24 August 2013

Chapter 122 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


CXXII

These thoughts are aimed at the heart of the matter.
Attached to no tradition, no frame of reference,
They are free of all time-bound assumptions.

* * * *
What kind of god would god be
If you were not witnessing it first hand?

* * * *
You are a holograph.

* * * *
Does godness have anything to do
With the vanity of consciousness,
The idolatry of vain personality,
The many pretenses of free will,
Or is it merely the grand witness
To the mystery of all beingness?
Your ignorance is ever confounding.

* * * *
No matter how enlightened someone may be,
They are still caught up in the quandary of living,
And what to do about that annoying mosquito.

* * * *
Anything less than all is idolatry.

* * * *
There is a counter to every move,
And a move to every counter.
Which is effect and which is cause?
Both, yet neither as you see it.

* * * *
How tortured we can make the eternal passing of time.
One moment is truly no different than any other,
Yet the flux of the mind clings and resists
With such passionate reasoning.

* * * *
You deceive yourself in so many vain ways.

* * * *
One’s creation is another’s destruction.
Every frame of reference has its persuasion.

* * * *
Until they let it all go, seers are burdened
Not only with a personal view,
But with the workings of total functioning.

* * * *
Be kind to yourself.
There’s no point to a mind
Imagining so many vivid tortures.

* * * *
Approval or disapproval,
Who needs either?

* * * *
Inequality is entirely the creation of the human mind.

* * * *
How far past yourself can you see?

* * * *
Pretending the emperor has new clothes
Is a lie children need no play.

* * * *
How difficult to see and move
Beyond the habit of self-abuse.

* * * *
When you meet the moment fully,
Your destiny unfolds gracefully.

* * * *
So many choices in any life,
And which ones are embraced
Are the seeds of the obituary.

* * * *
How can you, why should you,
Save what was never spent?

* * * *
You suffer for your passion.

* * * *
There are no followers
But they who reside in Self.

* * * *
All identity is a ruse of limited origin.

* * * *
Freedom is the delusion of madness.

* * * *
There is no serene harbor in the many differences.

* * * *
What fare will the mortal stage today offer?
An empty page, an empty canvas full of possibilities
On which the drama of existence slowly unfolds.

* * * *
Logic?
Pray tell, who’s logic?

* * * *
Godness, in the infinite wisdom that godness is,
Decided to experience infinite stupidity as well.
Such a harsh joke the cosmos plays on its Self.

* * * *
How can the faceless be attached to any mask
But through the vain delusions of consciousness?

* * * *
What would it be like to have an original thought?

* * * *
A faceless by any other nameless
Would be just as blameless
In all the sameness.

* * * *
Muddy minds do not wash pure instantly
But through the greatest detachment.

* * * *
The original sin is the belief
That such a concept is real.

* * * *
If no one notices you,
You must be doing something right.

* * * *
That stillness most sweet and unswerving,
The immortal friend most humbly beloved,
Let it burn you to the ashes of never more.

* * * *
Death frees all.

* * * *
It doesn’t have to make sense.

* * * *
Few realize the uselessness of knowledge
In the most profound picture imaginable.

* * * *
Never burn a bridge unless absolutely necessary,
And then only with the most expedient execution.

* * * *
Not much point to being in a great rush.

* * * *
The depth of all things is imaginary.

* * * *
Idolatry is a tough one to see through.

* * * *
Many fear that which they do not understand.
It’s not easy daring to closely examine anything.

* * * *
Your thoughts of separation
Can never be more than delusion.

* * * *
No thing can sate the hunger or slake the thirst.
Consciousness amplifies the animal nature at the core,
And a good deal of discernment and discipline
Is required to temper the beast.

* * * *
See it or not, we are all
The divine tools of godness.
Only some awaken to it.
Most slumber on.

* * * *
That’s what makes it one.

* * * *
Dragons are immortal.
Immortals are dragons.

* * * *
If you listen very closely, intuitively,
You will perhaps occasionally find things
Speak to you in an unspoken fashion.

* * * *
Good luck, bad luck,
Or merely the fate of dust
Dancing in time born of light,
The lila of the imagined universe
And its impromptu collusion of puppets
Biding the strings of the grand puppeteer.

