14 November 2013

Chapter 290 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


CCXC

If you had never been born, where would be, where would you not be?
And how could this dream we call living really be in any way different?

* * * *
Another moment of the most glaringly obvious remains unseen.

* * * *
Is there truly higher or lower consciousness,
Or is it all just consciousness, a dream just the same,
With distinctions only in the minds of the many
Who wish it more than it can ever be.

* * * *
So much pettiness and unnecessary drama
Playing out in each and every one of us.
Not easy to abide the inner monkey.

* * * *
All the voices of the world are in your head.
Some just are not that interesting
To listen to anymore.

* * * *
Can there ever really be any remedy
Between greed and sloth?

* * * *
Never trust a middleman.

* * * *
Some things need time to brew
In the steeping pot of consciousness.

* * * *
All the free spirits trying so hard to be free.

* * * *
In the world and of it, in the world and not of it.
Schizophrenia of the so-called spiritual kind.

* * * *
We may glory in our imagination, but that’s still all it is,
A temporary little hullabaloo of energy,
Pretending itself real.

* * * *
Jesus is a ghost two thousand years-plus dead.
The rest is self-serving propaganda and wishful thinking,
All meaningless unless you comprehend
What he was hopefully saying
Included you.

* * * *
Not interested in debating some tiny vision, sorry.

* * * *
Nothing can touch you, nothing can harm you,
But that you lower the drawbridge of your mind.

* * * *
There is just so much crap in all our heads.

* * * *
How clearly you see your Self
Depends how deep you can dive,
How far you can step back.
The heart of awareness
Is a very still place.

* * * *
Aging is about trying to hold it together
As best you can while you’re falling apart.

* * * *
What’s the rush about growing up?
You’ll be wrinkled, weak, deaf, toothless, bald, arthritic,
And all but invisible before you know it,
If you live so long, that is.

* * * *
Between here and there,
Despite the best of memory’s intentions,
The mind can be so quickly born to some far distant shore.

* * * *
What is there to say when too much still isn’t enough?

* * * *
How would your version of the universe exist
Without you to every moment generate it,
Without you to every moment witness it?
Does it care or not, does it laugh or weep,
That it will some day dissolve when you do?

* * * *
Even if there is a personal god,
It is merely a bigger version
Of what you already are.

* * * *
Prior to all movement,
You are.

* * * *
You won’t find god in a box,
Or in a boxed-in mind.

* * * *
How can there be a savior
When there is nothing to save?

* * * *
Woke up again this morning,
Another day in the dream underway.

* * * *
Innocence.
What was that like, anyway?
Did you experience it long enough to find it again?

* * * *
Buddha, Christ, Lao Tzu, Mohammed, and all the others,
Just dreamers in the same quantum matrix as you.
Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
Jesus, and cross onto which has too many times been carved,
Should have long ago been placed in the “Dustbin of History” column.

* * * *
If you love somebody, love them; if you like somebody, like them.
If you don’t care for someone, ignore them; just be and allow.
No need to wound those whose reflections do not suit you.
Work on getting past your inner monkey whenever possible.

* * * *
Here to promote a more infinite vision of that many call God,
A vision that include anything and everything,
A vision that includes even you.

* * * *
Be ye human being, or human (not) being.

* * * *
The futility and despair of loneliness
Are why churches, malls, bars, coffee shops,
And so many other tree branches
Are every day so full.
The serenity of solitude is hard won.

* * * *
Same rut, different day.

* * * *
Every addiction has a piper to pay.

* * * *
Easy to be smug and complacent
When you have studied nothing else.
Few are granted the propensity for doubt.
Fewer still take it to its resolute end.

* * * *
Life will carry on
One moment at a time, one existence at a time,
For as long as stardust allows.

* * * *
The oblivion of quantum nothingness,
Cloaked in the reflective swirl of consciousness,
Naught but a three-dimensional dream playing its Self real.

* * * *
Speculation is not knowledge, and knowledge is not immeasurable.

* * * *
Nothing is the most logically irrational conclusion imaginable.

* * * *
Probably better to worry less about loving our neighbors
Than simply resisting the daily temptation
To slit each other’s throats
For leaves falling into each other’s yards.

* * * *
The potholes daily grow broader and deeper.
Much easier to create and destroy
Than it is to preserve.

* * * *
Another cotton candy moment.

* * * *
Neither accept nor reject.

* * * *
Ugly just got uglier.

* * * *
The true church has no walls.

* * * *
You can tell a wound is healed
When you stop looking for the pain.

* * * *
About the mystery beyond measure,
About the mystery prior to consciousness,
Nobody really knows nothing; and nobody ever will.
And anybody who claims otherwise is talking through their hat.

* * * *
Desire fosters fear, and passion reaps instability.
The path to a balanced existence, to a serene state of mind,
Is keeping things as guileless, straightforward, and whole as possible,
A satisfying, nourishing journey seasoned with an ample portion of detachment.

* * * *
We must all play our little parts, our little dreams,
However our capacities, limitations, and interests intertwine.
No point in sweating over anything and everything
To whatever degree it can be managed.

* * * *
True science is about truth, not the influence of funding.

* * * *
And suddenly, without warning, without pretense,
Another streaming moment was come and gone.

* * * *
The foolishness of vanity compounding daily.
A scratchy record played far too long already.

* * * *
Monkeys all, and airs to boot.

* * * *
Another day in the dream.

* * * *
We are all such meager fates
In but one wave of all creation.

* * * *
The band and cheerleaders
Scurry about and make much ado,
But it is the warriors who wander the field.

* * * *
Desire, fear, and all the passions they invoke
Require the winds of thought to set sail.

* * * *
Idolatry of form and concept rates high in the vanities.

* * * *
Enough is enough.
Growing up is surely an option.
Giving up these childish things would no doubt
Make more people much happier, and perchance even content.

* * * *
Is not existence enough of a mystery, enough of a gift,
Without wanting an endless array of circuses and magic shows, too?
And where does all that distraction leave you, really?

* * * *
The only things untouched, untrammeled, or left unknown
Are those rare few things our kind has not discerned
A need or desire to use, abuse, or consume … yet.

* * * *
From beginning to end, the body is really nothing more
Than a labyrinth of interwoven sensations
With which you may identify,
Or not.

* * * *
Truth is so matter of fact that the only real curiosity
Is why so many have such difficulty discerning it.

* * * *
What course might history have wandered
Had wisdom instead of greed taken lead?

* * * *
As long as it may seem at the time,
The body, the world, the universe,
Is but a relatively brief distraction.

* * * *
The true believer is the scourge
Of a higher caliber of civilization.

* * * *
A seamless dream
That only consciousness
Questions, splinters, or finds flaw.

* * * *
We are born, we die.
We are not born, we do not die.
Oblivion, really very much the same as existence,
But without a body in which to be so vainly attached to this and that.

* * * *
And where is the drop’s reflection when it merges back into the sea?

* * * *
Time and space are eternity coated with consequences.

* * * *
A new seed, a new container, a new dream.
Same awareness, same momentary you.
Another existence to briefly play out
In whatever way the fates allow.
You are all things great and small,
And all things great and small are you.

* * * *
Pride-filled animals, but animals, nonetheless,
Despite any and all claims to the contrary.

* * * *
Doubt until the doubting’s done.

* * * *
Remembering to forget,
Forgetting to remember.

* * * *
Where’s the hemlock?

* * * *
We are all dancing alone,
Chatting away to ourselves,
All together on the same stage.

* * * *
Just another of the seemingly countless things
You seem to have to go through to see through.

* * * *
The world we have created offers a never-ending feast
For those given the capacity and courage to inhale deeply.
True, it likely doesn't leave much for the future,
But you don't miss what you don't know.

* * * *
Whoever came up with the conviction they were unconnected to the fountainhead
Was either a self-indulgent fool, or a born-again snake oil salesman
Who spotted how easy it was to exploit the sheeples
In vanity’s climb to power, fame, fortune,
And other such worldly ends.

* * * *
Every moment in this quantum theater contains an infinity of potentials,
Of which your sensory mind only harvests portion enough
To sustain the rendering of the vast universe
You have in imagination created.

* * * *
Not much you can do about all the regrets,
Other than to forgive yourself and move on.

* * * *
Everyone seems to have a price here.
It's a game called “Name that Vanity.”

* * * *
All assumptions are assumptions,
Nothing more, nothing less.
Question authority.

* * * *
No time to win, no time to lose,
No time, whatsoever.

* * * *
Learning never stops.
Wisdom rarely starts.

* * * *
Death is only a relatively few corners away.
Have you managed to let go of everything, yet?

* * * *
It is true that you never know what you’ve got until it is gone.
Never take good health and well-being for granted.
Youth is indeed wasted on the young.

* * * *
Seven-plus billion relatively hairless two-leggeds,
That’s sure a lot of piss, shit, and other bodily fluids
Wandering to and fro in the daily back and forth.

* * * *
Knowing truth, and being truth, now there’s the rub.

* * * *
We all tend to define others by our own limitations.

* * * *
Beware anyone who wants to be your leader.

* * * *
Still playing the fallen angel, are we?

* * * *
It is only life, it is only death.
No worries.

* * * *
Feeling sorry for yourself all the time
Is not one of the more satisfying strategies.

* * * *
What to care about,
And what not to care about,
Questions of more than a few billion dreams.

* * * *
What doesn’t kill you today
May not always make you stronger.
Sometimes it may just enjoy watching you suffer
For as long as possible.

* * * *
It can never be more than this given moment,
So what is there to want, what is there to fear, really?

* * * *
What the one-percenters and their high-rolling brethren
Seem to forget, or more likely are not the least concerned about,
Is that their progeny will have to somehow abide alongside the masses
In this garden world we have all together so adeptly and thoroughly mauled.


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