CCLXXII
What would our ancestors likely think of us now?
A time far more decayed and self-absorbed
Than could have been even imagined
Just a few centuries, or even decades ago.
* * * *
Any deception is played out upon audiences
Mesmerized by wishful thinking and slights of hand.
* * * *
To which of its countless creations will humankind finally succumb?
* * * *
Each moment its own memory-inspired flavor,
With a tinge of the instinctual to lend it conviction.
* * * *
So many things are taken for granted until they are gone,
And then all that remains is the ever-diminishing perception
That leads one to believe it was really real in the first place.
* * * *
Yet another theater of the absurd,
Which must be endured to whatever end,
And perhaps by luck or chance, thy Self discerned.
* * * *
A barbarian is herein defined as one not bound
By the conventions of some groupthink under siege.
* * * *
The ultimate reality abides prior to any collusion,
And for those who earn their livelihood playing middleman,
Who choose vanity over integrity, deceit over truth,
Life is but a small-minded shadow dance.
* * * *
If time and given circumstance allow,
Live an existence that you will look back, happily content.
The ultimate, inordinate narcissism, if you will.
* * * *
Feet that were never meant to walk in shoes, or on cement, much less a straight line.
* * * *
How incredibly magical the innocence we all had for too brief a while
Before the imagined world, the imagined universe, took root in our minds.
To discern that original, blissful state of pure awareness is a worthy aspiration.
* * * *
You are sovereign prince in the infinite universe of your temporal imagination.
* * * *
So many, so easily offended,
So much so that they wander existence
Looking to be insulted in every paltry way imaginable.
Let some other wretched fool take that road.
Ramparts of caution dissolve in those
Whose friendship wax eternal.
* * * *
All waves swell, all waves crest, all waves fall.
It is the statistical certitude which predicts
Every creation’s inevitable conclusion.
* * * *
Yay, more senseless ways to play out the incalculable insanities
Apportioned in this manifest theater of dreamtimes consciousness.
* * * *
Even the most cherished notion must one day diminish and dissolve
As consciousness loses its grasp on a dream that never really was.
* * * *
Only of nothing can any one be certain.
Even the notorious death and taxes
Are of the quicksand born of time.
* * * *
Me, my Self, and I, whatever that is.
* * * *
Assumptions all.
* * * *
Faking it the best you can, just like everybody else.
* * * *
Still seeking some mortal delusion, are we?
* * * *
Every mind, its own sovereign tale.
* * * *
The best-kept secrets are the ones never uttered.
* * * *
How much time and energy and resources have been allocated
To the pointless endeavor to describe That which is indescribable.
* * * *
Give it whatever name, whatever description you will,
The essential reality is prior to all sound, all light,
And in the infinite tranquility of its stillness,
Its mystery ever remains unknown.
* * * *
Those without the endless scheming
Of one individualized agenda or another,
Are generally much more receptive listeners.
* * * *
Do you see what I see?
* * * *
Life is not a safe haven, no matter how huge the pile of gold.
* * * *
Too little, too late, too bad.
* * * *
From the essential nature of all life forms great to small, the song of godness sings.
* * * *
It matters far less how all this came to be
Than what you do with it in the interminable now
Of your relatively brief, very mortal, dream of existence.
* * * *
The reverie of time-bound consciousness
Engineers the sensory illusion of separateness,
Whereas the timeless awareness of consciousness
Is the infinite connectedness to which all things subscribe.
* * * *
All states of mind are relative beyond measure.
Godness resides within the essence of every quantum.
Good and evil may play out in the consciousness of humankind,
But at the source of all things, they are of no consequence, whatsoever.
* * * *
Wander with intention, or wander nonchalant,
In the ever-streaming illusion of time,
Every moment is the same.
* * * *
Whether you see it or not,
I know I am you, and you are me,
And we, no matter the fate, are one together.
* * * *
How surreal this existence we call reality.
* * * *
How can any ever know
That which is prior to all knowing,
But through knowing they are the knowing.
* * * *
I see you, and you see me,
And we all witness the mystery,
Each in our own vain way, together.
* * * *
All relationships, all activities, all possessions, all thoughts
Are but ever-streaming, ever-kaleidoscoping experiencings.
* * * *
An opus for those minds skewed enough in time
To obliquely approach that which can never be defined
But through a deep well of doubt, irony, intuition, detachment.
* * * *
Phases, it’s all about phases.
* * * *
From all the beginnings to all the endings,
The universe of any given witness is really nothing more
Than an imaginary collage of sensory perception,
No more yours than it is anyone else’s.
* * * *
All creatures great to small on this whirling garden world are, on the whole,
About as obsessed with your narcissistic existence, as you are with theirs.
* * * *
Contentment is one breath at a time.
* * * *
Nature is not something without which any can exist.
* * * *
The many passions pave the road between purgatory and paradise.
* * * *
Complete and genuine indifference
Is generally only achievable for short durations,
But for saints and other charlatans.
* * * *
Breathe more, think less.
* * * *
No one can teach you everything there is to know.
That is why you created a universe from which to cherry-pick all the nonsense
That you have somehow crammed in that universal mind.
* * * *
Why accept any lie, any propaganda,
Over the simple, strait-forward, honest clarity
Of your own observation and insight?
* * * *
Even seeds of the highest quality require suitable soil and water and air,
And the well-intentioned guidance of incisive hands,
To realize their fullest potential.
* * * *
Happiness is really little more than the chemistry of a clear, balanced state of mind.
* * * *
The machinations of consciousness rush and pull all in myriad directions.
* * * *
Pretenders all.
* * * *
Every breath just a few moments nearer to that final demise.
* * * *
Sleep and oxygen deprivation, what a combo.
* * * *
A vision, a perspective, an insight, a knowing,
Which relatively few are capable of discerning,
Much less possess the inclination to fully imbibe.
* * * *
What is an anti-christ, an anti-buddha, an anti-anything,
But one who articulately casts aside all vanity’s idolatries.
* * * *
History is written by whoever takes the time to write it down,
And even then, it only contains whatever vision
The writer is capable of discerning.
* * * *
All it takes is one simple, full breath, interwoven with a pinch of awareness,
And, suddenly, you are back in the streaming here and now,
The only home there has ever truly been.
* * * *
As real as imagination allows.
* * * *
The seeds of revenge want only for a few drops of poison.
* * * *
What is paranoia, or any mental disorder, but imagination adrift in its own confabulation.
* * * *
Pilfer away, you little thief, pilfer away.
* * * *
In the quest for that which is real and true, following is not an option.
* * * *
When did all your judgments take root?
* * * *
A river runs through it.
* * * *
What was existence like before you learned to pose?
* * * *
Genesis is still very much underway at any given moment in time.
There is really no point resisting your small part in the grand creation.
* * * *
Time for mystics to stand up and be counted,
To stand up to the innumerable insufferable tyrannies
Of so-called religions and other fabrications across the board.
* * * *
Humankind has twisted the natural world
Into an order that will never even begin to resume as it was.
Eden is already tacking a new direction.
* * * *
You think you are only a drop, but in reality, you are the ocean.
* * * *
Too many straws slurping from an almost empty cup.
* * * *
Who can know with any certainty how any other life form perceives its universe?
* * * *
The inability to rein in our loins will surely be our undoing.
* * * *
The notion of something is often far different than its reality.
* * * *
Do nothing well.
* * * *
Ahh, the eccentric worlds in which we layer our Selves.
* * * *
The relativity of any given perceptual set
Swims in the ocean of eternal absoluteness.
* * * *
As you would hold your hand still, still the mind,
Detach from the senses, and . . . ta-da!
There you are, the real thing.
* * * *
The eyes create the greatest sense of separation within and without.
None of the other senses enhance dualistic notion
In anywhere near the same way.
This grand theater would not be without them.
* * * *
Looking back, looking forward, does it not all seem obvious?
* * * *
At least try be honest with your Self.
* * * *
Oopsie, did you really say that?
* * * *
Are you as much me as any other?
* * * *
A bit of every label within you.
* * * *
Could you really just do nothing for the rest of your existence?
* * * *
It is kind of like the same-old-same-old each and every eternal moment,
Except that everything is always different and changing in every way.
* * * *
Partake what it pleases you to partake in whatever way your fate allows.
* * * *
From the indivisible vantage, we are all really-truly Soul mates,
Each of us playing out our own unique set of attributes,
None really greater or lesser than any other.
* * * *
Any anthill is a crowded city state of the six-legged kind.
* * * *
Memory is an erstwhile taskmaster.
* * * *
How much bother will you be required to endure today?
* * * *
A species that deserves to go extinct if ever there was one.
* * * *
The mystery born anew, born you.
* * * *
Without memory, did anything ever really happen?
* * * *
Another day a-streamin’ in the dreamin’.
* * * *
The fog of consciousness masks the eternal awareness, and time plays on.
* * * *
The individual has always been at odds with one group or another.
* * * *
Another day, same mystery.
* * * *
Another day, same monkey.
* * * *
A bar set so low that it will take ages to raise it again, if ever.
* * * *
Sometimes a thousand words, sometimes a picture, paint the largest view.
* * * *
Imagination is the time machine.
* * * *
All history is nothing more than the pretense of imagination.
* * * *
The chaos of destruction is but the stirring stick of creation.
* * * *
Nothing stands alone.
* * * *
It all sounds quite mad, really.
* * * *
We all serve one beast or another.
* * * *
An insider joke without an insider.
* * * *
Civility is the pretense of savagery.
* * * *
Tools are only as necessary as the given job.
* * * *
How are you going to look without that face?
* * * *
Is it been there, done that, or am here, doing that?
* * * *
True humility precludes pride.
* * * *
The mystery wakes up to another day.
* * * *
And why again do you keep coming back?
What world, what sun have you not wandered
That you must repeat it again and again and again?
* * * * * * * * * *
The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved