24 August 2013

Chapter 120 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


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.


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