* * * *
Hell if I know what’s going on here.

* * * *
Time lapses when you are not.

* * * *
You are the way you have been
Since your first memories of it.

* * * *
It is your own creation that frightens you,
Tempts you, confuses you, enrages you,
Tortures you, suffers you, pleases you.

* * * *
To believe godness is only one thing or another,
Or only that which subscribes to consciousness,
Is the narrow vision, the blindness of ignorance.

* * * *
Perhaps if the masses were not deceived from the start,
Their godness would not be so difficult to intuitively grasp.
But, then again, maybe it would make no difference at all.

* * * *
It’s just one big fucking experiment.
We’re all god’s guinea pigs.

* * * *
Explore and harvest the infinite stillness,
The inexplicable serenity of your true beingness,
The domain in which the sovereign suckle.

* * * *
We are all godness, and most  of us
Are very, very confused about it.
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why
Cannot people just accept
They will never know?

* * * *
You think, therefore you imagine you are.

* * * *
The priceless soul is rare.

* * * *
My god, your god, and everyone else’s, too.

* * * *
How ironic that so many believe their color
Is so much more than a melanin count.

* * * *
A Christmas tree is dying to come home with you.

* * * *
Once you see that you create all reactions within,
An equanimity begins to seal the crevices.
Gradually, it all comes together.

* * * *
To have seen it untrammeled by the hand of man.

* * * *
Every one wants to be secure, but that is impossible
The way we behave so rudely to all the differences.

* * * *
Some have no choice but to think for themselves.

* * * *
Here we all are living out our distinct little dreams.

* * * *
Memory is only as good as the synapses it inhabits.
Life is short no matter how long it sometimes seems.

* * * *
Way to many human beings.
What’s the point?

* * * *
You’re dying as you read this.

* * * *
Man’s mind will never duplicate god’s.
Imitation is always artificially second-rate.

* * * *
How driven we are in our own accumulation,
Yet we snicker at the pack rat or the raven
For their meager collection of shiny baubles.

* * * *
Serve the ground.

* * * *
Put to the ultimate test,
What advantage have brains
Ever really earned without muscle?

* * * *
The trails of our dreams intersect and weave
Into a tapestry of consciousness which dissolves
So quickly in the timeless expanses of eternity.

* * * *
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens.

* * * *
All you’ve got to do is stop thinking.

* * * *
Can you even remember yesterday sometimes?

* * * *
Some walk away from their roots.

* * * *
Would you have it any other way.

* * * *
You were born to understand.

* * * *
Why fight what cannot be?
What resist what is inevitable?

* * * *
Always on guard.

* * * *
When did we become so embarrassed about our bodies?

* * * *
For a moment, at least feign contentment.

* * * *
Who is mad and who is sane?

* * * *
A foregone conclusion plays itself out.

* * * *
How quickly memories fade.

* * * *
The swirl of insignificance continues.

* * * *
The blank wall beckons your attention.

* * * *
Revenge has a long memory.

* * * *
How fickle and vain this god we create.

* * * *
Significance fades as memory leaves it behind.

* * * *
Are you foot or hand,
Head, neck or shoulder,
Or any other piece or part?

* * * *
Imagine how many human beings there might be
If there weren’t war, famine or pestilence?

* * * *
The bully rules till someone bigger comes along.

* * * *
One of those people who asked why so often
The s/he doesn’t even care anymore.

* * * *
They sure got your number.

* * * *
One wonders what ignorance will make of all this.

* * * *
Anti your Christ.

* * * *
Some thoughts are worth resisting.

* * * *
Luck is a five letter word.
Lucky has five.
Make of it what you will.

* * * *
Pay attention to the reflections on the shiny surfaces.

* * * *
This is my seed cast into time.

* * * *
So many fates dancing so many ways.

* * * *
Death will harvest you at its own convenience.

* * * *
Always handy to have the right tool at the right time.

* * * *
Life goes on,
Most of the time
Not all that exciting.

* * * *
Pure thoughts require pure vision.

* * * *
At the time you really didn’t think anything of it.

* * * *
Almost ten years of thought.

* * * *
Gone so quickly again.


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