The Return to Wonder - Chapter 270


CCLXX


Still the busy mind, expand to the inside of the skull.
Dissolve the you that is naught but the commotion of imagination,
And be the greatest peace … serenity … tranquility … harmony … indivisibility …
This mysterious manifest reverie of space and time has to offer.
Heaven has always been right here, right now.

* * * *
Love, an overused word about which there is much to learn,
And the truth of which there seems very little real hankering.

* * * *
Knowing thy Self, there is really nothing else to know.

* * * *
God forbid the ultimate truth is really
Some tyrannical, corporate, hierarchical,
Vain, petty, meaningless stairway to heaven.

* * * *
In the grand manifest theater,
Consequences ripple from every act.
Name it however you will – fate, karma, kismet,
Fortune, effect, end, result, end result, accident, outcome,
Upshot, calling, destiny, lot, corollary, doom, vocation, chance, providence,
Luck, design, future, conclusion, happenstance … or any other,
Through any given strand of cause and effect,
The thread of eternity weaves.

* * * *
Just masks of a different this or that.

* * * *
A common mantra seems to be:
Whatever needs to happen, will happen.
The truth more often than not: Maybe, maybe not.

* * * *
To play this part is to act out all parts in the most indivisible sense.

* * * *
Gaze into the eyes of any other, and you will spy your Self in yet another guise.

* * * *
You are surrounded by sleepwalkers believing every irrational inanity imaginable,
All inspired by the sensory mirage of space and time born of the passionate mind.

* * * *
The eternal moment is where all heavens, all hells, play out.
Ain’t no place else but this here, this now, right here, right now.

* * * *
Just more docile sheep following some middleman, some wolf,
Carrying a carrot in one hand, and a stick in the other.
Desire and fear, core drives common to all.

* * * *
The wild oats sewn in fiery youth
Often find many ways to plague the daze
Before the Reaper’s scythe wields the final blow.

* * * *
Just because you imagine something does not necessarily make it real.

* * * *
Absurdity compounded each and every passing moment.
Must the two-legged calamity really continue playing a dreamtime
So hard-heartedly sculpted by insatiable greed and inconsequential vanity?

* * * *
Cannot really prove anything, but assume it to be true, just the same.

* * * *
Tripping.

* * * *
Divine madness, the only true peace.

* * * *
The tsunamis of mankind are crashing upon its Self.

* * * *
Faith is but fear, dread, terror, speculation, belief, hope.
Knowing is a much more certain, clearer quality of mind.

* * * *
Someone in some far distant future
Just dug up the time-baked remnant of the skull
Upon which the flesh and blood of your façade once clung,
And is satirically mimicking Shakespeare’s Hamlet,
All the while looking about for a choice wall
Upon which to further seal its fate.

* * * *
There never was a beginning.
There will never, can never, be any finale.
And, agreeable as might sound, it is certainly not a circle.
The masks just keep on rolling off the assembly line of the genetic lottery,
But beneath all guises, you have ever been, and will ever be.
The same abyss replicating its Self ever again.

* * * *
Good luck with that.

* * * *
How many ways can a hair be split?

* * * *
Mystical foolery.

* * * *
Any given mind, a solitary river of time, flowing through the abyss of eternity.

* * * *
To play any game, partake any pastime,
That ignores, that defies, the nature-given rules,
Is indescribable madness, pure and simple.

* * * *
Nothing lasts forever.

* * * *
Middlemen have risen to usurp the truth
On every stage the play of mind has ever witnessed.
Put the many parasites behind you, and discover the sovereignty
Of your Self, in your Self, for your Self, by your Self.

* * * *
What kind of garden might this spinning orb have remained
If humanity had chosen to be guardians rather than destroyers?

* * * *
Move beyond the limits of the original conditioning.
Let no hold bar you, leave no stone unturned,
In the quest to discern the only freedom
The dream of imagination can offer.

* * * *
Very strange, indeed, to think anything normal.

* * * *
This work is for those whose calling it is to awaken
To the vision of all creation that only Self can know.

* * * *
Do not be swayed by any form; all idolatry is the fiction of illusion.

* * * *
Fools drift, nonchalant.

* * * *
Do you discern your world through the filter of many thoughts,
Or through the infinite stillness of the awareness
Which is absolute and untarnished?

* * * *
From elemental to galactic, and everything between,
You, whose ironic, paradoxical fate it is to see,
Are sovereign witnesses to all creation.

* * * *
Yet another contribution to the theater of time.

* * * *
However, whenever it may come, Armageddon is but the clash of pride.

* * * *
Paradoxical and ironic as it is, the mind is both the prison and the key to freedom.

* * * *
Die ahead of time; makes things much easer.

* * * *
Imagination can be both best friend and worst nightmare.

* * * *
Pleasures and pains fathomed by the nervous system
Originate from the grand abyss of the given state of mind.

* * * *
There was plenty of everything until lust outbred its capacity.

* * * *
Have those many who so fear dying ever really lived?

* * * *
It will very soon be be next generation’s turn at bat.
Best wishes and rotsa ruck with your paltry inheritance.

* * * *
Snap, crackle, pop; oy vey, what the body must endure.

* * * *
Each generation, the seeds of space and time, greet the shore anew.
Each a wave of life rising, cresting, falling, and then ebbing into the next.

