15 October 2013

Chapter 274 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


CCLXXIV

What horrors will so many endure in the time so shortly coming.
Would that it had not been cast upon the unborn,
Whose fate it will be to suffer
The recalibration of the human paradigm.
Assuming, off course, any mammalian life manages to survive.

* * * *
One day, in some unforeseeable time and space,
This world will again become an undocumented garden,
From which evolving life forms will create new,
And likely less imaginative food chains.

* * * *
What questions do you really need to answer
Once you discern you are the source
That ever is, has ever been,
And will ever be.

* * * *
Tears or anger
Only feed the bully
To push or prod further.
Give them little or nothing,
And odds are they will move on
To their next innocent victim.

* * * *
Your body is no more yours
Than anything else.
A temporary experiencing
Is all any form or concept can offer.

* * * *
If you don’t admonish
Or punish children too severely
About something you’d prefer not be done,
Chances are they will either figure it out, or get bored,
And won’t do whatever it is more than a relatively few more times.
We all tend to move on with our lives.

* * * *
Any given mind can only pay so much attention to the unfolding.
Giving it a rest to flit about occasionally
Is the way it is.

* * * *
Do you really suppose anything you have ever said or done
Has really changed anything in any significant way?
Or did it merely fill the time, occupy the mind?

* * * *
The big picture is all mu, anywho.

* * * *
Where would your universe be
If you could not see the stars?

* * * *
What a barrier to reality,
Even the most subtle judgment.

* * * *
You will never again
See things quite the same
As you do this unfolding moment.

* * * *
Ours is a one-time-only showing.
The price of admission:
Death.

* * * *
And will those yet unborn
Abide any further
The half-baked paradigm
That catapulted them back into Eden?

* * * *
Brothers and sisters,
Pat yourselves on the back,
Or slap yourselves across the face.
Quite a show we have all together created
In this timeless, inexplicably unfolding here and now.

* * * *
A passing taste, a passing smell, a passing sound,
A passing sensation, a passing vision . . .
Everything you once thought so real
Now so tentative, ephemeral.

* * * *
You aren’t going to see
What you aren’t looking for
In the wrong direction.

* * * *
Legalistic, schmegalistic.

* * * *
That’s the time of it.

* * * *
Oh, indeed, indeed,
A not very pretty time
Is in the very near offing.

* * * *
Tough to be humble
With so much applause
Tickling the vanity.

* * * *
When it comes to breeding practices,
Human beings really have little more sense
Than a swarm of gnats, or a pack of rats.

* * * *
One moment must die for the next to begin.
That means you, dingus.

* * * *
A memory perceived just a few moments ago
Is really no different than one yesterday,
Or even one spanning decades.
Just neurons recording perceptions,
Not all that different than any processor,
Though in all probability, not near as accurate.

* * * *
Life has shaped you, molded you, channeled you,
Into whatever it is you are perceiving right now.

* * * *
Another blank stare of a vacuous mind.

* * * *
The trouble with living it up
Is the downer almost sure to follow.

* * * *
What there is to discern prior to any face
Is the same for everyone and everything.

* * * *
Very challenging
For anyone to put behind
All the natter they think they know.

* * * *
Pride triggered the fall
From the grace of Eden.

* * * *
Truly, your best friend
Is a good, full breath.

* * * *
Why do you keep looking
To your death and beyond
To reunify with your maker?

* * * *
Time, it doeth sprint, timeless.

* * * *
An asymmetrical mind
May be the most balanced adaptation
Consciousness can concoct.

* * * *
Who knows how all this ramble might be viewed
In another decade, century, or even millennium or so,
Assuming, of course, that it even gets past some trashcan.

* * * *
An ambiguous, indefinite, nondescript draft
For another beginning, another paradigm,
For any others who might be so-inclined.

* * * *
He came, he saw,
He ambled a long walkabout,
And at some point dove into an immense river,
From which he never emerged.

* * * *
To busy, too absorbed in being you
To even for a moment wake up to the reality
That it’s all really just a touchy-feely,
Three-dimensional dream.

* * * *
Curious that what you really want
Often just sort of happens.
To want, or not to want,
That is the question.

* * * *
Surrender completely, and you will be you.

* * * *
Death is merely release from the world’s fell grip.

* * * *
This is writing its Self one aphorism at a time.

* * * *
Do not allow ignorance to overrun you.

* * * *
Repeat this experiment
With your own mind,
And you will discern the truth
To which these thoughts are pointing.
It is only esoteric to those lacking inner vision.

* * * *
Your universe is your family, your friend, your lover,
Your persecutor, and, eventually, your executioner.
Self is, indeed, narcissistic in every way imaginable.

* * * *
Discerning the nature of god is much more a matter
Of disentangling one’s own imagination
Than it is anything other.

* * * *
Pass it on
On the off chance
That you are very likely not
The only one whose fate it is to awaken.

* * * *
You are the synergy of the real revolution.

* * * *
You are, indeed, being watched.
By your Self.

* * * *
To be absolutely fearless,
You must be your Self
Every moment of every day.

* * * *
Interesting to awaken in this fashion.

* * * *
The pretense of poverty
So driven, and for what, to what, really?

* * * *
In one way or another, vanity has a Piper
Somewhere along the Yellow Brick Road.

* * * *
Drugs are tools, teachers, friends,
That can help unlock and reveal the dream.
But one needs to be moderate, disciplined in their use.
Better for addictive personalities to hang with a cup of water or tea.

* * * *
To witness the human species
Play out this garden mystery theater so foolishly
Is like watching your horse lose,
Or your dog die.

* * * *
What genetic lines will survive,
Much less thrive, after the Great Fall?

* * * *
There is only one teacher,
And it is everything
And everyone.

* * * *
Only mimics the real thing.

* * * *
The real work is being you,
In whatever way you incline.

* * * *
You are only as free
As your thoughts allow.

* * * *
Into the death of sleep,
Little self subsides,
And Self abides.

* * * *
The patter of a mind drifting in time.

* * * *
This paradigm … such a tragedy in the making.

* * * *
What lies beneath any beautiful mask
Is really not at all different than what’s beneath any unappealing one.
Beauty is, has always been, and will ever be,
In the eye of the beholder.

* * * *
In the big picture, what all these thoughts are really about
Is to help free you to be the me, my Self and I
You really are, have always been,
And will ever be.

* * * *
All the things about which you might feel regret
Played a part in getting you to this moment.
Apologize to your Self, and let them go.

* * * *
Very strange all this, I really don’t understand.
But then, again, don’t really need to, either.

* * * *
Pleasure seems to be relative to circumstance.
Pain is pretty much straight across the board.

* * * *
Ultimately, every moment is the same.
It is only imagination that drafts
Every possible difference.

* * * *
We are all ultimately anonymous,
No matter how well known.

* * * *
The reality you call reality
Is not The Reality,
But you have to pretend it is
If you intend to play out the dream allotted.

* * * *
The last doubt dissolves into the grand reality.

* * * *
All creatures great and small includes you, too, you know

* * * *
The only real difference
Between some women and black widows
Is how quickly they extract the life out of their unfortunate mates.

* * * *
How different our relationship, our kinship
With this phenomenal garden planet might have been
If the shimmering dreaming of gold so false
Had not caught our wayward minds.

* * * *
Transfixed by our imagination,
Madly spending the future’s inheritance,
We idyllically drift, sure and steady, towards the abyss.

* * * *
Grass root revolutions may take a little longer
But the roots are strong enough
To hold futures firm.

* * * *
There is, perchance, light beyond the dread.

* * * *
Curiosity may not only have killed the cat,
It may well be what’s keeping you here.

* * * *
You think the potholes are bad now,
Just give it another ten to fifty years.

* * * *
The pitter-patter ruminations of another Soul.

* * * *
You may play it good, you may play it evil
You may play the game somewhere between,
But when the stage empties, when the lights go out,
It will always be the same infinite oneness,
Dancing alone in the stillness.

* * * *
Continuity is a dualistic, illusory, delusional notion
To which most human minds spontaneously, hypnotically collude.
The power of suggestion is much, much stronger
Than you might wish to believe.

* * * *
Whether through the streaming of words,
Music, numbers, silence, or any other medium,
Every attribute existence can offer,
Is yet another portal
Upon which to contemplate.

* * * *
Just another part to be played.
Somebody had to do it,
And why not you?

* * * *
Theater that it ever appears to be,
There are really no players
But the many
You bring to mind.

* * * *
Yay oh yay, another random day.

* * * *
What kind of life is it
To be so filled with avarice,
That you would perhaps do anything
To slake the ceaseless thirst?

* * * *
Even with all your horrific demonic failings,
Since she only sees the 10-year old you once were,
Your mother more than likely still loves you.

* * * *
Really neither for nor against.
Just sipping another pint of black gold,
Watching this touchy-feely, three-dimensional dreamtime
Play out its dusty theater of the absurd
To whatever end.

* * * *
A Johnny Appleseed grassroots campaign,
A passive-aggressive strategy, of that there is no denying.
But at least, hopefully, well away from the talons
Of any sort of dogmatic cult following
History has far too many times before seen.


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