CCLXXXI
Time, with all its viscidities, must play out in the eternal,
And eternity, in time, perchance to fathom its mystery.
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Where philosophers and mystics casually dwell,
Mere mortals, at even the slightest thought, tremble.
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All creation is the vapor of light and sound.
Meaning and purpose is born of the eternal now.
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Amuse your Self however you will.
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So essentially alone.
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Zen snippets, without the Zen.
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Death waits patiently aloof for every creature great to small
To succumb to the inevitability of its well-honed blade.
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Everyone rushing this way and that, as if any of it really matters.
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You do not even begin to want to know what some people know about your pain.
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When the emperor wore no clothes,
Who could discern the truth but a child
Not yet caught in delusion’s web of collusion,
Or the sage whose mind is free of mortal claims.
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Really not much left to save, even if you could.
A most tarnished pearl, at least for the time-being.
The insects will likely make it clean and pretty again.
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Behind every mask, the same essence.
Imagination is the architect of all differences.
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Death is your closest companion.
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If you really seek heaven, you have to set aside your hell’s greatest demon: Your self.
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Drift your universe.
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You need no permission to be what you really are.
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Ignorance will out, because it is its inevitable for nature to breed exponentially.
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If you think 1984 has not happened, perhaps you should read it again.
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Last prophet? Hah! You make me laugh plenty ha-ha hard.
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That I Am is what you really are.
Any given identity is merely the imperfect,
Temporal fabrication of the mind-bound imagination.
Just another persona to play out and forget.
As imperfectly perfect as all the rest.
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Complete desperation can make for absolute courage.
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Alas, what will our poor Mother endure before we are done and gone?
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Peace is the pot of gold at desire’s fearful end.
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Become that which you were born to be.
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Make it personal, take it personal, and the world sucks you into its maelstrom.
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We seem incapable of tolerating, much less loving one another.
Or was it “Love One in another?”
So many languages, so many translations.
Never know if what is being read is what the thinker really meant.
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Everything dies, nothing dies.
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Humble roots make for strong vines.
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A very simple fact, a convenient truth.
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Endless growth is a tenuous assumption
To statisticians, historians, anthropologists,
Or anyone with a lick of common sense.
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For those believing this dreamtime is not a democracy,
Mother Nature is sure to set all misaligned visions aright.
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The world of hurt has not even really begun, and you really believe this is not hell?
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Curious, indeed.
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Forget history, this is it, right here, right now.
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Dark, dark, too dark to see, for them who have no light to be.
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Polarization reigns in so many spheres of consciousness.
Like seeks like, and the human paradigm daily grows
More divisive, more dissolute, more destructive.
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Women get together and complain about men.
Men get together and drink beer and watch football.
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Monarch or peasant, or whatever milling about between,
There is no actual difference at the essential level.
Only within the imaginary confines of the time-bound mind
Is every conceivable way and shape and form consciously fashioned.
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The mortal body is merely a temporary vehicle
In which you may, or may not, have the interest or capacity
To discern that which is far greater than the sum of all things measurable.
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Wait a second, that doesn’t make sense, either.
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Children, put away your childish thinking.
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Are you interested in reality, in truth, or merely some comfortable delusion?
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Is playing one’s own personality just another form of idolatry?
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In your world, your universe, you are the only one.
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Mediocrity at its best.
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As challenging as it may be, agape is the final discernment.
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Truth is not created by mind.
Truth creates the mind, allows the mind.
The mind can only discern truth, observe truth, be truth.
Mind cannot change or mold or wish it into any sort of alternative reality,
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Causes arre causeless, effects are effectless.
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Any given mind becomes more and more entrenched
In whatever dusty, potholed road it has cultivated
Through its course of time and circumstance.
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When you meet any given fork in the road,
The direction that calls is the next leg of the path to your fate.
When you reach the fork of ultimate reckoning,
Will you choose mortality?
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Discern the heart and mind of anything or anyone,
And you will journey far and wide to ends unknown.
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It is in absoluteness that Self reigns.
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It is all true at some point in time.
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Health of the mind-body-spirit is the only true wealth.
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You are a sovereign expression of the mystery’s ongoing genesis.
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The carved stone observes all things with complete and utter detachment.
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Idol worshippers cannot see their idolatry.
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One wonders if he was really foolish enough to do the things the book says he did.
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From the ultimate, indivisible perspective,
You created all this that you might discern your Self.
The theater with its innumerable players is of but passing concern.
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To know eternal joy, it helps to be fairly simple.
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Would you kill someone because they believed in c-sharp, not e-flat?
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To become a song of godness is the highest calling.
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Death is the great eroder of all life’s forms.
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Om … Om … Om … peace … peace … peace … settle into the tranquility.
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If you see only differences, that will be your harvest.
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To save a world that must be spent is the irony of intention toward one’s fellow other.
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There is not, has never been, nor will there ever be, any other, other than you.
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The true revolution is within.
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Remember, you only think you are.
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Same oneness, no matter how you slice it.
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For the keystone to be anchored, the arch must be complete.
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Curious that so many live in denial of the obvious reality,
That all things must change, that all things must succumb.
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Another parade, another ceremony, another ritual,
For them that cannot get enough of such things.
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Predictability draws most into one rut or another.
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Alone, sovereign, even in the largest crowd.
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When the you that is imagined dissipates,
The unmanifest infinity within will reign without.
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Ignorance does not easily tolerate the spotlight of scientific inquiry.
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You need not cling to whatever you imagine you were.
You are completely free to be what you truly are right now.
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Nada be all.
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Yes, it is that simple.
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Hey dude, be somewhat careful,
They all really, seriously believe, man,
And some will even slit your throat to prove it.
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The best place to do many things, both licit and illicit,
Can often by right out in the open where no one is looking.
It helps, of course, to be of the power color in the cultural milieu.
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Might seem pure lunacy if way more than a handful
Had not, in one way or another, written of the same thing.
It is, indeed, a scientific inquiry of the highest order.
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Being considerate, being kind, is not all that difficult
For those willing to set aside their fear and greed.
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The irony is that the more you judge others,
The more you end up judging yourself.
Judge and ye shall be judged.
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Attachment to any turf is a heady thing.
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Idolatry’s veil.
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Smoke is a great reminder of the ephemeral nature of time.
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What else could anything else be
But you in yet another myriad form.
Across the infinity, there is no other.
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Identity is the veil.
Imagination is all that keeps you
From discerning your ultimate essential nature.
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The indivisibility of manifestation is beyond grasp,
Beyond knowledge, beyond all conscious endeavors,
To own the instantaneous nature of the eternal mystery.
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To be caught up in the endless viscidities of conscious concoction,
Or discern within, that which is absolutely free, is there really a choice?
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We do not have to imagine it thus.
This is, after all, merely an experiment in free will.
It is, in reality, only a matter of time.
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Solutions often become obviously apparent when problems are given time to lie fallow
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Once upon a time,
It is rumored that kings were wise and true.
And who wrote that fairytale?
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Whose eyes will rule the world?
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How challenging to remember.
Whether a householder or a sannyasi,
The world can be a never-ending distraction.
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So many ways to suffer.
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Your world, your universe, breathe it in, breathe it out.
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Another day of watching the universe gorge upon itself.
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Shit happens.
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Have no of the god that does not exist.
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The mystery is like a matryoshka doll without the matryoshka doll.
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What a clingy thing, consciousness.
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If happens.
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How meaningless satori if you close your eye again.
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Discern the awareness where measurement means nothing.
* * **
How can that which is nothingness ever change?
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The cascade is underway.
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Naught but a dream that never really happened.
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Microscopes and telescopes are but tools, it the mind’s eye that discerns.
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Enough with the pedestals, already.
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How much is too much?
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The entire human paradigm is founded upon imaginary confabulation.
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Find your own hole.
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What is the body but a cage of flesh and bones.
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Ciao, ciao.
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It is your life; spend it how you will, if you have the courage.
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There is no knowing.
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What a passionate state of mind
Is required to intentionally injure to another
For some slight that would have been best forgotten.
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The good, the intelligent, the wise, are not easily disguised.
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How is it that politicians do not seem to have gleaned anything
From so many historical attempts to deny the masses
Their innumerable hedonistic pleasures?
Make something illegal
And the resulting black markets
Can, indeed, quickly become dark, toxic webs,
To those harboring little ill will, to those least deserving harm.
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The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved