CCLXXXIX
The source, the fountain of awareness,
Is without bounds, without passion, inscrutably eternal,
From its quantum ground to beyond the farthest shores of all creation.
* * * *
Here you are once again.
The dreamy mystery is yours alone
To witness seemingly every way imaginable.
How it all came to pass, how it all unfolds every moment,
None can ever more than cogitate within the confines of speculation.
* * * *
To die to each and every moment with unbounded detachment
Is the ineffable transparency to which eternity musters all
Who would dwell free in their brief window of time.
* * * *
This fleeting moment is all you really have.
Are you giving it your absolute attention?
* * * *
How long can the garden orb that we call home
Sustain the scale of vain self-absorption
We have wrought upon its creation?
Where abides the edge of the petri dish
Towards which we so blindly, absurdly sprint?
* * * *
Now is the gap in the play of imagination,
The spark that creates time's dreamy theater,
Its timeless Self ever the stillness of eternity.
* * * *
The absolute fearlessness of pure awareness
Is the only remedy to the delusion of suffering.
* * * *
Despite all the vain, meaningless assumptions and assertions,
None of this is happening at the level of reality that is indivisible.
* * * *
Any history is only as enduring as those who choose to remember it.
* * * *
To be alive, to exist, what does that mean, anyway?
* * * *
Every eternal moment, the senses and mind
Seamlessly weave their universe
For the Soul to see.
* * * *
Discern the true facelessness behind the mask,
And you will know the answer to all questions
Is nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
Nothing is yours for the seeing.
* * * *
You are Soul.
Forget everything else.
* * * *
Unwrap your head around it.
* * * *
Such profound awareness all life shares.
* * * *
Nothing really belongs to anyone.
Even that which you consider your body
Is nothing more than a kaleidoscoping mirage.
* * * *
When thoughts cease, when consciousness stills,
Time dissolves into the awareness of eternal life.
* * * *
Some things must age a bit before they are appreciated.
* * * *
Free in Eden, ravaged as she is by the cancer engulfing her crusty face.
* * * *
Even a grain of sand or particle of dust are kin in the grand indivisibility.
* * * *
From the infinite well of nothingness, everything springs.
* * * *
True madness knows no boundaries.
A frame of reference beyond compare.
* * * *
Delusion and inanity and insanity
Lend their twisted, maniacal weight
To creed and dogma and idolatry.
* * * *
No delusion can usurp the truth.
* * * *
Nothing happened again today.
* * * *
The universe was created
When you became aware of it,
And has been expanding ever since.
* * * *
As pointless as pointlessness can be.
* * * *
Nothing that has ever happened, nothing that will ever happen,
Matters as much as the timeless awareness, the eternal Self,
That is serenely witnessing the dream right here, right now.
* * * *
Think how much more you might have done
Had you had the courage to disregard the fear,
And the craving from which it was wrought.
* * * *
Pin a word, a label on your Self that sticks, if you can.
* * * *
Even the foulest, most unattractive life form imaginable, has got Soul.
* * * *
How many ways can the same things over and over be said?
* * * *
You are a part of the intelligence designing.
* * * *
What can ever be done about followers
Who follow leaders who cannot lead?
* * * *
Not all delusions are created equal.
* * * *
Curious how that which seems obvious is so seldom obvious to all.
* * * *
Live to die?
Or die to live?
* * * *
A dream is a dream, no matter how good it feels, or how much it hurts.
* * * *
What a trial it is not to covet so many things
In a dream in which everything is yours,
And nothing is yours, all the while.
* * * *
Memories, perceptions, impressions,
What are they, really, but ephemeral notions
Of imagination’s dreamtime creation?
* * * *
In every moment, you must figuratively die
To discern the indivisible matrix for what it truly is.
To be what you truly are, have always been, will ever be.
* * * *
We all build sandcastles of one form or another,
But none stand long against the ceaseless waves
Crashing, crashing, crashing, upon every shore.
* * * *
The eternal clock has neither hands nor face.
* * * *
What enticing fare, the swoon of creativity.
* * * *
If you do not abide well your own pain, why would you inflict it upon another?
* * * *
Your are the hub of the wheel, the emptiness of the urn,
The pivot about which your synchronistic universe spins.
* * * *
Cannot find the time, sorry.
* * * *
So, there are rules in a knife fight?
* * * *
Enjoy what childhood you can, for it surely ends one way or another.
* * * *
The great void awaits your presence within.
* * * *
Some learn about pain and suffering and death,
Long before they ever do anything about life.
* * * *
Pay no heed to any who would deter you from a greater vision.
* * * *
Worms do not care what they are consuming any more than flames do.
* * * *
Why continue pretending you are what you are not, have never been, and will never be.
* * * *
In every venue, more and more
Puffy renditions of gluttony and sloth,
The hallmarks of way too much, way too often.
Great success becomes great excess
When there is no longer need
To chase the chicken.
* * * *
How unobstructed the aloneness.
* * * *
Analog matrix.
* * * *
Avatars across the board,
In a world that seems likely to cease
Before the masses wake up.
Oh well, so it goes,
Who is it who cares, really?
* * * *
How is it even remotely conceivable
That anyone ever came up with the notion
They were separate from the source?
* * * *
Obviously, the reason for his brief existence was to at some point provide livelihoods
To t-shirt sellers, coffee mug makers, and other itinerate hawkers in the village square.
* * * *
How can that which never existed ever be reborn?
* * * *
Heaven and hell and karma and other deceptions
Are for undiscerning believers and followers and beginners,
In the long and winding trudge to the Great Nada.
* * * *
Any aphorism is the distillation of one much ado or another.
* * * *
Look at the indelible mystery kaleidoscoping about you.
How is it you are not every moment absolutely absorbed
In the complete and utter serenity of ineffable wonder?
* * * *
If it has not come from the mouth of an innocent,
Then it likely is not true, much less meaningful.
* * * *
A footprint is only a footprint for such a short time.
* * * *
Only the play of consciousness
Is drawn to the many passions of its own creation.
The awareness that witnesses it all possible is absolutely indifferent.
* * * *
What is this insatiable draw
To explore the underlying form?
Why you? Why not you?
* * * *
What’s to know, really?
* * * *
It is all just monkey business.
* * * *
Why emulate anyone?
We are all original wellsprings
Of the given device and circumstance.
* * * *
About nothing there has been made much ado.
* * * *
So many things about which to be curious … Yawn.
* * * *
When that last breath wheezes out, what will ever matter again?
* * * *
What are the perceptions we recall but the underlying notions of vanity?
* * * *
Hatred is the most divisive passion, love the most unifying,
Yet either is just a continuing play of consciousness,
Ever evaporating each and every moment.
Totality is prior to all dualistic notions.
* * * *
It is really just imagination you love or hate, desire or fear.
* * * *
Small frames of reference generally seem to make for narrow points of view.
* * * *
No one likes being disrespected
Or disrupted or dismissed or disallowed.
Respect tends to earn respect.
* * * *
The quantum is the holy grail,
The fountain of youth, the city of gold,
Sought by all who hear the call of its siren song.
* * * *
So many techniques and schemes
Have been devised to both awaken and control you:
Meditation, breathing, stretches, riddles, rituals, prayers, archetypes,
Postures, concepts, paradigms, sounds, writings, artwork,
Laws, dogmas, organizations, edifices, symbols,
Idols, and infinity knows what else.
Each the way of its day.
* * * *
So many with so much ingratitude for that which they feel so entitled.
* * * *
You are existential awareness at the core, nothing more.
* * * *
Just killing time until it does the same to you.
* * * *
What you do not know may not hurt you now,
But at least it will not bother you until then.
* * * *
Another day of mortal bother underway.
* * * *
Injuries are such frozen moments.
* * * *
Yeesch, another hope addict; how do they manage that?
* * * *
Too much and more.
* * * *
Choice, what was that, anyway?
* * * *
Just playing along for the time-being.
* * * *
Every moment ripples in consciousness.
* * * *
Time passes the same however it is spent.
* * * *
There is a sort of peace in finally meeting your executioner.
* * * *
You really need not explain or justify anything to anyone.
* * * *
Curious how insatiable so many are in their need to be noticed by others.
* * * *
Eyes that cannot be tempted, such a rare commodity.
* * * *
You are the spawn of irony and paradox.
* * * *
We are all going to die soon or later, and if it is sooner than later, oh well, so it goes.
* * * *
The harvest of war is thistles.
* * * *
In regards to truth, beauty is nothing more than yet another distraction.
* * * *
In stillness, what can touch you?
* * * *
Vampires harvest other souls
Because they cannot discern within
The power prior to all notions.
* * * *
Far too mad to lead anyone anywhere but the here now within all great to small.
* * * *
Know thy Self, and what any other thinks of you means nothing.
* * * *
What do you remember but the remnants of a touchy-feely three-dimensional dream?
* * * *
Prior to romantic notions of love and beauty, nothing.
* * * *
Be totally vulnerable, totally anonymous, totally true to the one and only Self within.
* * * *
You are herein bid to wake up, all you sweet souls and dark villains.
* * * *
How free dare you be?
* * * *
Oh well, indeed.
* * * *
A very detached vision.
* * * *
It really does not matter one iota
What anyone has ever thought of you,
You who have forever been alone unto thy Self.
* * * *
You may not choose to manifest it,
But somewhere in the whorl of your DNA,
All monkey-mind potentials patiently await their time.
* * * *
Regarding those who battle against abortion, the so-called pro-lifers,
What is the point of making such a big show of how much you value life
If you support war, if do not care for the children once they are born?
* * * * * * * * * *
The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved