CXX
How can
the mind of an infant
Be
anything but ever-present?
History
has yet to be imagined.
* * * *
Rest
assured that if you judge others,
Many or
most will just as surely judge you.
* * * *
Who do
you think you’re fooling?
* * * *
A
convenient or entertaining story
Does
not make it real.
* * * *
A world
nearly filled to capacity
With
meaningless bean counting.
How
much data do we need to see
The
disaster looming ahead?
* * * *
Riding
the edge of time,
You
wander the play of consciousness,
Knowing
it unreal, yet unwilling to transcend its nature
Because
death is ultimately unimaginable.
* * * *
Evidently
we are not planning
To
share the good times
With
the future.
* * * *
Maybe
there will come a once upon a time
When
these thoughts will prove useful.
* * * *
Consciousness
is a trick of the mind,
A
slight of hand played out in imagination.
* * * *
To
wallow in murky details
Makes
for a muddy big picture.
* * * *
When
given the choice between money
And the
right thing to do, what odds
Do you
wager the outcome?
* * * *
How far
does infinity go?
Look
within.
* * * *
The
curse of imagination
Is that
it believes itself real.
* * * *
Drop,
river, ocean … You wander alone.
* * * *
Why
even bother speaking to people
Who
cannot attempt the act of listening?
* * * *
Resolving
it through thinking is impossible.
You
must wade insecure into the open field.
* * * *
The
mother ground is infinitely fertile.
And
sustains without need of reverence.
* * * *
Seeing
all through the eyes of aloneness,
You
once again embark upon adventure.
* * * *
Let the
world rise up against you.
You are
That I Am and can be nothing less
But
through voluntary servitude to your own delusion.
* * * *
Another
bit of the dream passes into vague memory.
A new
adventure, a new dance, buds into consciousness.
* * * *
Do
scientists really believe
All
their measurements
Add up
to anything?
* * * *
The
rich, powerful and famous
Hide
behind their paper walls.
We are
all subject to the world
We have
all aided in creating.
* * * *
Easter
Island is proof enough
That
history has no dearth of anecdotes
About
how foolish human beings have always been.
* * * *
Raising
children
In an industrialized
world
Is a
daunting task.
Is it
worth it?
* * * *
Not to
me.
* * * *
Imagination
concocts a god to preserve the delusion
That
there must be a reason to gracefully endure.
Evidence
of god is an act of wishful thinking
And the
superstitions which it generates.
* * * *
When
you are one,
What
need for god?
* * * *
If you
are not ready to awaken,
You are
not ready.
It is
no big deal, really.
Eternity’s
got nothing but time,
And you
are free to do with it what you will.
* * * *
Superstition
is the province of mediocre statisticians.
* * * *
How
many times
It has
taken to remember
To try not
to forget?
* * * *
Don’t
you believe it.
* * * *
Guess
this is what I was consigned to create.
* * * *
Mein
Kampf
* * * *
Who
else would the antichrist
Frighten
most but the false church?
Idolatry
finds so many ways to twist truth.
* * * *
The process
of birth and death
Is the
same every moment.
* * * *
Madness
is in your blood.
* * * *
Why
bring in an unwanted child?
* * * *
Get a
fucking clue.
* * * *
In the
darkness,
Senses
corked,
Thoughts
stilled,
Who are
you again?
* * * *
The
rambling consciousness
Of a
guy named Michael Jay Holshouser,
Yaj
Ekim in the play of letters.
* * * *
Ignorance
begets its own form of bliss.
While
thinkers ponder the purgatory of existence
The
meek play out life as suits their talent.
* * * *
Be
without posing.
* * * *
Another
to-be-forgotten dream in the making.
* * * *
Still
looking for that something
That
never existed in the first place
* * * *
Faceless
wandering.
* * * *
Alone,
there is nothing you must be.
* * * *
People
are so foolish about history.
* * * *
Phenomenal
what savagery this world breeds.
* * * *
Sorry,
no hope offered in this corner.
* * * *
Can’t
go back even if you wanted to.
* * * *
It is
consciousness and consciousness only
Which
weaves this pathos-ridden drama.
Surrounding
it in every directionless
Direction
is nothingness forever.
* * * *
When
will you finally grasp
How
utterly, meaninglessly pointless it is
To give
anyone unsolicited advice they cannot hear?
* * * *
Favors
have a sure way of backfiring
If
granted with any expectation of return.
* * * *
What
line do you walk in your world?
* * * *
There
is only so much to take.
* * * *
Gnats
feast upon the honey
With no
thought that the future dies
At the
bottom of the jar.
* * * *
Pride
is for the vain.
* * * *
We all
chatter about
Whatever
the media presents.
It
fills the time.
* * * *
As far
as these reflections go,
You owe
the scribe nothing.
Some
things in life are gratis.
* * * *
Just
doing what you are to do,
Going
along with what’s going on,
Keeps
the mental burden relatively light.
Going
it alone can be a long, wearing journey,
But the
conclusion is a timeless peace
That
few have the inclination
To
ponder fully.
* * * *
The
masses will not complain too heartily
If they
have enough for they and theirs.
Be
careful that they know no different.
* * * *
The
judgments you net are the ones you cast.
* * * *
How
much of our world
Has
succumbed to insanity
And the
worship of its many faces.
* * * *
So many
looking for something they cannot ever find,
And endless
spirals of delusion the unending result.
* * * *
Space
is the time between me and you.
* * * *
Everyone
seems to have,
No
matter how pathetic the reasoning,
A
rationalization for what they do.
* * * *
It is
all swallowed by the oblivion
Of the silence
eternally still.
* * * *
All
patterns submit to the destiny of the origin.
* * * *
If you
were truly humble,
Would
it even occur to you
Whether
you were or were not?
* * * *
If you
actually met one of the great teachers,
Would
they be the packaged sound bytes
Time’s
propaganda has tricked you to expect?
* * * *
Even
moderation can be dangerous.
* * * *
Is
there anyone without delusions here?
* * * *
Always
not the qualifications
Before
you take any offers.
* * * *
So much
bullshit, so little time.
* * * *
The
worth of the some is in the all.
* * * *
Move on
if it doesn’t make any sense.
* * * *
What is
it you are attempting
So
ardently to become
In your
imagined universe?
* * * *
What
matters now
Did not
matter before,
Nor
will it matter at all after.
Attachment
to the drama of time
Is the
creator of suffering.
* * * *
From
your entry into this imaginary realm,
You
have been convinced you must
Become
one thing or another.
But
it’s all the pretense
Of
consciousness,
A
collusion
Of
manifest origin.
* * * *
Those
caught in delusion
Are
individuals who believe
Time
and space the only reality.
The
seers are indivisibles
Who
just consider it
An odd
dream.
* * * *
Look at
your Self bound in all
These
willful and instinctive patterns,
Helpless
puppet pawn in the song of godness
With
its countless variations and themes.
* * * *
Sometimes
death just can’t come soon enough.
* * * *
Tell me
you don’t feel this way occasionally,
And I
will wonder if you pay much attention.
* * * *
Do not
bind your Self
In the
limits of others.
* * * *
You
think it is you as an individual who is reborn
Because
you do not fully realize and comprehend
The
indivisible nature of your ultimate creation.
* * * *
Recall,
at least occasionally,
That
all that imagination
Is
leaping around
Only in
your own head.
* * * *
Resolve
is so easily forgotten.
* * * *
Great
storms rise and fall,
Filled,
exhausted and filled again
By the
yearning to become
And the
fear of ending.
* * * *
Meditation
is the space intelligence requires
To get
away from the mania of manifest reality.
* * * *
Is
there no end to it all?
* * * *
Tale,
chronicle, epic, legend, opus, saga,
Adventure,
escapade, fantasy, fable, myth,
Parable,
narration, yarn, call it what you will.
* * * *
What
have you got to lose?
* * * *
No more
pedestals.
* * * *
Round
and round words go,
Where
they stop nobody knows.
* * * *
Your
life is free,
But
living will cost you.
* * * *
Cannot
imagine that most of this hasn’t been
Said or
thought countless times and places before.
* * * *
If
measurement is your foundation,
You are
adrift in endless confabulation.
* * * *
You are
the ground, the field
Upon
which all eternity dances.
Shed
the many attachments
And you
are life eternal.
* * * *
You so
often struggle to remember
And daily
assert who you are and what you believe
Because
thoughts have nothing to do
With
what is really real.
* * * *
We all
play out our given nature our given way.
Though
there are similarities, there is no duplication.
To be
and allow is most arduous when pride
Creates
so many false distinctions.
* * * *
Examine
all patterning from great to small
And see
it is your own mind measuring
A dream
it created out of nothing.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved