CXXX
Oh, plague
upon the capricious, fleeting, whimsical moment,
Which
doeth perfectly endure forever its eternal way,
All the
while presenting an ungraspable reality
To its
myriad voracious components.
* * * *
How
often no comment is the best comment.
* * * *
If you
must ask what the point is, maybe there isn’t one.
* * * *
Another
mark, another piss in the indifferent sand.
* * * *
Yet
another hamstrung persona.
* * * *
So many
people worry about past and future lives
That
they aren’t paying attention to living this one.
The
tire only hits one spot at any given moment.
Be here
now whenever your attachment allows.
* * * *
Why do
you even bother?
* * * *
Evolution
and creation really have the same definition.
* * * *
What
vanity lies derelict?
* * * *
May as
well give them something to whine about.
* * * *
What
compassion I feel for the children of tomorrow’s morrow.
* * * *
This
has long since become a world where the innocent are guilty
And the
guilty saunter scot-free to the echo of roaring applause.
* * * *
You run
around accomplishing so much,
Leading
your vain white rabbit calendar life,
Missing
out on so much you cannot even see.
* * * *
When
faced with immediate danger in nature
An
instinctual survival response will take action.
Humanity
now faces great danger from many fronts,
And yet
is unable thus far to discern a moderate remedy
Because
the problems facing us are so beyond
Our
instinctual or intellectual capacity
To
confront, much less solve.
So we
pretend there is no problem
And
will deal with it piecemeal, as is our way.
What a
heritage we leave the future.
* * * *
Though
you may have done it times beyond counting,
You
cannot remember what sound it makes each time.
Attention
to all the many details is always challenging.
* * * *
Transcend
bitterness.
* * * *
“Tis is
a shame it is this way,
But
sometimes you must choose
To lie,
cheat, steal and even murder
If you
wish to carry on in this silly theater.
No
body’s forcing you to do anything
That
you couldn’t refuse to do.
It’s
all about collusion.
* * * *
He who
dies with the most toys
Leaves
a lot of clutter for others
To
sort, clean up and throw away.
* * * *
Those
who wander beyond good and evil
Can
wade through both righteousness
And sin
unscathed and untouched.
* * * *
How can
anyplace not be considered home
In an
existence founded upon transience?
* * * *
How
easy it is to take life for granted,
As if
its dreamy, timeless nature is forever.
Have
you done with it all you wish to do
With no
regrets worth remembering?
* * * *
What
can you give back
Which
has never been taken?
* * * *
Those
who aspire to a comfortable, indolent life
Will
likely not find these thoughts entertaining.
* * * *
No
matter what you have
Drunk,
eaten, inhaled or injected,
You
have always been the point of reference.
* * * *
We are
all stuck together on this spinning orb,
And so
many things we do impact many others.
We are
no longer isolated as were our ancestors.
Sink or
swim, we are all in this time of man together.
How
long can we afford the pride and avarice
Which
brought us to this epic juncture?
* * * *
Evolution
is godness unfolding as it wills.
Mutations
are merely new branches of exploration.
You are
a reflection, a morsel of that one mind
As it
witnesses, with great detachment,
Its eternal
sojourn through consciousness.
* * * *
We can
take and take and take until we consume ourselves,
Or we
can discern the art of balance and become
Guardians
rather than destroyers.
* * * *
Be
content and sip the nectar of godness.
* * * *
You
cannot be what you are not, nor do what you cannot
You
must adapt to what you are and find contentment
In the
adventure you are destined to experience.
The
dream of life is not untroubled for any,
But it
is more formidable for many.
* * * *
The
list of things you won’t do again
Seems
to get longer and longer.
* * * *
The age
of exponentiality.
* * * *
Another
misguided superiority complex.
* * * *
Did you
write this?
Do you
remember when?
* * * *
We all
have our little libraries
Where
books are brought and berthed
To look
impressively intelligent,
So many
never read.
* * * *
Even
though your body has never
Even
for a moment remained the same,
You are
attached to the idea of its continuity
And the
identity with which you bind it.
* * * *
It is a
decision each must make alone.
* * * *
All
political distinctions are arbitrary.
All
boarders are manufactured.
All
laws are man-made.
None
are real.
* * * *
Ask for
nothing and what you need
Will be
there when you need it,
Even
the most appropriate death.
* * * *
The
ancients of every geography
Devised
conceptual paradigms
To
explain the mystery of existence.
None
will ever fathom the unfathomable,
Yet it
is the nature of consciousness
To seek
immortality in a time
Which
can never be.
* * * *
Those
who may someday read these writings
Will
travel a maze which will remain fresh
No
matter how many times it is read.
That is
the nature of eternal fare.
* * * *
You are
that eternal reality which is irrefutably,
Undeniably,
undoubtedly, unconditionally one.
* * * *
Unless
consciousness gets a grip on itself,
Unless
it gains insight into its temporal nature,
The
course of the time of man will come to an end.
* * * *
You can
never go back, and must wait for forward to come.
And
there you are, through it all, the same awareness,
No
matter the endless chatter of passing passions.
* * * *
Will we
entertain ourselves into extinction?
* * * *
Standing
on any given beach,
Watching
just one portion of a shoreline,
How
many waves have crashed through the eons
In just
this one place, this one small corner?
Stretch
the heartbeat across Eden.
* * * *
What
can any creature know of another’s journey
But
through empathetic extrapolation of its own?
* * * *
The
pursuit of the highest is within.
All
else is vanity and vexation.
* * * *
What is
your existence or any other’s
But a
set of perceived recollections
In
which you reap either pleasure
Or
suffering projected into time?
* * * *
Grappling
with godness is the old
Push-the-rock-up-the-mountain
schtick.
Completely
foolish, meaningless, irrelevant,
Yet as
fated a drive as that for food, water and air.
* * * *
The
moment you want anything from any other,
You are
easily mesmerized and seduced
By the
alluring sway of maya’s veil.
Tis the
game of life and death.
* * * *
The moment
is uncalled for.
* * * *
Can you
really take care of another
If you
cannot take care of yourself?
* * * *
How
enticing it is to reminisce one’s life to others,
But are
most very interested for long, if at all?
* * * *
Is
humanity really that much more
Sophisticated
than a cluster of maggots
Driven
by patterns they have no control over?
* * * *
Life is
dust imagining its form real.
* * * *
Some
are better than others,
Of
that, there is little argument.
* * * *
When
you understand the kneading of evolution,
What’s
the problem with acknowledging your
Ancestors
way back were hairy primates,
And
even further back, a soupy slime?
Bread
takes a bit of time, you know.
* * * *
How can
anyone not be humbled
By the
infinite vastness of the abyss?
* * * *
All
manifestation is like a flame soon spent.
Yet
that from which all originates is the eternal fire
In
which all creation rises and falls ever and ever again.
* * * *
The
scale upon which humanity plays
Is only
a thin sliver, a minuscule portion,
When contrasted with that of all creation.
Our
unending egocentricity is unwarranted.
* * * *
What
grief and bother is saved
When a
problem is solved early on.
* * * *
Persona
is humbled by realization,
Liberated
by complete surrender.
* * * *
Perhaps
this time you will learn.
* * * *
The
dreams of godness may as well be infinite,
But
through it all, there is only one reality.
* * * *
Vanity,
vanity, all is vanity,
From
beginning to end
Again
and again.
* * * *
What is
this drive, this tendency
Of
identifying oneself as anything?
Who
perceives what they actually are
But
they who inquire deeply into the mist
And
discover the clear way home.
* * * *
How can
there be an end to time
When
there was no beginning?
* * * *
No word
will ever become the thing
No matter
how many times it is asserted.
Godness
is not the sound of consciousness.
* * * *
The
steam wafts spontaneously
As does
the sparrow’s twittering song,
The
slight breeze, or the far distant super nova.
Humanity
waxes and wanes in dreamtime,
The
controlling nature of the linear mind
Unwilling,
unsuited to comprehend
That
its resistance is laughable.
* * * *
You are
a habit unto your Self.
* * * *
It is
all in the eye of the perceiver.
* * * *
The
rich build their huge, desolate piles of gold,
Taking,
hoarding, giving only to take more and more.
Withered
souls, barren existence, envied only
By
those who do or would do the same.
* * * *
Your
perfection is not for the senses to discern.
* * * *
Before
any origin, you are.
* * * *
More
can becomes less, less more.
* * * *
The
genetic lottery is tougher on some than others.
* * * *
The
bodymind is a receiving unit.
What
you are tuned into is the play
Of your
temporary, temporal existence.
* * * *
The
notion of a personal, living god
Is the
invention of a personal, living mind.
* * * *
All
anyone can really do in life
Is pay
very close attention
And let
it pass as it will.
It is
the clutching passion
Which
creates all the suffering.
* * * *
One
grows weary of the body
And its
many ignoble features.
* * * *
Who to
believe?
* * * *
Some
seem to need the laws of others
Because
they have no clear insight
Into
establishing their own within.
* * * *
Is
there anything more bothersome
In this
so-called civilized world
Than a
sticker on a new item
That
will not peel easily?
* * * *
How
many ways we exhibit
Our
dread of the world?
* * * *
No
matter how it is rationalized
In one
orderly context or another
Everything
is totally arbitrary.
* * * *
Death
is not a choosy beast.
* * * *
How often technology is more about amusement than necessity.
* * * *
You
may possess far more than you deserve
If you cannot
appreciate a few breaths of clean air,
A saunter along a
winding mountain path,
The warmth of the
afternoon sun,
Or the free, precious
gift
Of life in general.
* * * *
Are
words unspoken better said.
* * * *
Personal
responsibility, an often tough road, indeed,
But one some, for good
or ill, must travel
To care for those who
will not.
* * * *
Is
coming to grips with one’s mortal fate ever easy?
* * * *
When
does one and one
Not equal one?
When all is said and
done,
And all that is left is
naught but one.
* * * *
Whatever
its raison d'état
Any given mind plays
out the neural thunder.
To give over to the
unknown, to be eternally thunder-perfect,
One must reject all
that is known, and the innumerable vain pretensions therein.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved