CLXXXVIII
Much less bother
Dealing with things as they are
Than always wishing it was some other way.
* * * *
By this scribe’s hand, or one of many others,
Those who truly seek will find that me in all.
* * * *
Discard all hope for security.
* * * *
‘Tis the reborn who discern heaven.
* * * *
The world is a maelstrom of invective.
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Life can be a nightmare of effort-filled decisions.
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A blind man’s world is so immediate.
* * * *
Your political correctness means nothing here.
* * * *
Beckon the world, and it shall find you in many ways.
* * * *
Presence is a state of mind.
* * * *
What a cruel undertaking to dispatch any child
From the dreamless void to this harsh world.
* * * *
I am come.
The end of time is near.
* * * *
Miss the point, and pointlessness is all there is.
* * * *
What will be will be, until it is not.
* * * *
So many universes wandering this way and that.
* * * *
How could there ever be a supreme being?
* * * *
Amazing that it took so long to become obvious.
* * * *
Tales of irony fill every life.
* * * *
Yee-haw, learned a new word.
* * * *
You are life and death
Intertwined in each and every moment
Through which eternity consciously spins the dreaming.
* * * *
Each of us within our own universe
Defines the norm, the dualistic black and white.
Each is the law, no matter how much influenced by another.
* * * *
The sage pushes back all boundaries
Until all need for imagined safety dissolves
Into the unborn origin from which all forms spring.
* * * *
Everyone operates on a scale bound by a set of limitations.
Jesters wander the theater however they please.
Picking their way as a musician would
Along the strings of a banjo.
* * * *
All this is just another batch of conceptual entertainment
For an unborn audience dallying between birth and death.
* * * *
Funny how so many who see are put on pedestals
By those who will never begin to comprehend
The inner revolution truly being brokered.
* * * *
Ironic that the happy ending idealists so crave is prior to all ideals.
* * * *
All your passions toward god,
Be they love, fear, anger or any other
Are merely the restless streaming
Of conceptual masturbation.
* * * *
Once you discern what you truly are,
Exploring whatever you wish
In whatever way you will
Becomes the immortal option.
* * * *
See me as you will, I am not.
* * * *
You know you have it when your soul
Can rest easy in heaven or hell.
* * * *
All life forms have been fading in and out
Since long before time’s conscious beginning.
In the no-mind of a mystic, all birthing and deathing
Intermingles like the drops of a mighty river.
* * * *
Death is not what you think it to be.
* * * *
And the worshipping masses
Suckled the golden greenback.
* * * *
From young and supple to old and unyielding,
Life’s endgame is harsh no matter the play.
* * * *
It matters not whether you condemn the flesh
Or worship it with every sort of passion,
The worms will have final say.
* * * *
Funny how some people talk as if you can’t hear.
* * * *
How many at death’s door would without hesitation barter
All their possessions, titles, and every sort of promise
For even a handful of strained, painful breaths.
* * * *
For all great and small, havoc and destruction ensues
When the balance no longer sustains their presence.
* * * *
Ironic that so many scavengers
Thrive in humanity’s dominant shadow.
* * * *
How do any learn balance and moderation
But through considerable and often painful lessons.
And those who do not catch the drift flounder in a sordid hell.
* * * *
Discerning that you are truly That I Am
Makes you all things across the eternal play.
There is no need to make believe an exalted path.
You are all glories, and beyond all need of them.
* * * *
Those to whom power, fame and fortune is all
May call these words naïve, yet in truth,
It is they who are blind to reality.
* * * *
Been there, done that.
What more, what more
Must be endured.
What more.
* * * *
The true you is unmoved
By all cause and effect,
All dreams born of time
And the infinity of space
Through which it wanders.
* * * *
Nothing has been held back herein.
This channel’s revelation is completely disclosed.
More than a little repetitious, but oh well.
To what end only time will tell.
* * * *
The seekers are many, the finders few.
Finders, seekers, losers, weepers.
* * * *
Absurdity.
* * * *
When dust accepts as true the dusty trail,
Sorrow and misfortune play the dusty tune.
* * * *
That so many believe heaven is god’s corporate headquarters
Shows how completely twisted this carnival has become.
* * * *
Each draws to them Selves that which they seek.
Tacking from hell to heaven and beyond
Is an immortal vocation.
* * * *
Life is full of best guesses, percentages,
Batting averages, and statistical probabilities.
There may be someone journeying life error-free,
But you probably have yet to meet them.
* * * *
Who was it when who came up with the delusion
That happiness could ever rely on another?
* * * *
The heart true and unwavering is a rare find.
* * * *
Perfection is just another concept having only one reality.
* * * *
One instant is like any other
As time and space collapse
Into the one-pointed nature
From which consciousness
Issues its illusory universe.
* * * *
Another dharma bum,
Useless to all and none.
* * * *
The stone cutter
Takes down the mountain
One cut at a time.
* * * *
All happens because you think it happens.
History is merely the sport of consciousness.
* * * *
The birth seed is the food,
And food expands into destiny
Until it, too, feeds another.
And on and on and on
Life carries on.
* * * *
Human beings judge themselves
Far more often and harshly
Than any god has need.
* * * *
Every creation seeks a witness,
So godness created of itself a vast array of forms.
Oneness imagining its Self into many
Playing it out as they will
* * * *
With every rise must come a fall,
The merry chase of which
Only time can call.
* * * *
The so-called space between the ears really is just that,
Despite all the goopy gray matter by which it is hidden.
* * * *
Only fools disregard the knock of opportunity.
* * * *
From the first day of your existence,
You have been fed the lie that you are a mind-body identity,
And that you are to participate according to the notions of the given geography.
It is the yoke of human consciousness, which few even discern,
And fewer still ever completely throw off.
* * * *
To judge yourself in any way
By what the many others think of you
Is an obvious error of judgment.
* * * *
Are you humanness experiencing godness,
Or godness experiencing humanness?
Both or neither?
* * * *
So many will say or do just about anything
To get even a little attention.
* * * *
All the concepts are just monkey babble
Deigned important by the babblers
Within their own word-filled universes.
* * * *
Babblers Anonymous.
“I am a babbler…”
* * * *
The end of time is an end of mind.
* * * *
The essence of cruelty is a seed in every mind.
* * * *
The pain so many must endure is incomprehensible.
* * * *
That your pattern seems so rigid
Is entirely a fabrication of imagination.
* * * *
If any form was truly important to god,
Wouldn’t it be permanent?
But none are,
So what does that tell you?
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A vehicle that parasites use and claim to be.
* * * *
Your persona is an exhibition of the desire,
Fear, anger, violence, suffering,
Confusion, joy and love
Residing within.
* * * *
No matter how many drops flow from mountain to sea,
The aloneness of one permeates all.
* * * *
No matter any apparent difference,
Ultimately, whatever I am,
You must also be.
* * * *
The politics of idolatry knows only bounds.
* * * *
How can you ever hope to see
If you are blinded by fairytales?
* * * *
Death is your constant companion.
* * * *
What have you done to your garden?
Whatever became of the virtue
Of your ancestors?
If such a thing even existed.
* * * *
Is there anything more attractive
Than a stretch-marked womb
Sagging over tight jeans?
* * * *
If you only accept what others feed you,
You will miss the real feast.
* * * *
What you really are at the core
Of any given creation
Is the only permanence.
* * * *
What pride does a newborn have?
* * * *
What need have the unborn for sustenance?
It is the food-body, the play of the manifest consciousness,
Not the Soul, that dreams the many hungers.
* * * *
What do honor or dishonor or laughter or tears
Matter to the dead?
* * * *
Fame, fortune and power
Tend to harness you in time.
* * * *
What value a coin of the realm to a pile of dust?
* * * *
You, you’re the one,
You are the only one.
* * * *
There are not too many real mirrors lurking about at this writing.
* * * *
Shut the other out of your existence.
* * * *
The intention here is for that
Not long for this world
Nor any other.
* * * *
You are that beyond all measure
From which all measure springs.
* * * *
When children have nothing better to do
Than squander their parents’ affluence,
The decadence weakens the resolve
Which gathered it in the first place.
* * * *
Amazing is it not that a seed from your mother’s womb
Expanded into an awareness which gradually
Became the food-body consciousness
You think of as the individual you.
Now, what truly makes you
Any different than any other seed?
* * * *
The human mind, in all it’s glory,
Has taken the simplicity of the obvious,
And made it into a complex, rather
Ridiculously monstrous affair.
* * * *
Just another self-absorbed loony-tune.
* * * *
There are no shortage of people, well-intended or not,
Only too willing to tell you what to do with your life.
* * **
If god cannot take a joke,
Then why bother creating one?
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The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved