Chapter 183 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)

CLXXXIII

You are that from which all dreams are made.

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Why so much tyranny over one another?

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The unseen unity is the eternal constant.

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Assume it so,
And it will be so.

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Pride has countless tentacles
With which to drag anyone down.

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How fortunate the blind are to not see the insanity
Which humanity wields as such a destructive club.

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Watch for the weary and ease their pain
With the good news that they are one.

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Nature’s way is that the strong continue.
Humanity’s denial of that manifest law,
The pride which infects every aspect,
Steers it toward inevitable destruction.
What will the survivors learn from history?

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Desire pushes aside integrity.

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Examine the cruelty of your origin.

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We are the joke upon ours Self.

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Immortal soul, mortal body.

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To define yourself as a separate soul,
No matter the route or role of manifestation
Is an illusion at any level of existence across time.
You are the oneness, have always been, and will ever be.

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Unless human beings individually rise
To a collective responsibility, a collective harmony,
We well degenerate to a collective extinction.

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Fear, guilt and violence have always been used
By so-called civilized religious, political and social organizations
As means to control the masses and their primal instincts.

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All vain attempts of the temporal psyche
To pretend what the innumerable voices dictate
Is a ceaseless journey through suffering.
Discern the only true voice within,
Sure enough, strong enough
To resist all challengers,
And you will be free.

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No church, alter or idol
Will ever rise above the wonder
Of a simple glob of slime.

* * * *
Probably any manifest form or experience
Can be used as a parable, metaphor, or analogy.
The challenge is not being constricted or consumed by any.

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How did it feel when you were very young,
When those adults you looked up to
First betrayed the implicit trust?
How fragile, innocence.

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Does even a dragon take more than absolutely necessary?

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How few can let go
Of their conditioned patterns
Even for just a moment.

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The universe, prior to and beyond, is your Soul.

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A man’s actions are the keepers of his word.

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Life cannot be more than it is.

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Today’s resolve more often than not
Becomes tomorrow’s dim memory.

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Those who are successful in the world
Are the ones who only rarely ponder
The mystery in which they wander.

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If you look closely, you will discern
The you that you believe you are
Is merely the five senses functioning,
Given continuity by the fluid, meandering mind,
The many images to which consciousness is so attached.
How arduous to let them function without interference.

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To be what civilization implies is not necessarily a great creation.

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Examining one’s Self requires a detachment few can muster.

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The many voices tell you so many things matter.
The resulting conflicts within are barriers
To discovering what really does.

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Seeking nothing is very arduous.

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The observer and the observed
Are each unfolding simultaneously,
But only because the observer
Imagines it so.

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Why feel any obligation to manifest any particular way?
Fools are not bound by any history, including their own.

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Only you could play you.

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No now is any different than any other.
All are absolutely simultaneous.
The universe is happening
At the same point.

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Another lustful moment brought to you
By instincts beyond your control.

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Those who awaken into god consciousness
Really have no choice.

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How much of the chatter of consciousness is merely a result
Of the blood’s steady pulsation through the neural structure?

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All the myriad creatures
Have as much right to life and liberty as you.
It is only your temporal power to protect, destroy or manipulate
Which makes you believe yourself superior.

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You are truly that which has never existed.
What was never born can never die.

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The stillness is an indivisible no-man’s land.

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Consider these words
A gift freely offered
With the intent to perhaps aid
In easing for some the suffering of existence.
From one who has known it intimately,
And left few stones unturned.

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The rivalry with technology
Creates within us a great insecurity
And blinds us to that which we are truly capable.

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Picture yourself for a few moments
As the mosquito in the shadow of a hand
Smashing quickly down the decisive, mortal blow.
Life is so very, very tentative for all creatures great and small.

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Your fear of god is your own conceptual concoction,
Conditioned imagination supplied and reinforced in great part
By the many voices with which you were surrounded
From the very moment you were birthed.

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It is not: “You think, therefore you are,”
But: “you are, therefore you think.”

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You cannot easily serve two masters.

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Will humanity’s will to survive
Overcome the greed to which it tenaciously clings?
Only the monkey knows.

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Even if you had senses which felt the edges of the universe,
Even if you were god absolute, it would still be a dream.

* * * *
What a waste envying any other.

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Don’t be too hard on your Self.
You are already everything
You could ever hope to be.

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For a few moments,
Completely surrender everything
To the awareness, the essence of a still mind.
It is truly that simple.

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We are not bound by the script thus far written,
But through the continued collusion
To the delusion of time.

* * * *
These words are merely observations
Which you alone must test out against your own
To verify if they have any scientific veracity.

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Nationalism is simply the narrowing collusion of collective will.

* * * *
Another lie born of time.

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When you surrender to what you are
Rather than to merely what you desire,
The wings of a true human being
Begin to slowly unfold.

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The earth is as a grain of sand on a very long, very wide beach.
The entire human drama is laughable in such an infinite context.

* * * *
Trapped once again by thoughts
Over which you have so little control.

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Discern that the subtlety
Of complete surrender
Includes even your death.

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Rip off the mask, and you will find your Self in every other.

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From chaos, spontaneous diversity.

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Humanity’s long term survival strategy
Is proving to be exceptionally dubious.

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That for which you thirst and hunger
Is merely a state of consciousness.

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Whether budding, in full blossom,
Or growing bitter on the vine,
In relationships of any sort,
There are no one-way streets.

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You cannot disturb chaos.
It is the origin from which all is manifest,
The true order disguised by the veil of time and space.

* * * *
Can anything really be proven beyond a doubt?

* * * *
Let the dead slumber.

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Truth requires no history.

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What is written or transcribed
Is done so through the filter of another.
Be cautious about anything indirectly scribed.

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Prepositions are the precursors of delusion.

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Too many vain histories colliding
For there to be peaceful resolution.

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How many ways can it be said?

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We’re all related in the deep end.

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We’re all equal.
Some just have bigger clubs.

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To know godness, you may first need
To have an ultimate relationship with the devil.
They are really both of the same illusion.

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Everything written is intended to point towards unity.

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I am, therefore I laugh, I cry.

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The real revolution begins within you.
It comes from a very simple clarity.

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History only seems real
Because we are taught to believe
What historians have written.

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How could godness do anything
Except through your dream.

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How about we call Jesus “a” son of godness
Instead of “The” Son of God?

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Fools die young.

* * * *
It’s probably not your Self you take seriously.

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You cannot stop time,
Only its movement in your mind.

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To find the courage
To go beyond your conditioning
Is impossible for most.

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Too few even see the hell
We have in time fashioned of consciousness.
Rare are those who examine the world into which they are born.

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How many have died never fathoming
All their power, fame and fortune, all their vanity,
Is completely useless without even the most shallow breath?

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Your conception forms the nexus
In which consciousness takes root.

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Godness has been your birthright all along.
Few are told, few believe when they are,
Or so quickly forget when they do.
Ahhh, the mind is a mystery
So rarely understood.

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There is really no voice but yours.
You grant it many faces and many voices,
But it has ever, is ever, and will ever be, your own.

* * * *
You drift in the spacious nows of the river of time.

* * * *
Why fear your creations?
It cannot really touch the you
That is really, really you.

* * * *
You are the lead player in your temporal dream.
What part have you written for your Self this time?

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If you swing with the whimsical nature of the many voices,
You will never discern the freedom that is the given potential.

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Seeing and not seeing; same thing.

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Words such as these are written in many times and places
To aid those who are ripening toward the journey home.

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Your being concerned about what any think of you
Is the prison of the many voices created by you,
To which only you can find the key to freedom.

* * * *
It is the doubting forgetfulness of the scribe
That continues to bring forth these many words.

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God did not have to create hell.
It was done by the many narcissistic angels
Who believe themselves individual rather than indivisible.

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Until you can gaze down at your arms and legs,
And discern you have no face, you will not comprehend
That your true mystery is well beyond the body-mind identity.

* * * *
Curious how thoughts of pain and pleasure
Override one another on nearly whimsical notice.
It is the monkey house of any given mind.


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