only be determined
In the timeless hollow, the unfathomable recess within.
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The joy of word-association is akin to water streaming from a spring that cannot run dry.
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Fun, fun, fun, is that all you concern your Self with?
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Who can really help anyone, or change anything?
The patterning weaves all in a reckoning
Of its own spontaneous design.
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Any concept of god is by its very nature linear and dualistic.
And that which is immeasurable is most assuredly
Not confined by any in-the-box thinking.
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No pattern is sacred to the unmitigated mystery.
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No moral code is eternally sacred.
All laws and principals are cultural creations
Molded of a limited persuasion.
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To examine the human condition accurately and impartially,
To understand its potential, yet see clearly its self-absorbed limitations,
Requires that the witness set aside the personal nature
And investigate anything and everything
With as little attachment
As the given mind can ascertain.
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What an absurd obsession human beings across the world
Have with labeling everything that comes within their purview.
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A ripple in any time’s passing would crash upon any distant shore just the same.
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Is a crime only contemplated still a crime?
If it is, a seriously extended karma
No doubt awaits us all.
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Let us not confuse consumerocracy with democracy.
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Consume, consume, consume.
The senses titillate the mind born of time.
Surely, there must be more to existence than acquisition
Of this and that over and over again.
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Are you able to ignore, or at least mindfully resist, any temptation under any sun?
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Though you may walk through the valley of delusion,
You shall fear no evil, no insanity, no karma, no illusion.
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You are the indivisibility of immaculate awareness, not the attributes of the body
In which consciousness manifests, or the many thoughts it endlessly devises.
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Just another hellish maze fabricated by consciousness.
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If something is true, does it matter whether or not
It is articulated according to some Hoyle-ish measure?
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So many human beings are so frightened by the emptiness
That they spend their lives accumulating everything imaginable.
Yet, no matter how much they amass, the void within is ever empty.
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All forms are deceiving teachers of the timeless indivisible.
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The sensory, time-bound dream daily persuades you that you are alive,
But in reality you are the eternal unborn-undying imagining its Self real.
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Those who say, "Follow me," if true seers, do not mean it in the personal sense.
Be vigilant of the predators who use you to their reprehensible ends.
The only way to follow is by exploring your own abyss.
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The obvious is seldom obvious to all.
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You are in this manifest body to play you,
Not Jesus or Adolph, not Siddhartha or Genghis,
Not Jack or Jane or any imagined other.
Use what you have been given
To unlock your unmanifest potential.
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Discern the timeless flowing of "ness"
In words like awareness, nowness, isness, godness,
Stillness, beingness, happiness, sadness, formlessness, absoluteness,
And the myriad other concepts in which language stages its conceptual gamesmanship.
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You will discern heaven in the eternal essence of the quantum reality.
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There are no middlemen, no tollbooths, in the sovereign quest into the eternal nature.
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The way to heaven is smaller than the proverbial eye of a needle,
And more boundless than the most inscrutable mind
Can more than momentarily fathom.
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So what if you can
Walk on water,
Raise the dead,
Heal the masses,
Draw fish to your nets,
Call upon hordes of angels,
Change water to wine,
Resurrect yourself,
Or ad infinitum whatever.
What a vain show we make of ourselves.
Our absurdity must surely be the laughingstock of the universe.
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What a burden it is to be born.
The inanities of the body, material possessions,
The human spectacle, all the physical and psychological suffering.
And all you remember reading in the contract some faceless salesman had you sign
Was about all the pleasure, all the power and fame and fortune.
What was in that small print, anyway?
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Witnessing all the horrors that human beings inflict upon one another
Can be more than a little challenging, more than a little horrendous.
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Who can judge another's soul once he has discerned it is truly his own.
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Seem like so many, maybe everyone, believe they are the good guy.
The one that has the right stuff, the one with god and truth on their side.
The one whose path to glory, the one whose raison d'etre, is all-important.
The drawback is that it is often at the expense of one if not many others.
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The mortal mind as we imagine it is evolution’s time-bound desire for continuity.
It is never easy to employ it to annihilate itself into the eternal, immortal awareness.
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How enraptured we are with this hellish world we have all aided and abetted in creating.
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A view of the quantum paradigm few seem destined to attain in any given epoch.
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Another story, ho-hum.
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Desire is a seething broth of individual design.
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What purpose, what trials, are necessary if you have managed to be truly content?
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No seed is immortal but at its source.
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From beginning's end, you have ever been sovereign issue.
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True science is an unblinking, unwavering, unallied eye.
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Even the most exotic venue can become dull after the first day.
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A life well-lived is nothing well done.
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Rejecting the human paradigm is an option.
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God of man, man of god, one in the same.
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What true scientist is not also a philosopher?
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Too late for all but the most disconcerted, willing and able to let go.
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Every seed has its fate.
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The Truth and Nothing But the Truth
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Nothing muffled about the accusatory question.
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You are the grist; you are the mill.
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If it is a concept, it is not truth.
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You are responsible; you are not responsible.
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You are as large as you are small, as small as you are large.
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You must figure it all out for your Self.
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Same grist, another day at the mill.
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Always look any gift horse in the mouth.
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Nothing matters, and even nothing doesn’t matter.
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There is no I am, only I amming.
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Buddhists and Christians aplenty; Buddhas and Christs, rare indeed.
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No matter the point and purpose, all ambition clouds the mind.
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Mind your own awareness.
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Doubt is a rare commodity.
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There is no path through emptiness.
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Might makes right; always has, always will.
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There is only one teacher in the universe; one teacher, with many faces.
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The worms are licking their lips.
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What need for a solution when there was never really a problem.
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Oh, happy choiceless.
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The only thing smart about most smart phones is the phone.
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Yet another Ground Hog Day underway.
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A cosmic joke about which it is not always easy to laugh.
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Of critics, to reference their expertise,
One should always feel free, even obligated to query,
“What book, poem, movie, play, song, painting, sculpture, ad infinitum,
Has s/he ever created for popular consumption?
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The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved