CCXCV
Some say it is all nothing, and others, all everything.
Not much middle ground for vacillators,
But there are those
Who claim both to be true, too.
Challenging, indeed, to grasp the ungraspable.
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Entitlement will cater to fools as long as there are fools.
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Chameleon: a changeable or inconstant person.
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Truth is the gold mined by relatively few.
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You are nature, you are the garden, full of thistles and thorns, as it is.
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Yay! Another way to suffer!
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Dead with a pulse.
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You are as young, and far more ancient, than the most distant stars.
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From death, eternal life springs.
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Where would you be if you did not exist?
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It does not matter who else wakes up it you do not.
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That we are all one, together, alone, is a fact, not an esoteric notion.
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The infinity of the eternal stillness is everywhere and nowhere within.
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The challenge is not to forget, and continue drinking the punch.
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Another useless medal in the grand dust storm.
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Heed the call, or continue on as you are, it really makes no difference at all.
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The greatest story never told.
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Nothing to do, nothing to be, except perhaps to fathom what it is to truly be free.
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Madness beyond the pale.
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What is the body but a biological cesspool of bones and goo.
Mind? Heart? Soul?
Pffffft!
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Right here, right now.
There is no place like home,
No home but the awareness within.
The stillness before time is the lotus throne.
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Into the dustbin of history, all things forever dissolve.
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Those who earnestly seek truth with every fiber of their being
Will ascertain true Self, the essential nature of all that is and is not,
And forever become the choiceless, nameless, indivisible one.
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Nothing else to do but give lip service to saving a world that cannot be saved.
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What does it say when your best friend is a dog?
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Live your lie, or fess up and take the red pill.
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Power has many means, but one intent.
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Whether saddled with a humble ego, or the Full Monty version, all die the same.
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No place to be but now.
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It is all you: Take it, own it.
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The You that you truly are, is, has always been, will ever be.
Be free of all obligation; there is nothing your have to do.
Freedom is in every moment its own gift of absolution.
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Too much of anything,
Even the most discerning things,
Is sure to bring about one bother or another.
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Awakening does not come to pass all at once.
It takes many adventures of every variety
In the unfolding process of Self-discernment.
Patience, humility, moderation, discipline, humor,
And other sustaining qualities are well worth cultivating.
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Oftentimes it takes awhile for some things to process,
To distill into something clear and genuine.
Integration is a puzzle, a riddle,
Few truly long to solve.
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People like giving money to great causes.
It assuages guilt and appeases vanity.
And few pass on the tax deduction.
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Say it how you will, the point is the same.
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Of what use have you for a world that does not seek the real you out?
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For every up there is a down, unless you die at the peak.
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Wisdom: A fool’s errand.
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The usual cravings.
Oh, yawn.
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Ignore the mind; be the tranquility of totality.
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Always something of a drag when others expect something to which you did not agree.
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Told in words, as only words can tell.
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Epiphanies are the gold standard of the mind.
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Most live for the ever-changing dreamtime the manifest world offers.
Few look within to investigate the changeless reality
From whence all dreams are born.
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There is no point to it; that is the point.
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Hell hath no bounds but the ones each in vain imagination creates.
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Gravity does not bind the Soul.
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Nothing, going on and on.
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Self taught.
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Be free.
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Serenity is the bliss.
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Simple enough for ye, Pilgrim?
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Both products of the same mind in time, are dread and hope really all that different?
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Organized religion is for those who lack level and compass.
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Not again, please.
Haven’t we had enough of all the absurdity.
Time to wake up, and work on getting back to the garden, tarnished as it is.
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Any translation is only as accurate as the mind of the translator.
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To be nothing is somewhat contrary to the biological imperative.
It requires great detachment to realize that you are not the body.
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When you are completely alone,
There is no need to continue all the pretending.
Let go all the desires, all the fears,
Forget everything.
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Silly as it is.
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The vapor of mind,
The fog of perception,
The cloud of consciousness,
The ocean of awareness.
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Happiness, if it is essential to you, is right now, not some future when.
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Assume everything, assume nothing.
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Trust intuition, trust consciousness, to play out the body as it does all forms.
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Another trail of bread crumbs
Left scattered along the pathless path
For the many dreamers whose time it is to awaken.
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How many ways temptation
So easily pulls you this direction or that.
The innumerable pleasure buttons of the mind and body
Are challenging to hold in moderate reign.
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Self, that reality which is prior to all things manifest,
More ancient than the stars, ever new, until future’s end.
All the same ever-present now in ways relatively few
Will ever be commandeered to fully comprehend.
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No place to go, nowhere to be, nothing to do, but be as free as you were meant to be.
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Self-worth is an intrinsic given.
The exterior is but an ever-changing façade
To the reality of the source within.
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What a meaningless, time-bound weight, this fabricated sense of self-importance.
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Free will transformed into destiny in every given moment’s passing.
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Sensory delusion from the get-go.
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You will learn everything you need to know to live this life, to complete this fate.
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Such a reverie it is, has ever been, will ever be.
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Desire, what is that, anyway?
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So alone as to completely dissolve.
Existence, what was that about, anyway?
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When you heed your calling, life will still be filled
With the predictable agonies and ecstasies,
But perhaps the regrets will be fewer
Than for those who played it safe.
Give into it just to see what happens.
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A gift freely shared in random fashion
Can perhaps be less easily undone
By those who would deign use it
For foul or meager purpose.
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What courage it takes to be detached enough to be your true Self.
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So over it.
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Immortal, until you awaken to another day in the life, such as it is.
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Chaos rules.
Order is for the prissy sissies,
Unless, of course, you wake up and realize
Chaos is the order.
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Surrender to the serenity of beingness.
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This dream into which the nothingness
Is fashioned again and again, forever again.
A ceaseless stream in a matrix beyond compare.
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It is your own delusion that you must allow to dissolve
Into the truth you truly are, have ever been, will ever be.
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There are some things about which mum lips are the best policy.
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You are not the body, you are not the mind.
You are not anything or anyone under any sun.
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The indivisible swimmingness prior to all,
Is that from which the seed of consciousness
Flowers into the beingness of imagination.
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You must be that which is eternal,
Otherwise, how could you be present
In the given, unfolding day-to-day?
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Ultimately not all that different from any other biological whim.
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A mystery afoot, indeed.
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A spent shell.
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Mother Nature,
She is a pitiless beast.
She is all things Eden, even you.
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The challenging thing about change is remembering it was once different.
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How easily good intentions can be perverted by those with different purpose.
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Time and space will always manage to pass
Without any aid from you, whatsoever, guaranteed.
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Suicide is just taking taxes out of the ‘sure as” equation.
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Give it up, compadre, nothingness reigns supreme.
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Even an enlightened scorpion is still a scorpion.
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Vanity is not worth saving, even if you could.
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Besides rotting away their source,
Judgments have a way of blowing back
In a variety of unforeseen ways.
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Take the personal out of the equation, and what have you got, really?
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Questions of ten gazillion dreams.
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The streaming of a dreaming, likely as real in one mind as it is in any other’s.
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Independent and unaligned.
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Lost in space, found in time.
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The inner eye is the awareness
That witnesses the dream of consciousness
Playing itself out in the frontal lobe.
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Nothing makes some content.
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Only in awareness are you immortal.
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Another mind off out in the deep end of wacko.
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Be as simple or complex as you please, it is the same.
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The drama of ants will out.
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Every ear, every mind, its own translation.
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Nothing matters, everything matters.
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Alone again, naturally.
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Anything and everything is samadhi, yoga, union.
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It is all you, and you it, so what need to think about it?
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What matter the vanities of this world, or any other?
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Find the deepest desire, the deepest fear, and erase them.
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Prior to all cause and effect, you are.
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Dissolve within.
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What truths, what lies, imagination endlessly weaves.
The incessant chatter of consciousness is unyielding.
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The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved