CCXCIV
To plus or minus eight billion people,
You are at most just another number, another statistic.
Only a relative few will ever even meet you, must less perceive your existence,
So to even pretend the multitudes really give a flying hooey about you,
Or that you really care about them, is absolute balderdash.
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How far is it from your eye to the infinitesimal infinity?
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The body, the mind, the life, are all imagined.
Only awareness is now and then and forever.
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Abide in the realm of infinite possibility.
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Oops, was that just a little too real?
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It is just a matter of time.
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Tick, tick, tick.
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Maybe, maybe not.
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Nothing for which to live; nothing for which to die.
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In your own dream, anyway.
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The unbearable lightness of being.
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Changing the world one mind at a time.
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Nothing to prove, nothing to justify, nothing to defend.
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Everything is just playing out different seeds of the same origin.
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There are worse things about which to be mad.
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It is all truth, even the crashing waves.
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Like sees like, and all see differences.
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It is not you who is doing anything; this matrix universe is its own affair.
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There is sure a lot of bullshit
To sift through in this absurd world.
Hint: It is all bullshit.
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Imagination is its own prison.
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No matter the assertions, intent is always shown in words and deeds.
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The quest for truth is as scientific an inquiry as you could ever hope to imagine.
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Everything has its patterning,
Its play of capacities and limitations
Within the infinity of that which is flawless.
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Another cloak of vanity bandying about in its own narcissistic, make-believe bubble.
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The vapor of a dream is nothing to sneeze about.
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Any book is the greatest if you have not read anything else.
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You are the eternal harvest born of limitation.
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But is it true, the first and last question.
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Everything is an agreed-upon meme.
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Enough of the gamesmanship of all the players of Soul.
Time to stand alone, sovereign, as you truly always have.
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There it is, found it again.
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Walkabout watchabout.
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Managing nothing can take a lot of effort, if you are not mindful.
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Logistical madness.
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Wake up, wake up, you princes of Maine, you kings of New England.
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Imagine an existence
Without the delusions of vanity.
After all, you already are absolutely everything
You could ever hope to be.
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You cannot really help or change anyone who relies on ignorance for sanction.
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Tourist meccas are designed for people with way too much wealth,
Who are likely already far too advanced in needing
Far less food, wine, and song.
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From face to face, the same conversation.
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Personality is nothing more than a relatively brief, imaginary distortion of consciousness.
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Pride and prejudice are always blinding.
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Bobbing up and down in the deep end.
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If there is a god, hopefully, he/she/it is not as vain and judgmental as we.
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The quest for the only truth requires a discerning doubt, which will only stop at nothing.
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Identity is the delusion.
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Just scribing a vision: No worries, move on, if it you bask in another frame of reference.
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Dip a toe into the eternal stream, and allow the current pull you into its changeless flow.
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Nothing rooted in imagination is real.
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Nothing: all that is left after everything is said, after everything is done.
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"2,000 Years and Counting" starring Woody Allen as Jesus.
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How predictable the human paradigm has become.
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All manifestation is absolutely related.
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Another day underway; dance or slog, your choice.
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Go figure.
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Turn time on its head; be your Self.
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To what ends any idea, any invention might be used, only time’s scrolling can ever tell.
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The capacity for the ultimate freedom
Is for those few whose only real longing
Is to melt back into the eternal nature.
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Saints and sinners, angels and demons, philosophers and fools;
All meander the same ground in different states of mind.
All roam the same stage in different universes.
Imagination is the architect of all.
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Turn the lens and peer within.
Discern your mind-body identity
As indifferently as you do any other,
And emancipate your Self from the false.
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Have you got it, yet?
Or should the question really be,
Has it gotten you?
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Et cetera.
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Et alii.
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Ad infinitum.
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To fully hear any speaker, you must first be receptive to the frame of reference.
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Landscape, or dreamscape?
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“They would not listen, they’re not listening still, perhaps they never will.”
And so they must pay a price, suffer a destiny, that did not have to be.
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The first and last freedom is for those whose only yearning
Is to merge, to melt, back into the indivisible eternal nature.
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How can any earnest seeker follow
When there are no footprints to track.
And no direction to which to point, either.
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How some are drawn to it, and others not, well that is a mystery.
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Usurp the usurper until they have nothing left to usurp.
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There is no formula in the union of Self
It is a voluntary surrender to the unknown,
To that which is prior to consciousness.
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Just killing time until it kills you.
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If you do not love your Self, who else really can?
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If it were not for gravity, in what sort of manifestation would you be floating?
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Eternity just whizzing along.
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What is important is not
What another thinks of you,
But what you think of your Self,
And even that isn’t important, really.
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Peaceful coexistence, what a concept.
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Not in my back yard,
Somebody else should do it,
It is somebody else’s problem or issue.
The scarcity of personal responsibility, participation,
Ownership, sacrifice, discipline, community.
What a self-absorbed species we are.
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Sitting attentively, totally present, eyes closed,
At the center court of some swarming event,
An auditory streaming of the eternal mind.
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One need not be brilliant to see the truth of it.
Sometimes the most unassuming see the most obvious more clearly
Than any mind full of complex choreographies ever will.
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To observe the awareness closely is to discern the Soul of your eternal nature.
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Is any dream worth believing?
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Consciousness is the chaff; awareness the kernel.
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Pin the tail on the dragon.
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Once you forget everything, you approach everything with the same quality of mind.
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Nothing can be where nothing is.
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Another speck of self-absorption.
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Give your self over to Self, and the dream will ever be the same.
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To be bound by the limits of mortality is not for all.
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The spiritual quest is nothing if not truly democratic.
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The truth has been articulated by many who have never, and will never, be heard.
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The mystery of awareness is the immortal witness, indifferent to all fates.
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Self unmasked.
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Be formless.
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Duality is the lie.
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Another day of nothing ado.
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If you know no difference, to what is there to compare it?
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A poor memory can be a great blessing; it certainly aids in the forgiveness zone.
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Even if some of the conspiracies are true,
Other than whine, moan, gripe and complain,
What, pray tell, are you really going to do about it?
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The senses are enticing sirens,
Especially the eyes, every moment drawing you out
Into the infinite universe within.
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The creative mind often suffers so intensely that creation is the only salve.
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Every frame of reference, no matter how large, discerns its boundaries.
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There are many layers to any given deception,
And the essence of all the same.
How could it not be?
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Within the gushing stillness of awareness, the answer to any and all questions.
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What will be your fatal distraction?
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Each must carve out their own way very much alone,
Despite the illusions and delusions of all those around them.
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Even on the precipice of unconditional victory in any given competition,
There can be no compassion until the last sword is surrendered.
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Some things seem to take a fair amount time
To clearly, lucidly wrap one’s mind around.
Maybe even a few trillion lifetimes or so.
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What's to know? What's not to know?
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Bliss is the eternal orgasm.
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Get back to what you truly are.
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Where does coveting really get you?
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If we were worms, flies or cockroaches, would we be so proud?
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Whatever you think it is, it is, and it is not.
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Existence is a means to an end, nothing more, nothing less.
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Human drama, human trauma.
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Dissolving the mind one aphorism at a time.
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Equanimity is the eternal balance between body, mind, heart and Soul.
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What name can possibly be attached to that from which all sound flows?
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Are you ready to call it a life?
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It’s a two-legged thing.
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Game over.
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Be ... free.
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Awareness is the nectar of the beingness.
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Stand tall, rest assured, you are That I Am.
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Nothing can be proved; it is an experiential fact.
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Such a level of non-caring as to be absolutely free.
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At some point, when any earnest seeker of truth
Finally discerns the reality that has been so long sought,
It becomes obvious that it was really all nothing from the get-go.
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The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved