CCXCIX
Humankind must discern its origin of its own accord.
No matter that you see you are its source,
The manifest theater will play out
Of its own free will.
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So many things given so much weight, hat in reality have had none from day one.
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Arguments between dogmas is like watching poodles pee on each other.
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Who is your best friend, your greatest lover, but the essence you truly are.
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The ephemeral is, without bounds.
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Rapture is being truly naught.
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What irony that so many pay so much
To advertise so many chosen brands,
Whether quality sustains them or not.
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If it is your calling, yours will end up a life undying.
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You are slowly awakening from a very deep hypnotic trance.
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Conscious breathing helps keep the passionate mind on an even keel.
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Addicted to pleasure, addicted to pain, what difference, really?
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The sensory dreaming draws you back in day after day.
Hypnotic, mesmerizing, enticing, binding,
Imagination’s weaving is.
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Acute observation dissolves the observer.
It is imagination that exists, not you.
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Possession is nine tenths of nothing.
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This dream hath no parallel.
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Fate is as fate does.
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How in god’s name did some genetic lines get so far being so witless?
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A GPS unit cannot get you home, sorry.
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Yet another anthropological field day underway.
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The reality of these meat machines comes to light in any toilet.
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Consumption’s equable adversaries are happiness and contentment.
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Shivahood is a role to which many are called, but few are chosen.
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Any belief about truth
Pales in the light of experiencing truth.
That which is truth is neither attached to, nor bound by,
Any thought concocted by any mind.
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And what do you take from, and what do you give to
This measureless universe, this dreamtime world
Perceived in the reflections of imagination?
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History is written upon the untold tales of many a harsh fate.
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How can the observer not be the observed?
The false identity born of imagination
Is the creator of all duplicity.
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What is not recognized is not remembered.
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Such a robust manifest stage
Upon which all things great and small
Equally rise, struggle and fall.
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In the annals of time,
Many so-called advances
Often become either barbaric
Or patently absurd.
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Do not think about it so much, just do it.
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When a need is not present,
Disengage the problem-solving mind,
Before it begins to generate the unsolvable kind.
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You have never really, truly existed
Except in imagination’s endless concoctions.
Awareness is all you really are, have ever been, will ever be.
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So many speak so surely of so many things that can never be more than known.
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In that which is mortally immortal,
You are as imperfectly perfect,
And as fallibly infallible
As the creation around you.
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Why not go mad? Surely, you are alone enough to give it a whirl.
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Within eternity’s grace, creation brews.
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Smoke and mirrors, mirror of smoke.
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Be ye follower? Or conscious witness?
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I got mine.
Now, sally forth, Brave Soul,
And discern your own.
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The rules of any game are all arbitrary concoctions.
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Scarcity makes for many adversaries.
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Every individual drop formed of the mystery’s nectar
Experiences a unique universe woven of its given nature and nurture,
And whatever blend of foolishness and wisdom it inspires.
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As much as there is to know, there is so much more
That will never be vaguely imagined,
Much less known.
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Another of God’s many afterthoughts.
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Ye gods, the things we must do to appease one another’s vanity.
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You and godness
Are very much present
In the same ephemeral nowness,
The same singularity.
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Mediocrity will out.
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This is your life.
To what end?
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Worry, dread, fear, re the mind-killers rhat bind you in time.
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All faces blend into one.
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Just another avenue for mischief of one sort or another.
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The immeasurable nature of infinity is beyond the bounds of imagination.
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Through me, conscious witness,
All things are created, preserved and destroyed.
Nothing is forever, whatever that is.
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You are truly as young as the day you were born.
The only challenge to discern it clearly
In this imaginary universe,
This sensory play,
So difficult to disregard.
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Humankind surely has much greater potential
Than the low bar to which mediocrity aspires.
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Contentment is like wisdom.
It must be discerned the same way
A sword is thrust into the flame many times
Before it acquires its true edge.
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To really, really, really not care, what is that, anyway?
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Change is truth.
Change is not truth.
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And what to do
When you truly discern
It is all just imagination inspired
By the mind and senses?
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Enough of this bother.
Have you not suffered enough,
And for what, really, but absolutely nothing?
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Is it too much to ask for leadership
That is intelligent, just, equitable, rational, intuitive,
Steadfast, egalitarian, and reasonable?
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The mantra for this day: I do not care, I do not care, I do not care …
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As infinitely, profoundly immortal as you truly are within,
Locked within this time-bound, worldly vessel,
You are bound by its mortal limits.
Bon voyage, matey.
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Where’s the “off” switch to this holodeck, anyway?
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Just playing along with the unfolding show,
Knowing it no more than a dream,
Touchy-feely as it may be.
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Truth is drawn out of those who have the courage and insight to doubt.
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To suffer the vanities of ignorance
And its predictable corruptions
Is, indeed, challenging fare.
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A momentary, experiential state that transcends all notions.
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Not many can achieve that for which they are ill-suited.
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Whether to seek purification of a body
Permeated with filth and decay
And a host of organisms,
Is but a temporary, mortal dilemma.
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Promotion of one idealistic delusion or another
Requires far more determination and vexation
Than the earnest candor of resolute cynicism.
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Pain is one of the greater teachers in this manifest theater.
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A very authentic state of awareness
That all have equal opportunity to realize
If the eternal calling arises from within.
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Still exploring the dream, are we?
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A vast array of forms, all wandering the quantum mist of imagination’s rainbow.
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You have resisted enough; it is time to surrender.
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Fishing for fisherfolk.
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Across your universe, you travel the time and space born of imagination.
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Strange how faces so often seem to reflect the personality within.
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Do you even begin to realize
The full meaning of all you are
Reading, hearing, or articulating?
It is a lotus, unfolding in time.
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A partiality for seeing it as it is
Is the hallmark of the sincere skeptic,
Often called a cynic by those less perceptive.
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The god mind is the flowering of your genetic lineage.
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There is only physical security up to a certain point.
No body can avoid its inevitable demise.
But you, you are immortal.
You are, have always been, will ever be.
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There is really no training manual on parenting,
Only the models in your family and village,
And a strong sense of trial and error.
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It is all you.
That’s it.
Stand alone, free.
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The corporeal container
Is but a temporary means
To witness a flowing theater,
Full to the brim with distraction
To one inescapable end or another,
All played out within an eternal infinity
That discerns neither beginning nor end.
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There is much to do, or not to do,
And much less time to do, or not do it,
Than there was in that imaginary yesterday,
Or will be in that imagined tomorrow.
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Napoleon’s cannons upon the enraged Paris mob is nothing new to the surging swarm.
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Work through your demons
Until you realize everything you think is imagined,
And you need not continue harboring
The unending absurdities
Born of delusion.
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What a challenge for parochial minds across the world
To hold their own against the relativity of a universal view.
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Freedom within bounds is not freedom.
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Having neither need nor desire
To be the center of anyone’s attention,
One simply plays the Cheshire Cat,
Here and there with just a smile.
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What is it all about?
Who is it who knows?
And who is it who cares?
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You are whatever you are, whatever you want to call it, or not.
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Such is the nature of peace and serenity that you cannot imagine it.
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And the given mind did evoke light and sound, and all things from great to small.
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Pure awareness, the nectar of bliss.
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What a mystery Eden; a shame we did not treat it with much more respect.
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That moment will come soon enough, no point endlessly worrying about it.
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Breathe in, breath out, eternal life, now.
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Do not call it anything, just be alone in the awareness prior to consciousness.
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Allow the clear sky back into your mind.
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From whence do avalanches begin?
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Happy Birthday, Son of Santa Claus.
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You are herein free of all and none.
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Any discerning drop knows its source.
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The challenge is to forget it all,
And be the you that you truly are,
Have ever been, will ever be.
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So many assumptions
To which we all subscribe in so many ways.
To what end the only question.
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You do not really believe
Your little up-close-and-take-it-personal part
Is ultimately real, do you?
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Nobody can ever really see you until they see themselves as you do your Self.
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You are not required to participate in any way but your own: You are your own law.
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The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved