XXXVI
Ideals
are usually nothing more than whimsy,
Flights
of enticing, frivolous, capricious fantasy,
Rarely
with earnest yearning for their realization.
* * * *
That
least little bit of superiority
Is the
dregs of separation
Born of
false pride.
* * * *
Desire
is the center
And the
task is to let it effortlessly fall away.
* * * *
You
want answers.
Whoever
asks the question
Is the
answer.
* * * *
You
want to end the hellish enterprise
You
have created in you mind?
Then
kill yourself within.
* * * *
Try not
to be afraid
To ask
for advice or get help.
* * * *
The
imagined center
Is born
of identification
With
the sensorial context.
* * * *
You are
not obligated to want anything.
* * * *
Where
are you when the center evaporates?
* * * *
Why
have you done all this?
For the
sheer hell of it, obviously.
* * * *
The
future of consciousness
Depends
solely on the past
As it
churns in the present.
* * * *
All
this just to finally realize
All
your knowledge and purpose
Were
entirely your own concoctions.
* * * *
Obviously,
nothing is impossible
Once
you see the nature of the dreamer.
* * * *
There
is no reconciliation
But
through time’s ending.
* * * *
To
finally realize your fall from grace
Was the
outcome of free will
Is the
turning point.
* * * *
Those
given moments when you seek contentment
In the
conscious refrain are the stumblings
All
seers know in the mind’s grapple
With
surrender to the eternal.
* * * *
Until
you become that which you truly are,
The
scriptures throughout time and geography
Will be
twisted and skewed with many meanings.
It is
the subtle play of words so easily misunderstood.
* * * *
How
many ways must you be born and die
To
finally get it straight?
* * * *
How
easy it is to be subjugated by the opinions
Of the
others who have no ultimate reality
But
what you in your own mind create.
* * * *
For
every action there is an adaptation.
* * * *
Would
it really make any difference
If you
knew why or not?
* * * *
Look
beyond time and know you cannot be
Other
than that from which all dreams are born.
* * * *
You
passionately hold onto a changing world
Which
sifts as fine dry sand through clutching fingers,
No
matter your desperate hope that it somehow be permanent.
All
suffering is born of the mind’s clinging nature.
* * * *
Surrender
to the changing nature
And
find the permanence of your eternal birthright
Throughout
the illusionary dream of creation and destruction.
* * * *
Discern
within the other that there is no other.
* * * *
One of
the last fears is that of not wanting anything,
The
fear of desire’s end.
* * * *
How can
you have been born
When
what you truly are
Has no
need to be?
* * * *
You
brought nothing with you,
And
will leave it all at the exit.
* * * *
What
scam has not someone fallen for?
* * * *
Keep nothing
in your mind as often as possible.
* * * *
What
you think you are
Is an
eternal trick you play upon your Self.
* * * *
No one
is free
But
those who think themselves free.
* * * *
There
are only separate delusions.
* * * *
Stream
of consciousness.
Dream
of consciousness.
* * * *
There
is no use to this
Unless
you are ready.
* * * *
See the
reflection in a mirror.
The
watch the watcher watching.
* * * *
Call it
big bang or big crunch,
It is
merely creation and destruction
On a
level you can comprehend
Only
through eternal insight.
* * * *
The
worshipers of mammon, of greed,
Will
use anything, even god,
To
their own ends.
The
stock market bull is merely
The
adult version of the golden calf.
* * * *
Who is
it who is free or not free?
* * * *
It is
right here, right now.
Chattering
about it
Only
puts it off again and again.
* * * *
No one
can truly kill more than a personality.
* * * *
Those
fearing the death of identity reside in hell.
* * * *
No
matter what is cast upon the screen,
You can
never truly lose your soul.
* * * *
Size is
not an indication of anything.
All
form springs from the same humble beginning.
* * * *
Evil
cannot touch you
Unless
you give soil and water
To the
seed of dualistic consciousness.
* * * *
Consciousness
is the movement
Attempting
to become permanent,
But its
changing nature is the paradox
Of that
time bound futile attempt.
* * * *
Seeking
strokes for the spiritual niche you created
Is just
another vain meaningless trick of consciousness.
* * * *
There
is no Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval
For any
organized attempts to own the unknown.
* * * *
What
becomes of humanity
Is the
same end all forms take.
Gold is
gold no matter the dream.
* * * *
It is
the flame of desire you crave.
The
object of its caress is secondary.
* * * *
You
cannot help anyone
Who
does not at least hobble along
On
their own two feet.
* * * *
Sovereignty
relies upon the courage of aloneness.
* * * *
You
will find the god(s) you seek
Until
the seeker becomes the question,
And, finally,
the answer.
* * * *
The
other has imprisoned you
Since
you first appeared
In this
sensory spell.
* * * *
To what
end negation can take you,
Only
the one can say.
* * * *
Even in
the most mundane circumstances,
That
which is oneness reside in eternal poise.
* * * *
Depending
upon the sway of consciousness,
You are
the king of heaven or a pauper in hell.
* * * *
Eternal
salvation has always been yours.
The
challenge is somehow realizing it
While
you are a witness to time.
* * * *
From
you the universe springs eternal,
Yet to
comprehend it fully the witness realizes
It has
never really been what it seems.
* * * *
By
supporting the forces who worship the false gold of Maya,
You
doom your progeny to a fate you would not wish upon yourself.
* * * *
To only
want to do great things
Is to
miss the fact that the small things
Are
equally, if not more important.
* * * *
The
earth will cleanse humanity of its sins
If it
cannot do so for itself.
* * * *
That
same sense of you
Is
within everything breaking
On the
farthest shores imaginable.
* * * *
Those
who organize religion
Are the
same as middlemen everywhere
Clamoring
like hungry parasites for a piece of the action.
* * * *
Jesus
was not the first,
Nor has
he been the last
To
discern the eternal birthright.
* * * *
You are
that which is neither alive nor dead.
* * * *
The
eternally damned are those
Who
choose to create the hell of time
Through
which they timelessly travel
Beckoned
by the many others
Only
too ready to share
Their
hellish fates.
* * * *
Like
small dust storms,
The
passion invoked by words
Inevitably
plays itself out.
* * * *
Whatever
the state of consciousness,
Awareness
is ever the same.
* * * *
So-called
humane gestures so often trip upon themselves
From
lack of clear insight into long-range ramifications.
Ripples
travel for great distances in every direction.
* * * *
So may
dying for the want of so little.
* * * *
Just
let go.
* * * *
You
have no obligation to this world,
But for
your own choosing.
* * * *
How
many laugh at your gullibility!
* * * *
What is
the personality
But a
habitual set of thoughts
Born of
genetic and social circumstance.
* * * *
What is
the enemy, really,
But
ignorance?
* * * *
What
change can truly last?
* * * *
The
gullible will always seek out
A
middleman to tithe to.
* * * *
Discard
all hope.
You are
beyond its delusion.
* * * *
The
other cannot force you to want anything
But
through you collusionary consent.
* * * *
Eden
will be, with or without you.
* * * *
The
more you want,
The
more troubled you will be,
The
more trouble you will likely cause.
* * * *
To
discern the code,
Decipher
the mind.
* * * *
Those
willing to rule another’s mind
Will
find those willing to allow them to,
And
destroy those who will not.
* * * *
You
already abide in eternal life.
What
more you want of it,
Is your
own burden.
* * * *
What
you imagine it is, it is,
Yet
truly it never was.
* * * *
A
teacher may encourage you to look,
But it
is you who must learn to see.
* * * *
Ripples
course upon the water’s surface
As does
a personality across time,
Yet has
either ever really been
More
than reflected light
Playing
dreamily in an illusionary mind?
* * * *
Thoughts
crest and foam, crash and roar,
Like
waves endlessly dancing upon the sand,
Their
transience the never-ending question:
Are
they, and have they ever really been?
* * * *
Whatever
you may believe it is,
It is
not, has never been,
And
will never be.
* * * *
The
bottom line is there are too many of us,
And
neither our monkey-mind,
Nor the
world,
Will
abide it for long.
* * * *
More or
less is the denial of reality.
* * * *
The
cries of glory echo only in time.
* * * *
The
meaning of life
Is
whatever the moment
Draws out of you.
* * * *
Just
talking to my Self again.
* * * *
Another
curious fate, indeed.
* * * *
That I Am is not
attached to a grain of sand,
Much less a whole
amorphous collection of them
Playing out a poorly,
unhappily written stage production.
* * * *
Nothing to do.
Everything to do.
* * * *
Do
not hesitate to contemplate
Anything and everything
That comes to mind.
* * * *
When you want to solve
a problem,
Become the stillness
within,
And sooner or later,
A right answer of some
sort
Will suddenly appear in
consciousness.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The
Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
©
Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World
Rights Reserved