15 October 2013

Chapter 270 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


CCLXX

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

* * * *
Love, an overused word
About which there is much to learn,
And the truth of which there is 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.

* * * *
Of that condition called slumber,
One or two hours happens,
Three is sorely typical,
Four, tolerable,
Five, desirable,
Six, a gift from god,
Seven a miracle, and eight or more
Last seen at childhood’s end.

* * * *
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.

* * * *
No known royal line or grand titles in this scribe’s lineage.
Just preachers, teachers and farmers,
Peasants all.
A mutt, pure and simple.

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

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

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

* * * *
To play this part
Is to act out all parts
In the most indivisible sense.

* * * *
Surrounded by sleepwalkers
Believing every sort of insipid inanity
Inspired by the hallucination of space and time
Born of the passionate mind.

* * * *
Right here, right now is where Heaven is.
Ain’t no place else but this here, this now.

* * * *
Please consider all this silliness to be feedback
From a relatively disinterested observer,
With the tinge of an egalitarian view.

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

* * * *
The odds are long that many in any given era
Will ever read these many wanders of mind.

* * * *
The wild oats sewn in fiery youth
Often find many ways to haunt the daze
Before the reaper’s scythe swings the final blow.

* * * *
Absurdity compounded each and every moment.
Lordy, do we really have to keep playing
This senseless vanity game?

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

* * * *
Can’t really prove anything,
But know it to be true
Just the same.

* * * *
Tripping.

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

* * * *
The tide of mankind is crashing upon its Self.

* * * *
Faith is but fear, speculation, belief, hope.
Knowing is a much more certain,
Clearer state of mind.

* * * *
Someone in some far distant future
Just dug up a dust-baked remnant of the skull
Upon which the living flesh of your façade once clung,
And is laughing about a Shakespearian scene,
All the while looking for a deserving wall
Upon which to further seal its fate.

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

* * * *
Apologies to all you dreamy idealists,
But … if … if … if only …
Just ain’t enough.
Ya gotta wake up, man.

* * * *
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,
To partake any pastime,
Flouting the nature-given rules,
Is unutterable madness, pure and simple.

* * * *
There are far lesser things to do with one’s time
Than to lounge about scribbling down
Whatever comes to mind.

* * * *
What kind of garden might this world have remained
If humanity had chosen to be guardians
Rather than destroyers.

* * * *
Middlemen have arisen 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.

* * * *
Move beyond the confines of 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.

* * * *
Nothing lasts forever.

* * * *
This work is for those
Whose vocation 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 lie of illusion.

* * * *
Fools drift, nonchalant.

* * * *
Do you discern your world
Through the filter of many thoughts,
Or through the vast 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.
It makes things much easer.

* * * *
Imagination can be
Both best friend,
And worst nightmare.

* * * *
Pleasures and pains
Fathomed by the senses
Originate from the grand abyss
Of a relative 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
The next generation’s turn.
Good luck with your paltry inheritance.

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

* * * *
Each generation, seeds in time, greets the shore anew.
Each a wave of life rising, cresting, falling,
And receding 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.

* * * *
Trump this if you can.

* * * *
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.

* * * *
Don’t you 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.

* * * *
Everything created of manifestation is relative.
The ground upon which all creation stands
Is absolute and prior to all reflections.

* * * *
If Jesus were to somehow stumble back into mortal existence,
His many so-called followers would likely be
First in line to off him.

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

* * * *
Please, whatever you do,
Do not make this about the scribe.
He was just another vain, mortal meat machine,
Born of the same mystery as you.

* * * *
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.

* * * *
Do not muddy imagination with fantasy.
Reality is already confusing enough.

* * * *
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 matrix would not be without every part and particle.

* * * *
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 shaped of the same mystery.

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

* * * *
Wisdom is fraught with foolishness.

* * * *
No dike can hold out Mother Nature for long.

* * * *
So many speaking so passionately,
With so much conviction,
About so many things,
Of which they know so little.

* * * *
Tyranny has countless faces and names,
But is ever the same to the mind
Unburdened by limitation.

* * * *
The expression of any given history,
Is a temporary fabrication of consciousness,
In which every human mind wallows.

* * * *
Why would the moment after the last wheezing 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 was never born is without attributes.

* * * *
The young are so innocent, so malleable.
How challenging for 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 fathom
The answer, the solution you seek.

* * * *
The identity you daily play,
Is not the real you,
Ever unborn.

* * * *
The grand infinity
Playing out the finite
In seemingly every way,
Shape, and form imaginable.

* * * *
Yet another morn dawns
In this dream born of mystery.
Yet another opportunity to awaken
To that which you truly are.

* * * *
The birthright of that which is real
Is equally in all forms from great to small.
It cannot be possessed, sold, bartered, or enslaved
By any other, in any time, no matter
The milieu of consciousness
In which it is entwined.


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