23 November 2013

Chapter 292 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


CCXCII

Babble.
Babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble-babble.
Babble-babble.
Babble.

* * * *
Freedom is more than a word, and is free to all
Who discern the essential nature,
And therein reside.

* * * *
Wandering on empty.

* * * *
Just pointing out the obvious.

* * * *
Freedom is a state of mind.
You can be in chains, tortured, locked forever away,
And be the freest soul ever born.

* * * *
Nature is the only god there has ever been.
How humankind lost touch with that indelible truth
Is a story well beyond any and all bounds of rational thinking.

* * * *
Love is really only as meaningful as its manifestation in any given moment.

* * * *
What is there to complain about when you don’t know any different?

* * * *
Truth is all-inclusive, no ifs, no ands, no buts about it.

* * * *
Who is the you that wonders about all this?

* * * *
Everyone works out a salvation
That suits the capacities and limitations
Of their fleeting mortal wander.

* * * *
Within the corridors of memory,
You could travel forever.

* * * *
We are all unfathomable holes
That cannot be filled by anything,
No matter how great the effort.

* * * *
It might have hurt if you had cared.

* * * *
Ignorance is a bliss of its own making.

* * * *
If you think God does not weep
For what we have made of this world,
Then you neither feel nor understand the rain.

* * * *
Another flawed character
Expressing an array of noble ideals,
That even they turn a blind eye to in the day-to-day.

* * * *
It is all just recycled compost, the poop of dinosaurs and cockroaches.

* * * *
Too busy living, too busy exploring the given moment
To bother about whether some vain, jealous and otherwise petty god
Is going to judge you, punish you, for playing out
Your nature-nurture inclinations
In an existence
In which you had no say.

* * * *
At some point in the discernment of Self, all doubt ceases.

* * * *
If you cannot make heaven here,
What make you believe any deity worth its salt
Is going to invite you to sit in his?

* * * *
And if nothing calls you, what then?

* * * *
A touchy-feely, 3D dream in which
Everything gets you nothing,
And nothing, everything.

* * * *
Is it a method to his madness,
Or a madness to his method?

* * * *
Whatever you do
The first twenty or thirty years of life,
You'll pay for with the rest.

* * * *
We may all be tools in each other’s awakening,
But the universe looks likely to end
Before some figure it out.
So do not feel like
You have to stick around,
Unless some sort of absurdly futile,
Cross-bearing martyrdom is seducing your vanity
To a near-death experience on one lonely hilltop or another.

* * * *
Good, empathic, compassionate, kind, considerate, cheerful,
Composed, responsible, trustworthy, tranquil, graceful, content;
Likely attributes of a mind at rest, at peace, serenely content.

* * * *
It is all happening in a sort of topsy-turvy,
Inside-out, ass-backwards, convoluted,
Surround-sound, dipsy-doo-dah way.

* * * *
It is far too large a mystery
For the monkey-mind to decipher
With any organized technique.
There is really only merging
Into the grace of its chaos.

* * * *
What is a life unmeasured?

* * * *
Speculations abound,
None really any more true
Than any other.

* * * *
Your existence is permeated
With both an innate craving for,
And an innate aversion of, pleasure,
And the many inevitable pains it fosters.

* * * *
It is really consciousness that plays family,
Lover, friend, acquaintance, stranger, adversary.
Every kaleidoscoping mask is naught but a microphone
Weaving its intention within the vastness of your imagination.

* * * *
Whatever analogies, metaphors, parables,
Or concepts of any sort you or any other might employ,
Mind-concocted imagery is all they are, have ever been, or will ever be.
None have any actual reality beyond aftershocks
Echoing down neuron pathways.

* * * *
Why would you ever need another to tell you that you are remarkable?
Why would you ever need another to tell you they valued you?
Why would you ever need another to tell you anything,
When what you really are requires no sanction.

* * * *
Education is about training the mind to move in many ways.
Meditation is about returning it to natural stillness.
The quantum muscle explores all venues.

* * * *
The dream of time by any other name is the same.

* * * *
Awareness, call it what you will, is you.

* * * *
Despite your hedonistic, narcissistic,
Insatiable inclination for pleasure,
It is all rather painful, is it not?

* * * *
Whatever it may be called,
Five Elements or Periodic Table,
Ether or Quantum,
It is all the same essence.

* * * *
A pathless mind leaves no footprint.

* * * *
Better the thought rattles about on paper.

* * * *
The universe is an adventure
No matter which way you may turn.
The maze of existence goes on and on and on,
For as long as there is breath in which to wander time.

* * * *
Compassion arises from empathy with all things great and small.

* * * *
The mind is a flower of nature, in its own little mortal, temporal sort of way.

* * * *
What do you mean you can't have your cake and eat it, too?
You had your cake, and then you ate it.
What's the problem?

* * * *
Is there even such a thing as a waste of time?
How can something that does not exist
Ever be spent badly or well?

* * * *
When were you born, when were you not?

* * * *
Not all candles seek to be lit.

* * * *
Joyful bother.

* * * *
Thought is only necessary
To abide in fields of dreams.

* * * *
Exploring nothing is always new ground.

* * * *
Language is language,
Concepts echoing across the nothingness,
Ground to all.

* * * *
What is this ephemeral emotion we call love,
If not the eternal nothingness of pure awareness?

* * * *
There is only one mystery, one truth, and we are all equally of it.

* * * *
The grace and serenity of eternity trumps all the speculations born of time.

* * * *
The mind of humankind is an indelible tool-maker,
And those tools in turn shape future minds
In countless, unforeseeable ways.

* * * *
The ever-present tripwire is taking everything,
And thus your self-imagery,
All so seriously.
A glaringly subtle error, indeed.

* * * *
Die ten thousand deaths every moment.

* * * *
We all share the same origin.
All life is the offspring
Of the first seed.

* * * *
The oldest game in town.

* * * *
And there it is, once again,
Staring you right in the face,
The blatantly notorious obvious.

* * * *
In every word, a degree of separation.

* * * *
There is a price to be paid for everything.

* * * *
It is incomplete, uncritical, undoubting thinking
That has so many of our kind believing
We must play out this theater
Any certain way.

* * * *
Even if it is witnessed, it nonetheless remains a dream

* * * *
It is relatively easy to be happy when you have nothing in mind.

* * * *
The history within any given mind is no more than a vague, temporal notion.

* * * *
The ending of desire is the key to freedom from the known.

* * * *
We are all living on borrowed time from the get-go.

* * * *
Time travels oblivious to the eternal moment,
Which allows it temporal right of way,
Ever untouched all the while.

* * * *
Death is like a balloon fizzling out of air,
A scoop of salt dissolving in water,
A river washing into the sea.
A candle flickering out,
What has changed … really?

* * * *
Eternity is like Teflon.
Nothing sticks.

* * * *
Monkey dust.

* * * *
If there is a god,
Maybe when you die,
It will finally show its face
And you’ll discern it your own.

* * * *
Just as monkey as everyone else.

* * * *
Expand, stretch into the great stillness within.

* * * *
All over the map because there’s a map to explore.

* * * *
If there is still psychological pain, then you likely have deeper to delve.

* * * *
And how would you feel if another treated you the same way?

* * * *
Always amusing how intelligent, well-educated folk
Truly imagine they can persuade ignorance
To become as savage as they are.

* * * *
How can you forget what you never knew?
Why remember what you think you do?

* * * *
If a vision does not include everything,
Then it cannot really be anything
More than another lie.

* * * *
And we are all putting ourselves
Under so much pressure,
For whatever.

* * * *
The mind is a-whir.

* * * *
Is monkey love really any more
Than narcissistic self-absorption?

* * * *
It doesn’t get any more graceful,
Any more effortless, any more fluid,
Than the nothingness of the eternal mind.

* * * *
As if all your caring really means anything.

* * * *
If you assume someone knows more than you,
Then you are likely destined to be tithing to one middleman or another,
Perhaps until your last weary, wheezing, hacking breath,
Less, of course, the proper ten percent.

* * * *
What is this corporeal form but a satchel of memories
Destined either to be licked by flames into ash,
Or consumed by one creature or another
In the bowels of the dusty labyrinth.

* * * *
Try telling that to anyone who cannot listen.

* * * *
Eventually, some feel almost compelled
To proclaim themselves the Buddha
Because the original moniker
Just no longer carries the weight.

* * * *
To die or not to die,
That is the question.

* * * *
How expansive,
Expansive can be.
How can there ever be
An end to the indivisibility?

* * * *
It all starts off as nothing,
Then gradually becomes something,
And then, for those who awaken,
Reposes into nothing again.

* * * *
What was it you projected in that, anyway?

* * * *
What fear it takes to not even be able to look.

* * * *
There is no other, never has been, never will be.

* * * *
Family are the people you love, friends the ones you like.
To have both one in the same is most likely rare, indeed.


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