* * * *
What a selfish act to bring a child into a world
Humankind has so badly abused and neglected.

* * * *
Do not doubt the doubt.

* * * *
Practice dying at every turn, and the straightaways, too.

* * * *
You cannot ever see it,
Feel it, hear it, touch it, taste it, or even know it.
You can really only be it.

* * * *
Can you not see where it has to go?

* * * *
In every form the same dust.

* * * *
Nothing stays the same.

* * * *
Eternal life is living in the nowness for as long as breath sustains it.

* * * *
All manifestation is but relative shimmer.
The quantum ground from which all creation emanates
Is absolute and prior to all reflections.

* * * *
If Jesus were to somehow anonymously stumble back into existence,
His many so-called followers might well be first in line
To stick him back up on that cross.

* * * *
Oh, ye of little faith, it is you herein who are sought,
For ye who truly question, ye who truly doubt, may be harbor
To that immeasurable vision to which within is most true.

* * * *
Hope is a four-letter deception.
Faith has five letters.
Belief, six.
And God, three.
Stop arguing and listen.

* * * *
History is moving rapidly
Towards an epoch of realignment
Between humankind and the natural world
To which it has always been linked,
Despite all its vain notions.

* * * *
All the little lists, listing away
This way and that, that way and this,
Listing, listing, forever listing.

* * * *
Everything plays an equal part in the ever-flowing evolution of creation.
The quantum matrix would not be without every swirling part and particle.

* * * *
Do not muddy imagination with fantasy; reality is already astonishing enough.

* * * *
Humankind, for so little real reason,
Believes itself so superior to all creation.
Such an unrivaled epoch of cataclysm just ahead.
Will it be enough to reshape consciousness into an aligned paradigm?
Or will the unfolding just trudge on very much the same?
Impossible to more than vaguely wonder,
When only time will tell.

* * * *
In each and every moment, very different; all the while, very, very much the same.

* * * *
Quite a few layers on that onion.

* * * *
So many patterns, all emanating from the same mystery.

* * * *
Eternity has a way of forgetting everything.

* * * *
Wisdom is fraught with foolishness.

* * * *
No dike can withstand Mother Nature for long.

* * * *
So many speaking so passionately, with so much conviction,
About so many things, of which they really know so little.

* * * *
The injustices of tyranny have countless faces and names,
But are ever the same to the mind unburdened by limitation.

* * * *
The articulation of any given history,
Is but a temporal fabrication of consciousness,
In which every human mind wallows.

* * * *
The identity you daily play, is not the real you, ever unborn, every undying.

* * * *
Why would the moment after the last breath be any different than the one before it?
Or the one just before birth be any different than one just out of the womb?
That which is never born, that which is undying, is without attributes.

* * * *
The young are so innocent, so pliable, so open and free,
How challenging for the elders of any given tribe
Not to misuse their influence to nurture
The next generation’s flowering.

* * * *
In any book, open a page, any page,
And maybe, just maybe, you will detect and fathom
The answer, the solution, the explanation, the clarification, you seek.

* * * *
The grand infinity playing out the finite in seemingly every way-shape-form imaginable.

* * * *
A trap of its own making.

* * * *
The agony and ecstasy of every story is within you.

* * * *
It is never easy being imprisoned in a fading rose.

* * * *
It is all pointless, both literally and figuratively.

* * * *
To call it the heart of awareness is not about some willy-nilly emotional state.

* * * *
Your dream is whether it is all about yesterday or today or tomorrow.

* * * *
It is all so superficial.

* * * *
In the Land of Irony and Paradox, more is less, and less, more.

* * * *
To return to square one is an adventure to which only the rare aspire.

* * * *
Just because you do not like it, does not mean it is not true.

* * * *
The universe is but an imaginary sheen in your imaginary mind.

* * * *
The way of the monkey: for some futures to rise, others must fall.

* * * *
What has science become but the cataloging of unending minutia.

* * * *
Yet another thing you have a hard time wanting to care about.

* * * *
Philosophy is the refuge of untitled kings.

* * * *
All differences are but vain notions fabricated in the mind’s eye.

* * * *
Are you a human being or a human becoming?

* * * *
Fate is about what price you are willing to pay.

* * * *
Sorry you did it, or sorry you got caught?

* * * *
All ephemeral, nothing concrete.

* * * *
Are we there yet?

* * * *
Is there any plus without a minus; any minus without a plus?

* * * *
Yet another dead poet.

* * * *
The reality is that you are born and die each and every moment.

* * * *
Iffy at best.

* * * *
The mystery is all.

* * * *
Those forever seeking have yet to really stop and look.

* * * *
Ignorance is its own bewitchment.

* * * *
Memes all.

* * * *
Quicksand is no harbor.

* * * *
History has killed many of your sort.

* * * *
Wallowing in pretense, why?

* * * *
You are very much alone, and nothing can save you from it.

* * * *
If nature is your god, and you are a mind-body born of nature,
Then idolatry is really nothing more than another form of narcissism.

* * * *
Yet another morning dawns in this dream born of mystery.
Yet another opportunity to awaken to that which you truly are.

* * * *
The reality of that which is true equally permeates all forms great to small.
It can never be possessed or sold or bartered or enslaved
By any other, in any time, in any place,
No matter the milieu of consciousness in which it is entwined.


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The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved