Leftovers
No matter how assiduously one may give heart and mind
Over to some idea, some creed, some meme, some groupthink,
No individual existence can ever be close to being exactly the same.
Despite all thought and done, all are exclusive blends of the same stardust.
* * * *
The personal pronouns – I, you, he, she, it, we, they, me, him, her, us, them –
Should be considered in all these thoughts rather loosely used,
Given that “we” are really nothing more than the nothingnesss of awareness,
Playing a game of charades conditioned by time, drawing toward a whimpering conclusion.
* * * *
What is an orgasm but the mind’s most innate high,
A very present, very pleasurable detonation in the timeless now.
A disintegration, a dissolution, of any sense of self, of any sense of separation.
Is it any wonder our species gallops the edge of obsession about everything to do with it?
Sexuality is the wellspring, the underlying force, the fulcrum of human history.
Power, renown, prosperity, the creativity of art, science, technology,
All have come about as aphrodisiacs to its gratification.
And all of it the evolutionary outcome
Of the genomic ambition to abide evermore.
* * * *
So many faces come and gone in the rolodex of life.
So many moments spent together, so many things shared.
What happened to them all, what stories unfolded into destiny?
The things we can never know of our dreamtime are many and large.
* * * *
Every eye, a subjective filter.
Objectivity is the ruse of idealistic notion.
No matter how detached, how indifferent the endeavor,
It is ever seen through the personal coloring of the conditioned mind.
* * * *
What is so dysfunctional, so surreal, about the human species,
Is its obsession with what others think, and what others think about them.
Groupthink has been a mainstay of our survival in this dreamtime,
But its interminable absurdities are beyond measure.
* * * *
This universe, this world, was not created by meekness,
By fear, by hope, by political correctness, by any absurdity whatsoever.
The vagaries of the human condition are but a hiccup in the unfolding eternal theater.
* * * *
Same old story in yet another tale.
The cast, the crew, the stage, has changed,
But the patterned narrative is very much the same.
* * * *
Very dubious whether our seemingly innate attachment to the past,
To whatever tradition, to whatever time and geography, we might subscribe,
Is leaving many if any real options in the future just round the bend.
* * * *
If there is a purpose in all this, then surely this here, this now, is it.
An immense theater in which you, a drop in all, are the all in a drop.
The real and only you, sovereign, absolute, indivisibly immaculate.
* * * *
Different geographies, different cultures, different languages, different livelihoods, different clothes,
Different foods, different sports, different creeds, different absurdities,
Different this, that, and the other thing,
Same monkey.
* * * *
What need for worship, for piety, for virtue,
For belief, for faith, for dogma, for idolatry, for ritual,
Once you have discerned what you truly are is prior to all creation.
* * * *
Once you are free of karma, whatever happened
To reach this timeless, ephemeral moment, no longer matters.
Here you are, the one in the same, as liberated as you care, or un-care, to be.
* * * *
This spinning garden is both womb and graveyard,
And the existence between but a wormhole
In the grand matrix of oblivion.
* * * *
What culture, what tradition, what meme, what ethos, what world,
Can withstand the onslaught of six billion in just two hundred years?
* * * *
As if any individual, any group, any culture, any mindset,
Can really change or control a world, a universe,
This colossal, this diverse, this complex,
This unutterably mysterious.
* * * *
Why be bound by the confinements of any arbitrary tradition
When you can soar alone in the immensity of a clear mind.
* * * *
All quantum patterns
Must reside in the ambiguity, the tyranny,
Of the ever-changing, lottery-given set of capacities and limitations.
* * * *
A long cultural tradition means little,
If you have gleaned nothing more from it,
Than a handful of obtuse ethnocentric notions.
* * * *
Any die rolling across a table
Is as much an evolutionary process
As any transitory fate of the so-called living.
* * * *
Traditions are inevitable in minds steeped in patterns,
Ever seeking a sense of security in the face of chaos.
* * * *
Everything is of one patterning or another.
To do anything outside that patterning,
Requires conscious deliberation.
And even that is patterned.
* * * *
How can you kill demons who just end up inhabiting other forms?
Different names and faces, but ever the same monkey-mind facets.
* * * *
What can anyone hold onto but a collection of imaginary notions
Created by the frame of reference founded upon one’s conditioning?
* * * *
Unconditional acceptance of this grand dream as it is,
With all its light and dark, its good and evil,
Is about as loving as it gets.
* * * *
Your fate is written in the ever-shifting sands of time.
Your task is to write it all down before the wind blows.
* * * *
Everyone and everything and everything between the same awareness,
Waking up to whatever reality the patterned consciousness
Of the given nature-nurture ordains.
* * * *
Consciousness usurps awareness in every way, ever calling itself real.
Death tends to put a damper on this vain little pastime, ergo, tradition.
* * * *
Within the big picture, details, and from details, the big picture.
The predictability of patterns within patterns within patterns
Is as sure in a single quantum as it is an entire universe.
* * * *
All meaning and purpose is born of imagination.
All very temporal, very brief persuasions, at best.
* * * *
Meaning and purpose are nothing more than vain notions
To which self-consciousness has subscribed since its origin.
* * * *
The quantum matrix is witnessed within and without,
They being but concepts about that which is neither.
* * * *
Call it chance, call it fate, call it destiny, call it what you will,
Every existence is fashioned by a never-ending series of flukes.
* * * *
What does it take to waylay the conditioning,
But the momentary attentiveness called by some eternal life,
That which is prior to the mind-body, and the dream to which it is so attached.
* * * *
Every existence will at some point be extinguished,
And all the while, the matrix absolutely indifferent.
* * * *
Will you turn off the switch of your mind-body existence for your Self?
Or will it be shut off for you in some inescapable serendipity?
Only Mister Grim and his handy-dandy scythe know.
* * * *
What bounds can there be in the ultimate that you truly are?
We are all playing out the conditioning of the given mind-body
In this ever-changing dreamtime born of sensory perception.
* * * *
The many memes of groupthink are cementing consciousness
Into an eclectic range of extraordinarily contorted assumptions,
Baseball caps, cowboy hats, chewing tobacco, not excluded.
* * * *
Is civilization really any more than an utterly futile attempt by men,
To help women feel secure, stay clean, and perchance be happy?
* * * *
So many so caught up in one dogma or another – so conditioned, so habituated, so brainwashed –
That it would likely never occur to them they are not at all free and clear in their imaginary prison.
* * * *
Mind-altering substances across this magical world are the gift of eternity to its Self.
The challenge, given their hedonistic potential, is a certain level of moderation,
And how well you utilize them for right purpose, at least once in a while.
* * * *
Is any religion, any belief system, really any more than contrived philosophy
Double-double-toiled-and-troubled-fire-burned-and-cauldron-bubbled?
* * * *
What is history but the recycling of monkey-mind patterns bred in the jungles of long ago,
Regurgitated daily with new permutations and technologies seasoning the feast of dreamtime.
* * * *
Why so many feel such inclination to shackle others in some sort of dogmatic prison
Is the story of power, fame, and fortune, of greed, of every imaginable pleasure,
Playing out the same patterns over and over and over like a broken record.
* * * *
Pretty amazing how much can very quickly transpire
To those so ill-fated as to exist in interesting times.
* * * *
Scientific objectivity is flushed down the drain,
When funding dictates a self-serving outcome.
* * * *
You are the field flowering
In every sensory form imaginable,
All together playing, dancing out Eden’s fate.
* * * *
If something is truly calling you,
You will do whatever you need to do,
To bring about its manifestation.
* * * *
The universe is a vast matrix
In which all things dance
In every manner imaginable
Within the limits of the paradigm.
* * * *
All groups, all cultures, since the origin of language,
Have used their natural environment to communicate their world.
The sun, the moon, the planets, the stars, the climate, the geographical features,
The myriad fellow creatures from small to great, all played parts in every mythological paradigm.
In these our modern times, we use our own creations to decipher the universe about us.
Technologies, politics, religion, business, media, personalities, ad infinitum.
Every conceivable mind-made, artificial, contrived invention,
Has all but usurped the relationship with nature.
The rules of the game are ever the same,
But ignorance leaves us deaf and blind and dumb,
To the one and only reality, that all creation is eternally interwoven,
At such an indivisible level, as to make any part, absolutely inseparable from anything else.
Imagination, and all its fabricated notions, all its dualistic concoctions,
May believe it can control this biosphere, this cosmos,
But it cannot make-believe for long,
Much less forever.
* * * *
To live fully in the moment requires that every moment be immediately perceived and released.
Life eternal is an ephemeral quality of mind, a state of unconditional detachment,
In which the you that is the timeless awareness prior to consciousness
Observes without giving weight to the incessant vanities
Of the fictional me-myself-and-I that you imagine your Self to be.
* * * *
Suspension of rational thought,
For hope, for belief, for faith, for superstition, for idolatry, for dogma,
How is that even remotely possible?
* * * *
Where is any god, any deity, but in the innate primal recesses of imagination’s origin,
And its need for there to be some meaning and purpose for this inexplicable existence,
As if the inexplicable existence, the existential fray, is in itself not raison d'être enough.
* * * *
Concoctions of sweet, of sour, of salty, of bitter, of umami,
All built of the same quantum mystery, all dancing upon the quantum tongue.
Each of the five sensory organs – eyes, ears, nose, tongue, skin – and the brain to which they link,
Are wormholes to their conditional, their arbitrary, their temporal, rendering of a universe.
You daily travel time, you daily travel space, you daily wander, in the dream of mind.
* * * *
There is truly only this ethereal moment
Which none can never really touch or grasp,
Only perceive through and imagine happened,
Play out whatever assumptions the sensory-mind,
Through its filters of conditioning, perchance gleaned.
* * * *
In order to survive, to abide, to thrive, justifiable or not,
Every vested interest embodies its purpose, its mission, its raison d'être.
In every conceivable way, through every conceivable means,
For as long as capacity and limitation allow.
* * * *
Each of us with our own unique universe, each of us with our own unique world view,
Each of us with our own unique set, our own unique frame of reference, that we all deem normal,
Each of us perceiving through the untold filters of our time-bound nature-nurture matrix,
Each of us forever here now, forever absolute, forever indivisible, forever alone.
* * * *
Discard all the overlays of your conditioning;
You are the quietude of the sovereign mystery.
* * * *
The matrix universe, an unfathomable quantum sea, swirls on and on and on,
Oblivious to cause and effect, to consequence, to destiny,
To any and all notions born of mind.
Time and space are but figments of imagination,
Inspired by the senses in the processor to which they are wired.
* * * *
That you existed even a moment ago, or will even a moment hence,
Is nothing more than imaginary, illusory, delusional, notion.
This moment, this here now, is the one and only reality,
And no thought can infiltrate its timeless nature.
All consciousness can do, can pretend to do,
Is play out its make-believe, its dream of time,
In whatever way the patternings, the memes allow.
* * * *
The awareness you truly are is but eternal witness
Bound in one form or another, trapped in one patterning or another,
For as long as there is a manifest theater, a matrix, for dreams of consciousness to wander.
The inexplicable universe is but a quantum playground in which you will act out
Whatever agonies and ecstasies the given patterning allocates.
There is no escape; you are a captive of time.
Enjoy or suffer; attitude is all.
* * * *
Only the limitations of the senses persuade you, convince you,
Condition you, mesmerize you, hypnotize you, blind you,
Into believing you are at all separate from anything.
* * * *
The quantum essence is formless, shapeless, indefinable.
Forms are the inexplicable weavings of patterns.
To warrant them the inexplicable creations
Of some even more inexplicable deity
Must surely include the most inexplicable you.
* * * *
No pattern abides forever; any given seed blossom but once.
But that of which all patterns are made … that indivisible quantum essence …
That which creates … preserves … destroys … that is immortal … that is godness … that is you.
* * * *
That destiny, that fate, that kismet, that karma, you vainly believe you somehow just changed,
Well, friend, understand that destiny is really nothing more than the result,
The synergy of all the choices, of all the consequences,
That rippled in thought and deed.
Nothing uncanny or supernatural about it.
* * * *
The fate of those without great doubt is to wander in the miasma of time.
The only thing that can save any from such a temporal destiny
Is if they possess the eyes that see, the ears that hear,
The many clues, the many tips, the many hints,
That surround each and every one in their daily wander.
It is a many-are-called-few-are-chosen-fewer-still-volunteer endeavor.
* * * *
Can you exist in the moment, totally here now, without any sense of self-imagery,
Any thought of the personal idolatry, in which a lifetime of conditioning
Has brainwashed you to be in a constant state of ever-becoming.
A Gordian Knot to which there is only one blade-of-discernment solution.
* * * *
From nothing to something, from something to nothing,
All things emerging, all things disappearing, all things forming, all things dissolving.
The ocean, the source, ever tranquil, ever indivisible, ever absolute,
The many patterns nothing more than appearances,
Winds blowing, currents flowing.
All attributes nothing more than vibrating elements,
The primal chaos creating-preserving-destroying, the synchronicity of eternity.
* * * *
The Lost Tribes: Is it really just about some ancient desert peoples forced into exile?
Or could it be about the unique few whose inexplicable destiny it is,
To someday awaken to what they actually are?
A Tribeless Tribe, so to speak.
As with anything, as with everything, it is what you make it.
What is any history but a temporal means to sustain, to bolster, the given cultural mindset.
* * * *
The insights, the revelations of eternity, are for any,
With the wit, the calling, to discern its timeless truth.
* * * *
Why is any groupthink, any mindset, any meme, so earnestly asserted,
But to sustain, to multiply, its corporate nature in the weavings of mind.
* * * *
How much time can any creator afford to allow themselves,
To peruse anything that distracts them from their calling?
* * * *
Everything is absolutely simultaneous in the indelible indivisibility of the totality,
But you, you must eyes-wide-open wander down the unfolding trail,
Oblivious to whatever is around each and every bend.
Free will looking forward, fate looking back.
The agonies, the ecstasies, the tragedies, the comedies,
That you play out upon your Self, are unending and beyond all pales.
* * * *
Nature is process, an artistic force each and every moment creating,
Absolutely indifferent to beginnings, to endings, to goals, to outcomes.
* * * *
It is not about belief, it not about idolatry, it is not about groupthink, it not about dogma,
It is not about tradition, it is not about rituals, it is not about symbols,
It is not about becoming anything or anyone.
It is simply about being
What you are, have ever been, will ever be.
* * * *
To what are you ultimately attached but the conditioning
Of a mind each and every moment consuming, translating, a sensory feed,
Through the filters of a time-bound frame of reference inspired by the given nature-nurture.
* * * *
Lamenting any loss, any change, what point, really,
When nothing even for a moment stays the same.
In the hologram matrix of this grand mystery.
* * * *
The fixation, the obsession, the mania, the passion, of any given delusion,
Requires a steadfast detachment that relatively few can willingly muster.
* * * *
You need not accept anything that is not legitimate or meaningful
Just because some hypnotized meme-ish alliance espouses it,
Or because some renowned name or title is attached to it,
Or because it is a product of the fermentation of time.
If something does not stand on its own inviolable merit,
There need not be any wavering about putting it behind you.
* * * *
Any seed is but a one-time blueprint, which may or may not manage to reproduce,
And cast its temporal patterning a bit further in the streaming dream of space-time.
* * * *
Still the busy mind, and without giving anything any thought, simply be the awareness.
Give full attention to each of the senses: the eyes that see, the ears that hear,
The tongue that tastes, the nose that smells, the flesh that feels.
Pay attention to the momentary now, ever-streaming
Through the neural network to the central processing unit.
Where is your world, where is your universe, without the given mind
Projecting, reflecting, through the byzantine filters fabricated of imagination?
All creation is but the ceaseless patterning of nature-nurture set in motion some long ago.
A handiwork that has never been anything but an indivisible quantum matrix,
Never more than an inexplicable dreamtime of unknowable origin.
And the eternal unborn-enduring-undying awareness,
Witness to it all, you are it, and it is you.
* * * *
All laws, all principles, all canons, all decrees, all rules, and all other such things,
Are entirely born of the arbitrary, dualistic minds of humankind.
There has never been any deity but nature,
And its indivisible dynamic
Is witness, judge, jury, executioner, as needed.
* * * *
Look at all that the agonies and ecstasies
Of your ephemeral, very mortal existence have taught you,
And know that it will all be lost when the glimmer of that last electrical signal dims,
When the body and mind to which you are so habitually attached,
Turns off the light, and without further ado,
Quietly exit the dream.
* * * *
Consciousness is really nothing more,
Than the lightning strikes given meaning and purpose,
Along the neuron trails of the brain.
* * * *
Most life forms exist in a choiceless eternal vulnerability,
That knows neither birth nor death, nor any measurable notion.
Instinct is the patterning established in all through the Darwinian shaping,
Of each and every genomic strand, over millions and millions of years of evolution.
Consciousness, as the human ego fields it, assumes an invulnerability that is utterly fictional.
The assumption of free will, of choice, despite all illusions to the contrary,
Is every moment shackled to the instinctual roots of origin.
To suppose that you are truly and completely free,
That you have reign over your choices,
Is a dubious assertion, indeed.
The ultimate truth of it is,
That in any manifest dreamtime,
You can no more alter the given part you play,
Than any other living thing acting out its minute function,
In this inexplicable, indelible, indivisible, immutable, cosmic hologram,
Born in the vapors of imagination moving to and fro in the clear space of awareness.
To give over to the vulnerability you in reality ever are, is a reflective view to which few are drawn.
* * * *
The quantum cosmos, a hologram matrix of creation, preservation, destruction:
Rising, falling, ebbing, flowing, ever-churning through the stillness of awareness.
* * * *
What is there but awareness.
To call it infinite or infinitesimal is meaningless.
To give it any purpose, to slather it with any attributes, is irrelevant.
To even brand it truth is a beyond-the-pale absurdity.
* * * *
Life is an ever-changing universe, a convoluted maze with many, many doors.
You wander through the halls of your mind’s translation, your imagination’s rendering.
Some doors open, some do not; some open easily, some never at all; some open now, but not later;
Some are locked now, but open later; and some, many, most, never will.
Each mind has its fate, but only looking back.
* * * *
Stop believing all the deceptions the conditioned mind endlessly weaves.
You are the eternal awareness: nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
What a desolate conception of god has emerged in so many human minds.
How can any abide any vision that is not all-inclusive, all-accepting?
Any view that is cloaked by every imaginable dogmatic absurdity?
What is the point and purpose of all this incessant, nonsensical conflict,
Over what is, and has ever been, nothing more, than fictional confabulation?
* * * *
You were told you were this, you were told you were that,
And now you meander the ever-present dream of space and time believing it all true.
A make-believe meme, a conditioned pattern, an autonomous invention,
Woven into the ceaseless chatter of the consciousness,
Each and every moment streaming
In the clear space of timeless awareness.
* * * *
Regarding the contemporary destiny of this garden world,
Humanity seems intent on learning a very harsh lesson of balance
In a most strenuous, most convoluted, most painful manner.
Earth will abide, but as to whether life will or will not,
Has the jury waiting and watching a tad longer.
* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how are you,
But vain attachment to a sack of bones and goo,
A collection of filtered perceptions, of vague memories,
A meme, a recording, a scratchy record going round and round,
The same song playing over and over until breath and beat do you part.
* * * *
In the ocean of indivisibility, the ocean of awareness, the ocean of consciousness,
In which all things in synchronicity move hither and thither, to and fro,
Existence is nothing more than a habit, a pattern, a recording,
A dream in which the nature-nurture of every seed
Plays out its timeless, inseparable part.
* * * *
To be aware each and every moment that none of this is ultimately real,
To not be mesmerized by the mind’s conditioned responses,
Only the rarest of the rare attain, or so they say.
* * * *
To recondition the mind into being timelessly ever-present,
Rather than being lost in time-bound imagery,
That is the eternal challenge.
* * * *
The quantum mystery will pretend
Whatever meaning and purpose you vainly imagine,
And not even one scintilla of it ultimately real or important all the while.
* * * *
T-Shirt Karma,
Coffee Mug Dharma:
What Would Jesus Do?
What Would Lao Tzu Do?
What Would Nietzsche Do?
What Would Siddhartha Do?
What Would Mohammed Do?
What Would Zoroaster Do?
What Would Krishna Do?
What Would Waldo Do?
What Will You Do?
* * * *
History is so much greater than any culture, any philosophy, any mound of gold.
And the world, the universe, the quantum field, is far greater than anything imaginable.
And the unknowable, the indivisible, the nothingness, prior to all manifestation, is trump to all.
* * * *
What are you, what is any form, but a derivative of the indivisible totality.
All but infinitesimal widgets thingamajigging within the ever-kaleidoscoping quantum matrix.
Consciousness claiming to be this or that is but the delusion of imagination,
Identifying with ever-changing temporal circumstance.
* * * *
Your original state is absolutely, indivisibly, unconditionally flawless.
The only question is whether that unutterably formless, timeless emptiness,
That immaculate awareness prior to consciousness, prior to all whims of mind,
Can be steadfastly reestablished while immersed in the given day-to-day.
It is a homecoming only the rarest of the rare ever contemplate.
* * * *
Ethics is the luxury of a full belly and a safe harbor.
Might makes right, it always has, it likely always will.
The best any can hope for is a benevolent claw and fang.
* * * *
Everyone would do well to challenge, to confront, their imaginary deities,
Their superstitions, their fallacies, their delusions, and whatever other dreads,
At least once in a while to find out if anything noteworthy really happens.
Take a scientific approach rather than be some meme-ridden puppet.
* * * *
The time born of mind reigns through the continuity of its many memes, its many patterns.
Consciousness reinforces these repetitive cultural blueprints through conditioning.
Relatively few are inclined to free themselves from their domesticated lot,
To discern the timeless awareness at the cradle of all imagined.
* * * *
Gaia is in the remorseless, fell grip of the monkey-mind.
The fruit of the garden is fated to be its cancerous demise.
* * * *
What is the universe but a quantum creation spun of nothing,
And every existence witness to a unique cosmos of patterned design,
As devised by the senses in their eternal perception of the winds of illusion.
* * * *
The mind is a weaving of attachment to all its imagery.
Everything though and done is founded upon the conditioning
Of space-time since the inception of its first perception.
* * * *
Consciousness is the movement, the vibration, the lightning storm, of the brain.
Mind is fabricated by the attachment to the many emotional and conceptual patterns,
The conditioning, to which it abides for whatever sojourn the dreamtime of quantum ordains.
* * * *
So many issues ahead in this, the world our kind has crafted:
Overpopulation, resource depletion, pollution, waste and waste disposal,
Ocean acidification, acid rain, ozone layer depletion, global warming, climate change,
Loss of biodiversity, habitat loss, deforestation, urban sprawl, water scarcity,
Economic mayhem, warfare, terrorism, civil unrest and pestilence.
To name a few.
* * * *
Standing for nothing is the only way to avoid the exceedingly common human delusion
That existence has some paramount meaning and purpose, that values are authentic and true,
That morals, that ethics, are more than just vain concoctions of a species, that has yet to come to terms,
With the fact, that they are but temporal consequences of evolutionary happenstance.
* * * *
Thought has a tendency to get caught up in one little-self fixation after another.
To dwell in the no-self zone requires great detachment from the world,
And all the incalculable universes that emerge and subside
Upon a constantly-changing elemental crust,
That basks in the radiance of a relatively temperate star.
* * * *
How quickly attitude can turn on its head.
How quickly perspective can morph into some contrary state.
How quickly white can become black, light become shadow, good become evil,
Clear become murky, more become less, hit become miss, right become wrong, love become hate,
Similar become different, have become have not, smile become frown, ecstasy become agony,
Flexible become rigid, pleasure become pain, interest become tedium, full become empty,
Kindness become intolerance, compassion become cruelty, inclusion become isolation,
Moderation become excess, exotic become tedious, eloquence become incoherent,
Positive become negative, respect become disdain, esteem become loathing,
Logic become arbitrary, harmony become discord, benevolence become malice,
Modesty become vain, honor become shame, virtue become vice, refined become coarse,
Yes become no, trust become suspicion, tolerance become prejudice, sensible become absurd,
Soft become hard, unconditional become qualified, sincerity become irony, reason become paradox,
Deep become shallow, hot become cold, happiness become sorrow, respect become contempt,
Freedom become coercion, paradise become dystopia, indivisible become divisible,
Reality becomes illusion, truth become delusion, red pill become blue pill,
And vice versa and hither-thither gray on all of the above, as well.
What is the psyche but a swirling cauldron of passion.
* * * *
Whether coincidences are anything more or less,
Than the mystery creaking silently away in its synergistic fashion,
All speculations aside, is well beyond the pay grade of we playing out the mortal realm.
* * * *
What many call love is not without endless arrays of conditions.
It is worm-ridden with expectations and tradeoffs and manipulations.
Anything less than that which is unconditional is not love, pure and simple.
* * * *
Some seem born with a certainty about their destiny,
Some never determine any particular fate calling their name,
And some must wait until late in the game to get their ticket punched.
* * * *
The sins of the universe are erased when the original nature is realized.
The notion of good and evil is nothing more than human vanity
Playing out patterning bred in the jungles of long ago.
* * * *
At some point in the hereness, at some point in the nowness,
Some minds, bit by bit, little by little, awaken to the given conditioning.
Awaken to the great doubt, the great question, and in that calamity of consciousness,
Begin a long and winding and solitary journey towards eternal reunion.
* * * *
Yet another walking-talking dittohead meme.
A babbling brook may well make more sense.
* * * *
Every culture across the world, across time,
Has indoctrinated its young to think a certain way.
All are imprisoned in one form of conditioning or another.
Even the greatest doubt must deal with the given mind.
* * * *
In the innermost voyage of awakening,
Attachment to the given mind-body has less and less footing.
From the ultimate panorama, the corporeal arrangement, the perceptual patterning,
Is nothing more than a temporal, sensory vehicle,
A means, not an end.
* * * *
What is any pattern but an energy system
Interacting seamlessly with other energy systems
In one vast indivisible all-in-one-one-in-all quantum sea.
* * * *
All mythologies are mind-made narratives; none abide in the eternal abyss.
They are not foundations to anything more than arbitrary, capricious cultural memes.
Thumb-sucking security blankets for those unable to endure alone the winds of temporal illusion.
* * * *
There is no normal, no ordinary, no typical, no common, no average, no conventional,
Just a world full of bat-crazy two-leggeds who think they are rational,
And band together into memes and dogmatize about it.
* * * *
Jesus ain’t coming back, and you will not, either.
Each existence is a one-time show courtesy of the given seed,
And the ever-churning matrix into which it is cast.
* * * *
Why be envious of experiences others are fated to play out?
Are any parts really, truly, more important than your own?
Not even one iota of quantum stardust could be more or less.
* * * *
Belief is a spurious brainchild of dualistic notion.
To believe implies that the subject is not connected to the object,
That the beingness is some dynamic force outside you, the observer, the witness.
It is a denial of the unicity of all that is seen, and all that is unseen.
* * * *
You are perchance here to discover the source of your beingness.
If and when that happens is souly up the fate to which you feel called.
* * * *
What need for belief? What need for creed? What need for faith? What need for prayer?
What insecure beasts we are that such inflated, hollow notions are given more import
Than the timeless awareness offered in each and every kaleidoscoping moment.
* * * *
The obvious fact is that every life form
Is a drop of that which is the truth, the life, and the way.
To maintain any lesser vision is delusional, and serves no significant purpose,
Other than to create perpetual, meaningless, divisive struggle.
* * * *
There is much more faith in timelessly abiding in the awareness of the given moment,
Accepting whatever gifts, enduring whatever tortures, the eternal dreamtime manifests,
Than can ever be concocted by any fear-based belief system fabricated of the human mind.
* * * *
All belief systems of mortal persuasion are fear-based, greed-laced, and mundanely played.
It takes much more courage to stand alone, absolute and free in the indivisible dreamtime of eternity,
Than it ever will milling about, mindlessly ditto-heading with any time-bound, idolatrous herd.
* * * *
Only in timeless awareness is there anything resembling free will,
And even then, the patterned meme filters the dreamtime theater.
* * * *
How everything can be so different, and yet so much the same all the while,
Is the ever-present irony and paradox of this indivisible quantum mystery,
To which all fated to see must in timeless awareness mindfully fathom.
* * * *
Conditions set by any given mythos are rarely more than superficially endured
By those willing to face the consequences of standing alone against the tide,
Those willing to withstand the inexorable furies of the given groupthink.
* * * *
The fact that you are here in a particular form
Means you must act, you must function, in one way or another.
Until the body-mind is done, until it is food for worms, you will play out the given role.
The way that happens is labeled in many ways: destiny, fate, kismet, karma.
All of absolutely no importance to the witnessing awareness.
* * * *
Every human being has their own raison d'être,
Their own meaning, their own purpose, their own rationale.
Their own motivation, ethos, inspiration, philosophy, belief, and hope.
All are equally imagined, so there is no point in judging.
Be and allow, as the given moment allows.
* * * *
Regret means that you learned something from the consequences of an action.
Some call it conscience, a.k.a., morality, scruples, ethics, principles, integrity.
* * * *
You travel through existence believing it all real and true,
Until in one fated moment of realization, who knows when, kapow!
The cadaver suddenly seems both older and younger than you once thought.
And you spend the rest of your dream watching its bones turn to dust.
* * * *
Imagine you suddenly came into consciousness in an adult body without any prior experience.
No narration, no knowledge, no conditioning, no language, no attachment, no desire, no fear,
No family, no friends, no enemies, no sense of identity, completely alone, an absolute abyss.
Just pure awareness, observing the sensory feed without it making any sense, whatsoever.
A stranger in a strange land, wandering the ephemeral garden orb, as free as free can be.
* * * *
Why keep investing in anything that can never possibly bear fruit,
Anything doomed to a pattern of self-absorption,
And all the delusions born of it.
* * * *
What is the main reason for the study of history,
But fathoming how our kind reached this point in dreamtime.
We do not have to keep repeating our patterns, continuing our collusions,
But the possibility of any meaningful change is right up in there with the flying pigs.
* * * *
Any and all idolatry is but the imaginary confabulation of the conceptual mind.
It was not any deity who created us in its image, but we, he-or-she-or-it, in ours.
Give this moment, this instant, no thought, and awareness is the unalterable alter,
The matrix, the hologram, in which you very much alone, in every twinkling, reside.
* * * *
What is an accident but a mutation of sorts,
A new tack from what would otherwise have been.
Embrace it or not, it is a fact in any existence.
* * * *
What are you but a temporal assumption, a mind made known,
The unconditional playing out a self-actuating algorithm,
That the programmed you, constrained by dreamtime, calls self.
The me-and-myself-and-I to which the human collusion vainly subscribes.
* * * *
No matter where we wander to and fro, no matter where we rest our weary heads,
Getting through any given moment still boils down to a mindful dollop of detachment.
Not taking it all so seriously, not taking ourselves so seriously, is the first and last challenge.
Conscious of it or not, in one way or another, we are all playing out the Atlas of our conditioning,
And learning to set down our imaginary universes may not be as hard as we choose to believe.
* * * *
Regarding your fate, you do not know what it is,
But you do have one, every manifest creation does,
In a quantum indivisible sort of way, of course.
* * * *
When you move on from anywhere,
Best to get in the habit of glancing back
To spot what you might be leaving behind.
Guaranteed, it will save a lot of bother.
* * * *
How can this unfathomable mystery not be boggling prior to and beyond all belief?
What need for faith? What need for religion? What need for philosophy?
What need for anything but to meld into the timeless nature,
The eternal awareness pervading all creation.
What need to more than realize the indelible enigma of it,
And to freely blossom into the inexplicable reality that you are it, it is you.
* * * *
To be but timeless awareness,
To be but the source prior to all patterning,
Is a quest all who doubt must undertake very much alone.
* * * *
As it stands in its evolutionary tack, the monkey-mind
Is not even remotely capable of fashioning a casteless culture.
We are as bound by our Darwinian differences as any other creature
That has ever risen into being on this inexplicable garden world.
* * * *
Can you imagine a buzzard pulling at your entrails?
A worm peering out your left eye socket?
Something else crawly, drifting up your right nostril?
Your bones bleaching into dust beneath a blazing summer sun?
In one way or another, that is your fate etched in the vapors of dreamtime.
* * * *
You are absolute master of your mortal fate,
King of your kingdom, wielder of your club,
Until the shadow of another’s looms larger.
* * * *
One day or night in some long ago, intentionally or not,
Your mother and father merged their seed lines, and voilà, you.
The only question is, do you play out this dream according to their meme,
The established meme of some other groupthink, or your own?
* * * *
Point of reference, frame of reference, box of reference, matrix of reference, hologram of reference,
From small to large, each and every mind fabricates a unique rendering of a universe,
All ultimately nothing more than the endless spinnings of imagination.
* * * *
Across the planet throughout all time, every human being, every life form,
Playing its little quantum-chemical-biological-cultural patterning real,
To whatever degree awareness through consciousness perceives.
* * * *
Call it what you will: pattern, meme, array, form, display, shape,
Design, prototype, plan, model, outline, draft, scheme, blueprint;
It is what you imagine, it is what you pretend, not what you are.
* * * *
Deny your fate, your fortune, your destiny, your kismet, your karma,
As confidently, as boldly, as insolently, as defiantly, as vainly, as you will,
It is emanating, materializing, unfolding, happening, each and every moment.
* * * *
Whether or not a free mind, an unconditional mind, is even possible,
Is an inquiry you as witness must explore and discern for your Self.
* * * *
What is the cosmos but a massive, indivisible quantum matrix.
Matter patterned into every imaginable organic and inorganic permutation.
Continuously changing, altering, shifting, fluctuating, mingling, consuming, emanating, evolving.
A mechanism so beyond-all-bounds incredible as to be forever boggling.
And however you may or may not partake the truth of it,
You are it, and it is you, there is no other.
* * * *
The closest thing to free will, to self-determination, to freedom of choice,
In this infinitely choiceless universe fashioned of every imaginable patterning,
Is the timeless awareness of the quantum essence from which all things stream forth.
* * * *
For humankind to change course in any effective, meaningful way,
Would require a paradigm shift well beyond its genomic patterning.
* * * *
Observe the mind and its many thoughts,
What are they but a muddle of conditioned patterning,
Founded upon whatever perceptions, whatever frame of reference,
Imagination has arbitrarily formulated in the winds
Of the given nature-nurture dreamtime.
* * * *
What do you think all this is founded on, if not the indivisible primal source,
The quantum matrix of timeless origin, the one-and-only oneness given over to space-time,
Creator and creation in the one-in-all-and-all-in-one grand singularity,
The awareness in which all dreamtimes spring.
* * * *
To all belief systems that imagine god separate,
Why would you ever cater to such limited concept?
To a notion that does not include you one in the same?
* * * *
More than 99 percent of all species, amounting to over five billion,
That ever existed in Earth’s 4.54 billion years, are estimated to be extinct.
The history of humankind’s ascent is like the history of extinction.
The far greater percentage is long undone, long forgotten,
And for all practical purposes, never happened.
* * * *
What is history but a perpetual game, to which chess and go and dominos, are but artless analogies.
It is an ever-streaming, ever-emanating, ever-graceful, temporal play of consciousness.
Imagination given context in the hologram-matrix of quantum space-time.
* * * *
In the ever-swirling flow of human migration,
No individual, no culture, has ever stood long in total isolation.
All must inescapably, like it or not, morph into greater and greater self-reflections.
All must give way to the ever-expanding world, the ever-expanding cosmos,
In which the human paradigm, as self-congratulatory as it wont to be,
Is but an assumption, a contrivance, on a whirling speck of dust.
* * * *
Conscious breathing, the awareness of every inhale, every exhale,
Is as present as present can be in the matrix hologram born of mind.
* * * *
We are all just temporal recordings of consciousness,
Each and every one of us playing out one little meme or another.
Yet at the essential level, each and every one of us is the same quantum source,
Each and every one of us the same unfathomable awareness.
What is to argue about, what is to kill for?
* * * *
You may believe you have broken a habit, a pattern, an addiction,
But chances are, you have only exchanged it, morphed it, repackaged it,
Into another variation, another alteration, another mutation, of the same stripe.
A bottle, a needle, a god, any obsession, in what way are they different?
* * * *
You could conceivably play anything out any way you please,
But the given genetic patterning, the given cultural conditioning, the given nature-nurture,
Have shaped your thoughts and actions to such a predictable degree,
That any assertion of free will is absurd.
* * * *
Where can “You”, ever be, but right here, right now,
In whatever sphere, whatever bubble of awareness, “You”,
In the inexplicable, indivisible quantum hologram-matrix, reside.
* * * *
The entire human spectacle, and all its countless histories,
Is nothing more than ever-changing, temporal, imaginary perception.
A make-it-up-as-we-go, spontaneous kind of thing, that really is not any thing at all.
A holographic dream, which all are genetically programmed, culturally conditioned, to play along.
An enigmatic quantum reverie: nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
Very bemusing to all concerned, indeed, indeed.
* * * *
Why do you keep getting out of bed every morning?
Because the conditioning is a strong and aromatic brew, the senses too enticing to withstand,
The theater too filled with agony and ecstasy to avert the busy mind.
To simply be is not near as entertaining.
* * * *
Male or female, we are all the same monkey-mind, only the players change.
The faces, the bodies, the names, the languages, the mindsets, the memes,
All the differences are but nature-nurture variations of the same theme.
Cast any anew on an island, they would imbue it very much the same.
* * * *
What is the world, the universe, but a baggage train of notions,
Slung about by imagination, as if it were real and true.
As if it was more than a nebulous collection
Of pluses and minuses streaming about a neuron matrix.
Discern the awareness you are, disentangle from thought, wander unbound.
* * * *
No point worrying about death; it is going to happen one way or another.
Whether the means is infection, cancer, blood, endocrine, mental, nervous, circulatory,
Respiratory, digestive, musculoskeletal, genitourinary, perinatal, congenital, or some external cause.
The flesh and bones to which you are so attached is fated to melt back into the indivisibility.
If is useless, and vain hope for something more, nothing but idle speculation.
So it goes, deal with it, get over it, keep moving while you can.
* * * *
Everything that happens is beyond all explicability.
There is no reason, there is no purpose, there is no doer,
And the awareness, the witness you are, is the source of it all.
* * * *
You will inevitably hurt others, intentionally or not.
The challenge, if it is your inclination, is to keep it to a minimum.
If you lean toward a harmful bent, of being sociopathic or some label beyond,
Well, there is really nothing that can be done but witness the blaze in your indifferent wake.
We must all face the consequences of whatever principles we incline.
* * * *
You have been hypnotized, conditioned, brainwashed, mesmerized, indoctrinated, deceived,
Into imagining you are what you are not, have never been, and will never be.
In the one and only indivisible reality prior to consciousness,
You are timeless, you are without bounds.
Know this, and break free of all limits born of mind.
* * * *
If there is to be any freedom in this relatively brief, corporeal existence,
The key, the fulcrum, the fount, upon which it is founded, is doubt.
And then only if its embers are fanned by the wind of an indomitable spirit.
There is no journey beyond the conditioning, no venture outside the cave, without it.
* * * *
There are no attributes, no patterns, no systems, no laws, no histories,
No quantifying measurables at all in the immeasurable indivisibility.
* * * *
All patterns are created of illusion.
From the indivisible, all creation arises, all creation subsides.
There is naught but eternal unicity.
* * * *
Any given existence is shaped by so many injuries, so much suffering.
Like the punctuation marks woven into any given narrative –
The periods, the commas, the question mark, the exclamation points,
The colons, the semi-colons, the apostrophes, the hyphens, the quotation mark –
All whittle, all sculpt, all transform, the fates, the destinies, the outcomes, all life must endure.
* * * *
Who can love unconditionally,
But those whose aversion to differences
No longer absorb, no longer seethe, no longer bind.
* * * *
Quantum brain, quantum eyes, quantum ears, quantum nose, quantum tongue, quantum skin,
Quantum nerves, quantum ductless glands, quantum viscera, quantum everything.
A quantum matrix, a quantum hologram, by and for its Self to play,
Perchance to perceive, to realize, to comprehend, its inexplicable mystery.
* * * *
And why would anyone ever believe any one culture in any given time,
Would ever hold the key to truth, or be favored by any one deity?
* * * *
All those memories, all those things, all those sensations, all those thoughts,
All those patterns, dreams, habits, relationships, loves, likes, hates, joys, sorrows,
Skills, awards, derisions, pleasures, beliefs, opinions, notions, hopes, fears, ad infinitum,
All those many experiences, no matter how dear, must all eventually be released and forgotten.
* * * *
Become aware of the mind as a means
– a tool, a device, a utensil, an implement, an instrument –
Rather than an end – a purpose, an aim, a reason, an outcome, a goal – in itself.
* * * *
The plethora of inventions to which humankind has given over its tool-making abilities,
Is ever bound to the ground of nature from which they were crafted.
There is absolutely nothing that is not of nature,
No matter the process through which they were manifested.
The source of all things is indelibly, indivisibly, unconditionally inescapable.
* * * *
What is prior to religion, prior to doctrine, prior to faith, prior to belief,
Prior to all notions of gods and devils and their myriad minions,
And the countless heavens and hells they spawn in time?
* * * *
The same genetic force, the same patterning,
That draws women into their worlds, draws men into theirs.
Ergo, Mars and Venus, and all the many worldviews playing out over and over.
* * * *
Every moment giving and taking that which is ever emanating anew,
And you only able to distinguish it through the myriad filters
Born of nature-nurture’s inevitable conditioning.
* * * *
What pattern is not born of conscious design,
And why would the quantum ground, the source of all,
Be bound by any notion, no matter how grand?
* * * *
Fascinating how indifferent we can be toward each other and all our fellow earthlings.
That we can be so cruel, so unempathetic, so unwilling to discern all are ultimately one in the same.
The compassion, the benevolence of the Golden Rule, treating others as you would your Self,
Requires a mind free of desire, free of fear, free of conditioning, free of convention,
A mind willing to stand alone against the whimsies of human limitation.
* * * *
The so-called scriptures are not really belief systems.
They are histories, archives, field guides, instruction manuals, schemas.
Insights set down by seers across time and space who have discerned the mystery firsthand.
Does the quantum indivisibility need to worship the forms into which it is made,
Some imagined sculptor, or the essence that is its truest nature?
Does it really need to venerate anything at all?
Is not simply being enough?
* * * *
The discernment of truth in the human mind, in the human paradigm,
Has really always been very much the same across the world throughout time.
But all those who see it are bound by the filters of their conditioning: bound by culture;
Bound by creed; bound by language; bound by ego; bound by the thirst for power, fame, fortune;
Bound by the seven deadly intoxications: pride, envy, gluttony, lust, wrath, greed, sloth;
Bound by the perpetual tango of desire and fear in the quest for security.
Is it any wonder that these modern times are so chaotic,
So confused, so conflicted, so contrary,
That only the rare are willing and able to see past
The incalculable differences entirely created by imagination.
* * * *
Your world, your cosmos, your dream, is an imaginary invention,
Founded upon the sensory input, as interpreted by your patterned mind.
However you see anything unfolding, is what it is, always was, and will ever be.
Whatever you imagine others think, they think; whatever you imagine others do, they do.
You are perceiver, witness, observer, viewer, watcher, eyewitness, onlooker, bystander, ogler, spectator.
You are the one and only awareness, acting out a programmed, conditioned, habituated persona.
Immortally absolute, indelibly sovereign, timelessly unconditional, eternally indivisible,
And unutterably, irrefutably alone, in your center stage of Self-consciousness.
* * * *
You who give the mind over to its inexplicable source,
Will never be appreciated unconditionally by the human paradigm.
Thought and emotion are but evolutionary by-products of ductless glands and viscera.
It is not possible to gain the full acceptance of any meme, any group, any followers, any true believers,
Any brainwashed, conditioned, indoctrinated collusion to which consciousness is so attached,
For the capricious mix is incapable of comprehending that which is cradle to all.
You must, in awareness, stand very much alone, flawlessly absolute.
* * * *
Without the thought, the idea, the notion,
The brainwave, the inspiration, the theory, the belief,
The concept, the opinion, the plan, the conception, the philosophy,
How would the imaginary identity you delude your awareness into pretending
Play out its meme-bound who-what-where-when-why-how collusion?
* * * *
We are all the same oneness playing out the parts, the same oneness playing out the many.
We are all a kaleidoscoping hologram of inestimable, immeasurable, infinite proportion,
A quantum matrix emanating a dream of time in the timeless indivisibility of eternity.
* * * *
Complete, unconditional, unadorned vulnerability is the means to nirvana.
To give your self over to Self, to set the body-mind adrift in awareness,
Is the discerning tap of the Ruby Slippers that will get you home.
Eternity is now, there is no other, nothingness is as apparent as it gets.
* * * *
Me and myself and I:
My body, my mind, my sex, my color, my race, my language, my culture,
My family, my friends, my school, my class, my college, my house, my land, my pets,
My workplace, my business, my club, my bar, my coffee shop, my store, my money, my things,
My town, my county, my state, my country, my world, my sun, my universe,
My religion, my church, my god, my heaven, my hell …
Me, me, me, forever and ever me.
* * * *
The roles all life play out in the grand web
Are nothing more than the blueprint,
The patterning of the given seed.
All are the same inexplicable essence.
* * * *
What an isolating thing, the groupthink of any tradition.
All attempts of consciousness to bring together
Only further and further splinter.
* * * *
All self-imagery is nothing more than attachment to a body
And the given cultural blend into which it is conditioned.
A fusion of nature-nurture, nothing more, nothing less.
* * * *
What a burden, the responsibility of materialism.
Anytime you own something, you must maintain it, clean it, protect it,
Insure it, give it away, lose it, throw it away, break it, repair it, consume it, et cetera ad infinitum.
Whatever the case, in the grand scheme of all things quantum matrix indivisible,
You and it are but dust-to-dust creations intertwined for all time,
And before and after that brief window, as well.
* * * *
What to do when neither creation nor preservation nor destruction draw you anymore.
What to do when even the indivisible has lost the verve of point and purpose and meaning.
* * * *
All we think we know is but a grain of sand in an infinity of unknowable unknownness,
And in reality, all our invention is nothing more than the happenstance
Of our own genetically habituated imagination.
It is all a mystery, nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
The human paradigm is immersed in the stew of its own self-made knowledge.
The mind’s voracious, insatiable, craving-to-know nature blinds itself.
The screens, the veils, the shrouds, the divisions of knowledge,
No matter how scholarly, no matter how insightful,
Are the source, the creator of all delusion.
The space-time matrix, as tangibly real as it seems,
Is but the invention of an imagination-laced quantum dream.
* * * *
You need not allow the world into your eternal sovereignty,
Unless you feel like being mesmerized by the quantum illusion,
And all the habituated conditioning it has in the given mind stirred.
* * * *
Still searching for meaning and purpose?
Cannot you hear them giggling and twittering
As they scamper through the passages of your mind?
* * * *
Modern psychology considers so many behaviors to be disorders,
That it is a wonder anyone can get past the prescribed self-loathing,
And treat themselves with a reasonable dollop of care and respect.
* * * *
Science and politics are mutually-exclusive dynamics.
To politicize science is an absolute absurdity foisted
By blatant obfuscation of its point and purpose.
* * * *
Time rises and falls in every mind,
And is but a biological mutation in the evolution of humankind.
It does not truly exist as anything more than the mind-made, imaginary notion of consciousness.
There is only this now … and now this now … and now this now … and now this now …
An immeasurable quantum matrix, ever-kaleidoscoping, eternally indivisible.
* * * *
To believe you can change anything
In the patterning running this merry show
Is absurdly laughable to the nth degree.
* * * *
You are playing the script of space-time's patterning,
But you are not the script, you are not the part,
You are not the body, you are not the mind.
It is all nothing more than a quantum dream.
* * * *
Would Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Krishna, Mohammed,
And all the other mythological religious titans of ancient worlds
Be Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Krishna, Mohammed, and whoever else enough
For all the tradition-bound ivory towers they have spawned?
* * * *
This incredible, boggling quantum matrix that we call a universe,
Is playing out in indivisible, inviolable, indiscriminate perfection.
* * * *
Ahh, for those beautiful moments
When mind loses all purpose and meaning,
And being is more than enough.
* * * *
What need for insatiable consumption once mind’s hunger has subsided,
Once habitual thinking has melted back into the awareness of all origins.
* * * *
The stillness, the eternal life of the awareness prior to consciousness,
What more could you possibly be than the supreme virtue of the eternal unicity?
Will there come a moment when you never again subscribe to the manifest quantum matrix?
Will there come a moment when the mind born of time no longer calls you?
* * * *
You have been brainwashed, hypnotized, conditioned, programmed,
Indoctrinated, molded, convinced, mesmerized, trained, habituated, spellbound, inured, compelled,
Into believing this world and all its creations are real and important.
Think again.
* * * *
What is any universe but a sensory play
Founded on the traits of the given life form’s patterning
In humans there are the five senses – sight, sound, smell, taste, feeling –
But is your cosmos any more or less tangible than any other creature’s genomic blueprint?
* * * *
The creations of physics and chemistry and biology
Have again and again conspired to shape you, to pattern you,
Into a false identity that you might again and again awaken to your Self.
Is the matrix any more than a ruse to explore the mystery in every way imaginable?
* * * *
The hands of time spin the fate of humankind into an abyss of its own making.
Human consciousness cannot forever maintain the raging pace hat its insatiable nature ordains.
As any cockroach instinctively realizes, existence is a marathon, not a sprint.
* * * *
What is any world, any universe, any hologram, any matrix,
But a kaleidoscoping dream inspired by a sensory quantum feed.
A light and sound show vibrating away in the given mind’s neural trail.
* * * *
Extinction is an inherent, intractable fact of life.
Most of what you once remembered is long-forgotten.
Granted, it may still be locked somewhere in the neuron trail,
But for all practical purpose, access denied is the same as forgotten.
It was never more than vague, imaginary perception anyway,
So, oh well, so it goes, deal with it, get over it, move on.
* * * *
Each and every seed has its own epic journey, a one-time play in the space-time matrix.
A concoction of heaven and hell in an imaginary backdrop, real and unreal all the while.
* * * *
Yet another anthropological event, a meme,
To be gotten through, to be enjoyed or endured,
As is every other indivisibly timeless moment.
* * * *
There is no need to dread what you do not believe, what you do not distinguish real and true.
Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and monsters in dark forests, are but cultural memes for children,
As is everything rendered for adults adrift in the muddle of uncritical, gullible, credulous minds.
* * * *
The body issues forth from the indelible quantum mystery;
From the merger of the seeds of male and female.
The brain gradually interprets the senses to engineer the mind of self.
The mind that is molded, sculpted, conditioned; the mind that ever bends to its given nurture,
To its environment, to its window of time, all fostered by the play of imagination.
An ever-expanding cosmos of consciousness burst into being;
Indelible quantum mystery all the while.
* * * *
We are all just actors here; players, thespians,
Automatically, spontaneously, extemporaneously,
Playing out the perceived, imaginary, temporal roles
Nature-nurture has patterned us to believe real and true,
But really no more real and true than any man in the moon.
* * * *
The Fates: Clotho (Spinner), Lachesis (Allotter), and Atropos (Inflexible),
Will transport you wherever, however, whenever they will,
No matter your otherwise fruitless efforts.
* * * *
It is the body-mind’s instinctual patterning to always seek the illusion of security,
That gradually morphs it into so many variations of fear and loathing.
To stand aloof from the herd, to stand free and clear of all,
Is not a state, a quality of mind easily attained.
* * * *
Every human culture across time, across space,
Requires a great assumption, a great lie, at its foundation.
From that center, every tribe renders all decisions.
* * * *
Why would truth ever require meaning and purpose,
When it already is and is not, has ever and never been, will ever and never be,
All the meaning and purpose consciousness might ever prescribe.
* * * *
Human beings across the world, across time, spend much of their existence
Filling their conditioned minds with this and that, and that and this.
Ultimately, any story of awakening is about letting it all go.
* * * *
The conditioning is strong.
There is no way you can be free of it
But through becoming very still, very present,
Free and clear of all imaginary traces.
* * * *
The real Youness is prior to consciousness,
Prior to all conditioning, prior to all imaginary perceptions.
To realize the unconditional requires an abeyance
Only full attention to now can give.
* * * *
There is no saving anyone or anything in this temporal quantum theater.
There is only awakening or not awakening to the mystery,
And living out whatever fate is in store.
* * * *
Mu is a concept of negation used in Zen Buddhism,
But explored in a variety of other traditions prior to that.
It is a term defined as "no", "not", "nothing", or "without,”
As nothing, not, nothingness, un-, is not, has not, not any.
[1] Nonexistence; nonbeing; not having; a lack of, without.
[2] A negative.
[3] Caused to be nonexistent.
[4] Impossible; lacking reason or cause.
[5] Pure human awareness, prior to experience or knowledge.
[6] The 'original nonbeing' from which being is produced.
* * * *
There is no yoke to truth.
It is the conditioning of consciousness, of imagination,
That fabricates all encumbrance.
* * * *
We are but whims of the quantum matrix,
Players in a universe of differences
That are but vibratory illusion.
* * * *
History is matrix woven of ecstasies and agonies, glories and horrors,
To which the indivisible, timeless awareness has always been witness.
* * * *
But for the mind caught in its own snare, its own vice, its own egocentric notion,
There is no sure, no clear, no particular way anyone or anything must be.
The indelibly indivisible quantum mystery this all is, this all is not,
Is without any principle or meaning or purpose, whatsoever.
* * * *
What would this garden world become if humankind could just throw out all the memes:
Political, economic, religious, philosophical, cultural, and start all over again.
Can anyone even begin to envision what that mindset would be?
Would we, could we, truly create anything different?
Is it not obvious the monkey-mind
Is too entrenched in all its emotional passions,
All its imaginary impulses, to ever evolve from its jungle of origin.
The fate of our kind, of the world, of the universe, is etched in the sands of quantum.
* * * *
No matter how aware any you in any human form might be,
We are all caught up in every variety of habituated thought and action.
When dealing with minds going round and round in dysfunctional circular loops,
Well-intentioned advice and support are generally futile and exhausting.
How many times any well-meaning Samaritan gives it a go,
Is always dependent on the level of sainthood,
To which s/he feels committed.
* * * *
Very challenging to participate in the world, and not get drawn in believing it all real.
The conditioning, the habituation, is strong, and the mind weak and easily distracted.
* * * *
Are you required to contemplate the world, to reflect upon the human paradigm?
Or is it merely the repetitive groove, the arduous furrow, of an educated, cultivated,
Indoctrinated, habituated, programmed, conditioned, brainwashed frame of reference?
* * * *
You know because you agree to know.
You esteem knowledge because your conditioning
Has disciplined you to commit to memory minutiae unending.
It is the underpinning of all identity, and commotion and spectacle unending.
The human paradigm in a nutshell.
* * * *
While some prance about one great stage or another,
The fate of most seers is to reign alone, quietly unknown.
* * * *
These many thoughts mean to me whatever they mean to you.
All translation is filtered through the conditioning of the beholder.
* * * *
There is only the ever-present moment,
There is only the timeless awareness prior to consciousness,
And there is no need to habitually encumber it with every variety of imaginary notion
Of what was, what is, and what might or might not be.
* * * *
What is history but a collection of ambiguous perceptions,
Superimposed as reality, oftentimes for ulterior purpose.
* * * *
There will never be political, economic, or social resolution to the human condition.
Consciousness itself would need to evolve into making the paradigm shift,
And that is about as likely as flying pigs or raining cats and dogs.
* * * *
Most human beings are mindlessly happy, mindlessly content,
With the given conditioning, the given frame of reference, the given idolatry.
To be a seer, doubt is required, and disbelief, skepticism, cynicism, are scarce commodities.
No point in trying to debate, to persuade, to convert, any true believer.
All must ultimately discern truth alone in their own way.
In other words, mind your own awareness.
* * * *
You may well be able to do just about anything with that finite cadaver,
But you cannot do anything to any great degree all the time,
Without the bite of some inevitable consequence,
And more than likely quite a few.
What fate, what destiny, are you crafting?
* * * *
The quantum mystery creates you, and you in return perceive it,
In whatever way the conditioning of your consciousness ordains.
* * * *
Humankind has been playing out its pattern of dualistic self-absorption for thousands of years.
And through most, it was possible, with relatively little consequence, to pillage the world in every way.
But those daze are long over; consequences are daily becoming more apparent, more amplified.
Clean air, clean water, clean ground, seemingly limitless resources, are all plumbed out.
There is a looming wall fast-approaching: tick, tick, tick, time is running out.
* * * *
The indivisible matrix will not even chirp a warble
When the last hominoid one day dissolves
Back into the quantum mist.
* * * *
What is the best word to describe the passing of time?
Moving? Fleeting? Marching? Happening? Unfolding? Streaming?
Emanating? Projecting? Reflecting? Kaleidoscoping? Matrixing? Holographing?
The mystery that defies any and all description would likely guffaw long and hard, had it a voice.
The indivisible, ephemeral now is all there is; time is but the creation of imagination.
* * * *
The awareness you are observes the body breathing in, breathing out.
The awareness you are observes the mind thinking this, thinking that.
The awareness you are, call it what you will: observer, watcher, witness;
Always ever-present, always motionless, always changeless, always ageless.
An eternal mystery traveling dreams of time in mortal patterns of every hue.
* * * *
How can there be karma if you are nothing more than the eternal moment?
Karma is but another illusory, another imaginary notion,
Playing in the smoke of the given mind.
* * * *
Creation is the awareness, through quantum stardust, evolving from atoms into molecules,
Mutating into genes, into cells, into life forms, playing out consciousness,
In whatever way the patterning of the mystery allows.
And the one and only you, the real you, always the witness.
* * * *
Conscience, scruples, principles, standards, values,
Ethics, ideals, virtues, integrity, morality, right and wrong;
Pillars of civilization for those who have a full belly and a safe harbor.
* * * *
Never an easy task to re-condition, re-habituate, re-acclimate, re-orient,
Re-train an old dog, whether of the four-legged variety, or a mere two.
* * * *
Born of an intangible, indelible, ineffable, indivisible mystery,
Over which we have little or no say, little or no control, little or no anything.
We are all alone, together, playing out our whimsical little fates
Which ultimately have no meaning, whatsoever.
* * * *
Is there really a universe, a cosmos jam-packed with galaxies?
Or simply an indivisible matrix, an awareness,
Timelessly dreaming a universe?
* * * *
To give your self completely over to the awareness,
Is to be free of conditioning, witness to the dream.
* * * *
What a beast, deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) in its mindless quest for immortality,
That it would relentlessly persevere in propagating consciousness,
Into so many hazardous, torturous circumstances:
Ailments, illnesses, infections, viruses, syndromes, diseases,
Maladies, disorders, accidents, disasters, misfortunes, catastrophes,
Mishaps, malaise, mayhem, turmoil, havoc, bedlam, anarchy, pandemonium,
Calamites, conflicts, and every other sort of indescribably painful whatever ad infinitum.
* * * *
You might become excruciatingly aware of your conditioning,
Your indoctrination, your habituation, your domestication,
Your brainwashing, your programming, your encoding,
But whether or not you can fundamentally change it,
Is an experiment you must investigate very much alone.
* * * *
Purpose and meaning and all the passions of vanity are overrated.
Only in unmitigated detachment, is there any resolution to the human absurdity.
Stop knowing, stop caring, stand alone, wander alone, absolute and free.
* * * *
Scientists are explorers of the mysterious unknown, of the perpetual enigma,
Using ever-evolving technology to fathom beyond the limits of the sensory panorama,
Yet restricted all the while, by the conditioned mind through which they perceive,
Through which they futilely measure but a veil of that which is immeasurable.
* * * *
Awareness peers out from the empty stillness through the filters of consciousness,
Which tailor the world, the universe, to its own conditioned, self-absorbed design.
* * * *
We all have many things that draw us, many interests that lead us down our long and winding pathway.
It could be family or friends or community or work or politics or religion or business or Ivory Tower
Or creativity or nature or travel or cooking or shopping or sports or current events or heroic causes
Or sex or gambling or drugs or lying or cheating or stealing or wreaking or blathering incoherently,
Or merely perching day after day in front of a television or computer, or in taverns and coffee shops.
The scroll is as long as imagination allows – we encounter many things in our given windows of time.
But as our dream streams on, as we grow older, our diversions, our amusements, slowly whittle down,
And whatever it is in the end that drums most loudly in our mind’s eye will be the capstone of one’s fate.
* * * *
The sense of Self exists only for as long as the corporeal mind-body is able to function
In the manner its nature-nurture conditioning has concocted.
Its inevitable death annihilates all.
All attachment to the temporal is pointless.
* * * *
The conditioning, the habituation, the programming, the indoctrination, the brainwashing,
Is hypnotizing, mesmerizing, absorbing, enthralling, spellbinding, captivating, convincing, blinding,
How much more challenging it is to be what you really, truly are, than what you pretend to be.
* * * *
No belief, no faith, no dogma, is required.
Let go of consciousness, of thought, of imagination.
Simply be the awareness you truly are.
Simply be the given here now.
* * * *
The only law in a Darwinian world is the ability to adapt to change.
It may not be the strongest or the most intelligent that continue,
But by enabling weakness, by fostering political correctness,
Civilization assures its decline and eventual destruction.
* * * *
The burden of time,
The burden of history,
The burden of tradition,
Are the burden of mind.
* * * *
Does the tiger think itself a tiger? The whale, a whale?
The shark, a shark? The crow, a crow? The snake, a snake? The frog, a frog?
The ant, an ant? The spider, a spider? The worm, a worm? The weed, a weed? A microbe, a microbe?
Or do they all merely act out the given instinctual patterns,
That all this mystery’s creatures small to great,
Play out in harmonized fashion; a ballet that knows no bounds.
And is humankind, despite all the pretenses of consciousness, really doing any different?
* * * *
The quantum matrix is a timeless, spaceless, immeasurable fact.
Measure it, appraise it, in every way imaginable until kingdom come,
All you will ever calculate, all you will ever speculate, is but the veil of illusion.
* * * *
Awareness, the source of all creation, knows nothing.
Self-knowledge is but the imaginary fabrication of consciousness.
Without the matrix of quantum indivisibility, without the dream of otherness,
There would be no reflection, there would be no inquiry into the mystery of all mysteries.
And even in that reflection, as expansive or focused as it might be,
The inexplicable remains forever inexplicable.
Soundbites
For some it takes a fair amount of lifetime for one’s calling to become apparent.
* * * *
What need does a newborn have for belief?
* * * *
Better to break a heart, than to stay with someone, for whom you feel no calling.
* * * *
You, whose fate it is to think you are.
* * * *
It has all happened so that this matrix of a moment could happen.
* * * *
Sometimes you just need to break with the routine.
* * * *
No matter how hard you try, you cannot deprive fate its munchie.
* * * *
To see it clearly for what it is, is the fulfillment of DNA’s destiny.
* * * *
How meaningless any principles to any given moment.
* * * *
Ethics is the luxury of a full belly and a safe harbor.
* * * *
No human outcome can ever but hope to be more dynamic than its collective vision.
* * * *
Belief has nothing to do with the reality, the truth of what is, and what is not.
* * * *
Thinking is just another habit, just like all the rest.
* * * *
If you would avoid the fate of moths, stay clear of the flame.
* * * *
Patterns rule.
* * * *
There you go again, looking for the literal, in what is, ultimately, just a matrix of metaphors.
* * * *
Any given culture only has so many spare teats to go around.
* * * *
What is the matrix but an elemental fishbowl.
* * * *
Yes, yes, we know it is an indivisible pattern, now what?
* * * *
Holding on to the world is but the mind bound to habit.
* * * *
All belief systems have their extremes; moderation is a rare talent.
* * * *
The quantum indivisibility, given meaning and purpose, however temporary it may be.
* * * *
It is the patterns, not history, that repeat themselves.
* * * *
You have it as it suits your purpose.
* * * *
The patterning is early done.
* * * *
What coincidence that we make our gods as petty as we.
* * * *
What is the world, the universe, but a habit formed by the conditioning of time.
* * * *
What is a calling, but an inexplicable inclination, whose source is unknown.
* * * *
The quantum plays out every pattern with immaculate perfection.
* * * *
The winds of nature-nature partner up to write the program sometimes called fate.
* * * *
Though the patterns recycle again and again, no mind can ever think the same.
* * * *
What is belief but believing in so many things; all of it, in fact.
* * * *
The matrix is both infinitesimally and infinitely singular.
* * * *
Though it is but a brief dream, your mortal fate is unchangeable and inescapable.
* * * *
All fates are sculpted by the same wind.
* * * *
No belief can achieve what you already are.
* * * *
It takes a matrix.
* * * *
Discern your fate ultimately no different than any other particle of stardust.
* * * *
Perception rides the neuron trails, gradually sculpting them into their nature-nurture fate.
* * * *
Is your existence any more than a streaming sack of vaporous habits?
* * * *
Attachment to outcomes is a sure road to perdition.
* * * *
Scientific objectivity is flushed down the drain, when funding dictates a self-serving outcome.
* * * *
Is there a fate that inspires you enough to give your life over to it?
* * * *
Is civilization really anything more than organized savagery slathered with pretense?
* * * *
Meaning and purpose, why?
* * * *
Each of us has our own fate in mind.
* * * *
Every life form great to small is but a pattern, a quantum receiving unit in the slot allotted.
* * * *
Desire and fear are nothing more than habits of the sensory mind-body.
* * * *
Love is best done unconditionally or not at all.
* * * *
Morality and ethics are the antithesis of our Darwinian roots.
* * * *
Just putting in the time, in whatever way the serendipity calls, is my lawless.
* * * *
Every mind is drawn to a fate of its own making.
* * * *
What indifferent beasts, the Fates.
* * * *
Humankind seems incapable of any other mode of behavior but squabbling self-interest.
* * * *
The known mind is a finite pattern; awareness, infinite potential.
* * * *
What is the purpose of any culture, but to mold the young into its version of inanity.
* * * *
Each mind a meme unto its Self.
* * * *
'Tis meme-ish faire.
* * * *
History is the albatross every culture hangs upon its young.
* * * *
Who-what-where-when-why-how are you, but an imaginary, conditioned frame of reference.
* * * *
You may be guilty by someone else’s standards, but are you guilty in your own?
* * * *
Do you really know your own mind, or are you nothing more than a dittohead meme?
* * * *
How indifferent the genetic lottery to the cruel fates it so often casts.
* * * *
No, you do not have to do it that way; you can break the pattern, maybe.
* * * *
Wealthy beyond belief.
* * * *
Nothing is calling you.
* * * *
If you believe only the countless lies the senses weave, your destiny is mortal faire.
* * * *
Any language is dead without the culture from which it was fashioned.
* * * *
You are doing the matrix, and the matrix is doing you.
* * * *
Was that an accident? Or intentional? You will never be quite sure.
* * * *
The beingness prior to belief requires no dogma.
* * * *
Watch that record play and play and play, over and over and over, memes all.
* * * *
Yet another harbinger of the fate in store.
* * * *
Ethics is best served on a full belly from a secure perch.
* * * *
You are all there is, all there ever was, all there will ever be: Where is the karma in that?
* * * *
Thought is but a habit, which only mindful breathing breaks.
* * * *
Quantum matrixing.
* * * *
We are all patterns; some more complex, some more exotic, than others.
* * * *
The incessant chatter is but a confabulation of your conditioning.
* * * *
No one can help you fulfill your destiny past any uncertain point.
* * * *
The many-faced god is a many-fated god.
* * * *
The weight of tradition falls heavier and heavier upon every new generation.
* * * *
We are all playing out one meme or another, perhaps several.
* * * *
As simple as it is, weaning your Self from the habitual mind is no easy task.
* * * *
Yes, there is a quantum matrix, through which awareness gazes, and it is all you.
* * * *
Can the mind be reprogrammed, reconditioned, or is awareness the only key?
* * * *
Accidents happen; that is why they are called accidents.
* * * *
History does not repeat itself, but the patterns do.
* * * *
The point and purpose, is whatever you imagine it to be, or not to be, no question.
* * * *
Are you a conditioned identity, or just awareness pretending to be a conditioned identity?
* * * *
Your entire existence is nothing more than a stream of habitual thinking.
* * * *
Tradition is only as real as it is given the weight attention.
* * * *
Belief, faith, hope: the triage of the mind caught in the delusions of time.
* * * *
You are only a human being if you abide the conditioning.
* * * *
Reality transcends belief and faith and hope.
* * * *
To master contentment is to waylay all fates.
* * * *
Are you really any more than a repetitive body bag of habitual thinking?
* * * *
All you can do is keep walking toward whatever fate is in store.
* * * *
A vast quantum matrix conceived and nurtured in your imaginary mind.
* * * *
Trials are but the winds of fate, the course of which can only at best be vaguely set.
* * * *
All you can do is play the fate your mind-body inspires in this garden world.
* * * *
To discern your passion, your raison d'être, is the most true fate.
* * * *
Where is the line between the attention of caution and the obsession of paranoia?
* * * *
What do you do with the truth that has neither meaning, nor purpose, nor reality?
* * * *
We all get locked in our conditioned recording, playing out the rutted mind round and round.
Breadcrumbs
Bit by bit, ditty after ditty, one ditty at a time.
Who knows how many have been written, and more than that,
But for those so many lost by unbidden chance and inattentive happenstance.
The fate, the fates, oh what destiny do they reckon before time’s end?
* * * *
These many thoughts are left for humankind’s unfolding reverie,
Written by a witness, a seer, who was born in 1953 A.D.
To what duration he cannot at this writing say.
Geographically, it was called Northern California
During the agricultural-industrial-technological epoch
Of the United States of America, a nation-state
In what seemed the zenith and early decline
Of civilization as he elected to perceive it.
But history knows many such epochs,
So the accuracy of all predictions in time
Is for future scholars to ponder and pontificate,
As they always have, and undoubtedly, always will.
* * * *
Not all callings earn a paycheck.
* * * *
A happy fate it is to be all but ignored.
To wander, witness to it all, anonymous.
* * * *
Can you feel that meme’s dull, rusty blade, carving through your trachea,
Down through the artery, while your screams turn into a frothy gurgle?
* * * *
What an ironically hollow fate, a laughably absurd fate,
To have given so much of the existence given,
To setting down these many thoughts,
For a potential readership,
So few of which,
One will ever chance to meet.
* * * *
The memes are too strong, too fierce, too greedy for more.
Just cannot summon the energy to fight the fight that needs to be fought
To put this out-of-control dream on a more sustainable track
Of caring guardianship of this frail world.
* * * *
Time to wrap up this life’s work,
Its point and purpose, its raison d'être,
To whatever end fate allows.
* * * *
Whether or not there will be legs or wings to all these thoughts,
Whether or not the seeds that have been tossed into so many minds,
Will blossom into something more in humanity’s journey,
Is for time’s telling by some yet-to-come watcher
Of the all-things-quantum-matrix kind.
* * * *
Have you ever read this one before,
Or is all this silly patter blurring together?
It certainly has for this Sisyphus in the daily toil,
Wrestling the rock of vanity up the hill.
And still they bubble, bubble
From mind to paper,
Each unique in its own little way.
An inexplicable calling, a mystery, indeed.
* * * *
The scribe’s foremost habit in this world
Has been writing the fleeting perceptions
Observed in his stream of consciousness.
Something to do with the journalistic sense
Of the human drama as he has witnessed it.
An idle, somewhat meaningless academic bent
In the mind’s passionate, surrealistic sensory drama,
A journey on the far side if there ever was one.
* * * *
The calling is nearly complete.
So many adventures to reach this point,
This awareness without measure.
* * * *
You were born to write this, El Escribasimo.
It is your calling, it is your fate, it is your destiny.
* * * *
Consciousness has written all this
For whatever purpose, if any, only it knows.
As sages across time and space have left similar thoughts,
So, too, shall these be left to time's reckoning.
* * * *
These writings are adrift
In the abyss of this world's future.
It is too late to reel them in.
Their fate, if any,
Is unknown.
* * * *
The scribe knew enough
To throw together a smattering of words
As defined by the education and existence he was offered.
We are all patterns within the ephemeral matrix,
In which the senses play out time.
* * * *
Birth may fire up the Holodeck, and death turn off the switch in its Twilight Zone,
But whether the Matrix plays on forever and ever is known only to some higher pay grade.
All that can be offered here is the greatest non-fui-non-sum-non-curo to which this mind has access.
* * * *
Yet again bemoaning the garden’s destiny
When its subjugation and destruction
Has made you and all this possible.
Irony and paradox can mask harsh truth.
* * * *
When I was much younger than today,
There was a recurring nightmare of being smothered,
Of being trapped in some deep silo, with beans pouring down upon me.
It went away once I realized it was the conditioning encroaching upon the inherent freedom.
It was the beginning of a long climb to reclaim that which I truly am,
That which we and all things truly are.
* * * *
It is not about me, unless you are referring to the me that is you,
And everything else, in this unfathomable matrix cum laude.
* * * *
Absolutely mad, mad beyond belief, of that there can be little doubt.
* * * *
It has been a remarkable thing to exist, to be a witness to the beyond-all-pales incomprehensibility
Of this imaginary make-believe theater, kaleidoscoping in a space-time-continuum illusion.
But I am long over this hollow touchy-feely, three-dimensional, dreamtime matrix.
I yearn for oblivion, for nothingness, and am only putting up with existence,
Until the body-mind becomes too agonizing, or the world too annoying,
To want to bother about waking up to battle windmills ever again.
Alas, I am afraid life is akin to a cold that will not go away,
A case of “you-can-check-out-any-time-you-like-but-you-can-never-leave.”
Not me in the manifest-worldly-time-bound sense, of course, but me ever just the same.
* * * *
A Rumpelstiltskin, I am, I am, a mischievous sprite of the two-legged kind,
Putting together all these ditties, for what time may or may not come,
From the straw of this mind’s harvest, a task for which this life,
Was into spontaneous serendipity and happenstance cast.
* * * *
You are not by any chance a terrorist following me with a dull, rusty knife, are you?
Not a question to ask anyone with hallmark features and or behaviors of Arab descent.
* * * *
All this has been spontaneously written in the wandering moments
For a destiny most unclear at this point in time.
A strange fate, indeed.
* * * *
I am about exploring consciousness in my singular way,
So, to Hades with all your meme-ridden judgments
And sundry notions of political correctness.
* * * *
The reality is, any given reader may or may not comprehend these thoughts as they were meant.
The reflections offered are ever subject to the frame of reference of the observer.
No thinker, no philosopher, can ever presume his or her views,
Will not be used for unintended purpose.
* * * *
Am long past thinking humankind will ever transcend its all-too-predictable patterning.
We are a mind-boggling collection of cancerous maniacs from the jungle get-go of our origin.
The only question is whether we will obliterate the garden before it manages to off us.
Or we ourselves, or maybe very hungry alien insects or a big fucking comet.
* * * *
This is my work, my calling, my raison d'être.
It pays nothing, offers nothing, is overseen by nothing.
Vanity is its birthplace, contentment and peace the only reward.
* * * *
Will these thoughts, too, be usurped by one meme or another?
* * * *
Meme Michael
* * * *
The quantum mystery has done did every sort of mystic seer, and now me,
A ne'er-do-well curmudgeon cast by the fates into the light of awareness.
* * * *
Playing to the audience of me-my-Self-and-I in the moiville of time,
Makes for a purer abstract of whatever thoughts come to mind.
It avoids the politics of trying to appease any given crowd.
Yielding to any meme, any groupthink, any limitation,
No matter how minimal, only muddies the streaming flow.
* * * *
Who but me could ever read all this, much less write it.
An inexplicable, inordinate, unexpected fate, to be sure.
* * * *
Predictability, a vice to which I prefer not succumb,
But, alas, a state with which I am, as in any pattern’s inevitability,
Compelled to comply in many ways, many shapes, many forms, in this mortal fray.
* * * *
It took a fair slice of life to discern the calling you herein read.
* * * *
I am the son of eternity, as are you if it is your fate to discern it.
* * * *
Bookstores and libraries and personal collections and landfills and burning piles,
Chock-full of books that relatively few ever even peruse, much less read.
Very little doubt the likely destiny of these many thoughts, as well.
Oh well, so it goes, dealt with it, got over it, moved on.
How pleasant it has been to read every word,
Many of them more than a few times.
* * * *
Soon enough, I shall join the graveyard of dead philosophers,
And all this absurd babble will play to what end, I need neither know nor care.
Likely as not, it will evaporate back into the prior-to-consciousness abyss, relatively undiscerned,
And the human species shall continue racing madly toward the dualistic destiny
Ordained by its vanity-laced Darwinian genomic predisposition,
Which is so oh-well-so-it-goes-deal-with-it-get-over-it-move-on the way it is,
In the grand schemelessness of all things manifestly grist-for-the-mill eternally indivisible.
* * * *
It took a long time in earth years to figure out my calling in this mortal existence,
Which, of course, provided a larger frame of reference, more writing material,
From which to articulate clarity and insight to an all but empty auditorium.
* * * *
All this random babble has been scribed over a period of going-on thirty years.
Apologies for all the repetition, but it is more a journal of whatever springs into mind,
Than it is any kind of cohesive narrative, or cohesive anything, for that or any other matter.
Basically, it all boils down to this fact: You are the indivisible, timeless mystery,
And for all practical and impractical purposes, you are on you own.
Rotsa ruck, best wishes, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
The Corollaries of Yaj Ekim
Chuang-Tzu (The Butterfly as Companion):
Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.
Yaj Ekim's Corollary:
Or neither dreaming both.
Mickey Knox's father’s last words
Before he blows his head off with a shotgun
(Natural Born Killers):
Do you believe in fate, boy?
Yaj Ekim's Corollary:
Nothing but.
* * * *
Walt Whitman:
I think I could turn and live with animals. They are so placid and self-contained. I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition. They do no lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins. They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God. Not one is dissatisfied. Not one is demented with the mania of owning things. Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago. Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth.
Yaj Ekim's Corollary:
So lucky, and they don’t even know it.
* * * *
Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address:
Four score and seven years ago
Our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation,
Conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:
Do not be in denial, do not be deluded, about the fact that the United States of America,
With its Declaration of Independence, Constitution, Bill of Rights, and who knows how many laws,
Was founded upon the genocide of the Americans who inhabited it long before Columbus,
The enslavement of tribal peoples abducted from their village homes in Africa,
And destruction and annihilation, all across the planet ever since.
George Orwell in Animal Farm:
All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.
Thucydides in the History of the Peloponnesian Wars:
Right, as the world goes, is only in question between equals in power,
While the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.
* * * *
Ambrose Bierce (The Devil's Dictionary):
CYNIC, n. A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
Hence the custom among the Scythians of plucking out a cynic's eyes to improve his vision.
Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:
Fortunately, and whew, them Scythians have gone quantum,
but keeping an eye out just in case.
* * * *
Albert Camus:
There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.
Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:
Scorning away.
* * * *
Common Meme:
History repeats itself.
Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:
History does not repeat itself; the patterns do.
* * * *
Ethics:
Ethics or moral philosophy is a branch of philosophy that "involves systematizing, defending,
and recommending concepts of right and wrong behavior". The field of ethics, along with aesthetics,
concerns matters of value, and thus comprises the branch of philosophy called axiology.
Ethics seeks to resolve questions of human morality by defining concepts such as good and evil,
right and wrong, virtue and vice, justice and crime. As a field of intellectual inquiry, moral philosophy
also is related to the fields of moral psychology, descriptive ethics, and value theory.
Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:
Ethics is the luxury of a full belly and a safe harbor.
Possible Last Words & Epitaphs
There is no fate which cannot be surmounted by scorn ~ Albert Camus
* * * *
Why wait for the Fates to decide my end by some other foul hand?
Whose hand was better suited for my own departure than my own?
* * * *
An AMA lab rat, the fate of many.
* * * *
Destiny is dust
* * * *
Destiny is all
* * * *
Death trumps destiny again
The Way It Is (An Unfinished Essay)
It is a curious thing to me, and I am sure many others …
A collusion of imagination
You cannot save the planet until you understand inwardly, at a quantum level, that you are the planet, and the universe from which it is spun.
Make-believe, a world-wide game of make-believe.
A wake-up called for the human species. Sort of an emperor’s-wearing-no-clothes moment, if you will.
It is a very curious thing how imagination rules the human drama. It is the source of everything we do, everything we as a species have created, and yet we have not come to grips with it enough really understand it, or to use it in ways that are truly harmonious and relatively beneficial to all, and to all those yet unborn who will follow.
We are endlessly caught up in all the assumptions, all the differences, all the polarizations, all the absurdities over this or that. We seem unable to fathom the fundamental commonality of the mortality that we all endure. We seem unable to see that everything is connected, everything is made of the same clay, everything is swimming in the same quantum sea, everything is of the same origin. Whatever name or belief we may give it, and there are so many across the world throughout human history, we find every reason to create further division rather that surrender to the simplicity, the indivisibility at every core.
No matter your color, class, caste, creed, culture, language, sex, class, all the things you imagine you are, at the source we are all very much the same. We all love, we all hate, we all cry, we all work, we all consume, we all feel alone, we occupy ourselves in every way imaginable.
This is not an ideal, this is a fact. We have so much more in common at the primal source than can ever be imagined. It is unfortunate that most of us are unable to discern this simple truth, that we are so caught up in our individual and cultural histories, and all the beliefs they have inspired, that we are unable to work together to achieve our full potential, to realign with this amazing pearl of a world, this wondrous garden, that we have so badly damaged in every way.
We are so caught up in our greed, our self-interest, our divisive beliefs, our security, our politics, our color, our sexuality, divisive this, divisive that.
Everything we think is imagined. Everything about ourselves, everything about others, everything about our geography of origin, everything about our world, everything about the universe, everything about anything … is imagined. All our inner struggles, all our outer struggles are born of imagination.
The choice between heaven and hell, between harmony and disharmony, between peace and war, is a choice each of us in every moment makes.
Prior to consciousness, prior to imagination, we are all very much the same.
We can emphasize the differences, or we can discern the unimpeachable commonality.
And we are quickly running out of time. The decisions we are making together every moment of every day, the synergy of all our actions combined in the play of time, are creating a future that few of us would likely want to endure. And yet we give so little thought to the world that our grandchildren, their grandchildren, and the grandchildren a thousand years hence – assuming we as a species, assuming this garden of a planet, can even survive that long – will endure.
A very curious thing, indeed, how imagination rules the human drama.
Surely, I am not the only one who feels like an alien here.
Standout Duplicates
Used in “The Stillness Before Time” 2017 Revision/Expansion
Nothing wrought of this quantum genesis is ultimately real.
Everything is imagined, everything is dreamily timeless.
All indivisibly appearing, all indivisibly disappearing,
Within and without the eternal matrix of awareness.
* * * *
It is consciousness that suffers, not you.
The awareness is without laws or principles or ideals.
What consciousness believes are but choices founded in delusion.
* * * *
The mind-body is a temporal vessel of finite patterning,
In which the infinite has potential to consciously manifest.
Standout Duplicates from “The Return to Wonder”
Chapter One
It is consciousness that suffers, not you.
The awareness is without laws or principles or ideals.
What consciousness believes are but choices founded in delusion.
* * * *
Nothing wrought of this quantum genesis is ultimately real.
Everything is imagined, everything is dreamily timeless.
All indivisibly appearing, all indivisibly disappearing,
Within and without the eternal matrix of awareness.
* * * *
Traditions and dogmas and rituals and symbols
Are nothing more than distracting, empty encumbrances
For those yearning to regain their essential, absolute birthright.
Chapter Two
If all sentient beings were to awaken at once,
Consciousness would not, could not, be the adventure it is.
So, the relentless, gnashing, grinding, kaleidoscope of bondage and suffering
Spins on in its mysterious, unfolding dreamtime destiny.
* * * *
The identity, the persona, the ego, the self, however it is called,
Is but a temporal, mortal, fabrication of mind and senses,
And their weaving with the culture, the mythology,
Of the space and time in which it sets sail.
Chapter Three
Liberation requires unconditional surrender of identity; there is no compromise.
Chapter Four
When you truly discern none of it ultimately real,
You will find desire and fear no longer govern the day to day.
That the reality of the awareness in consciousness is timeless, changeless.
The you immersed in myriad limitations born of conditioning,
Becomes the indivisible, unborn, choiceless You,
That which is prior to all creation.
* * * *
We all create our own meaning and purpose.
All are equally valid, and all, just as equally invalid.
Play whatever playhouse you will, none are ultimately real.
* * * *
The mind has made a habit of believing it is an identity.
Chapter Five
The imaginary persona is not what you truly are.
Discern the indivisible you, surrender to the isness.
The solitary journey to manifest the unconditional reality
Is the raison d'être of this kaleidescoping quantum dreamtime.
All else is nothing more than absorbing distraction.
* * * *
Every culture molds individual conformity
To whatever mythos it prescribes.
It takes discerning courage
To discover and be what you truly are.
There is no freedom in incarnating a prescribed life.
* * * *
When all ambition and purpose is released,
You return to the naturally flowering awareness
Free of the burden of psychological identification.
To discern and own this peaceful, dreamlike freedom
Requires an inward simplicity, a detached humility,
An upheaval from the birthplace of all beingness.
* * * *
You can only know what you are conditioned to believe,
Or what you garner through your own experience.
Be free, be content, to know nothing, as well.
* * * *
To awaken to its inexplicable, timeless, indivisibly absolute awareness,
Is surely the ultimate point and purpose of this manifest quantum paradigm.
Chapter Six
Do not subscribe to any ists, any isms.
Use all teachings only as tools to discern for yourself
The unconditional freedom their founders brought to consciousness.
* * * *
No one observing you will ever see much.
You function and interact habitually,
Completing all required tasks
In much the same mode as before.
It is only within, out of exterior viewing,
That the absoluteness disclosures its handiwork,
The ineffable nature of its eternally timeless moment.
* * * *
The personality is merely a complex interaction of patterns.
Thoughts and emotions playing out the mind-body theater.
* * * *
Ignorance of the first and last state,
Denial of the unconditional nature of aloneness,
Only regenerate the suffering of time-bound consciousness.
* * * *
All manifestation is subject to the patterning,
While the source to which all patterns essentially subscribe,
Remains timelessly inexplicable, timelessly inscrutable, forever unknowable.
* * * *
The awareness that you truly are, call it whatever you will,
Is prior to all the suffering, prior to all the torments of consciousness:
Unconditional, indifferent, desireless, birthless, deathless, indivisibly timeless.
* * * *
Once you clearly discern the weaving of desire and fear,
How they patterned your personality becomes apparent.
* * * *
The mind-body is but a limited, partial receiver,
Discerning but a mere sliver of the all but infinite potential
Of the electromagnetic spectrum in this inscrutable hologram matrix.
Chapter Seven
If you spend your time debating whether this or that religion,
Whether this or that philosophy, is right or wrong, best or worst, good or bad,
Then you have really missed the essential point and purpose,
And own nothing but a mind of empty words.
* * * *
You were the original nature before your manifest genesis.
Since then, the conditioning of geographic collusions
Have denied you the awareness of that impersonal reality.
It is a challenging calling to discern and return to your birthright.
* * * *
Pure awareness does not differentiate sex, race, color, culture, creed or nationality.
That is nothing more than the capricious play of manifest human consciousness.
* * * *
Drugs in themselves are really not the problem.
Using them moderately, for right purpose, is the key.
* * * *
What to do with history and its countless mythologies born of time and circumstance.
Every language, every tradition, every ceremony, every symbol, imaginable.
The freest spirits throw off the yoke of even being a human being.
* * * *
It takes a great deal of discerning courage
To be vulnerable, unconditional, intelligent, content, total,
To allow no phenomena to deter opening your heart and mind to eternity.
* * * *
Parables in most every tradition point to the ultimate absolute nature
Yet most only hear the tale, and miss entirely the mystery of the lesson.
* * * *
Question everything.
Tear every assumption to pieces.
Only total revolution within can free your spirit
From the whatever conditioning the world has chained you.
* * * *
There is really no river to cross, nor ocean into which to merge.
The original nature is on both banks, and all shores,
And above and below, within and without,
Each and every point, as well.
The quantum matrix knows no other.
* * * *
Do not deny, do not doubt, the quantum nature, the quantum matrix, you truly are.
Call it divine, call it god, call it what is, call it whatever, the words do not matter.
* * * *
Memes rule.
Chapter Eight
Normal is the encasing ideal of culture.
It is the conditioning of tradition.
It is the denial of the flower.
* * * *
Those aware of the awareness neither need nor create nor foster
Any belief, any tradition, any ritual, any symbol, any dogmatic hierarchy.
That is the entangling outcome of those who are forever baffled,
Those who follow, those who imitate, those who recite.
* * * *
The dreamtime river is an ever-flowing quantum matrix.
Though mind may attempt to dam it, to channel it,
Or to encase it until it wallows in stagnation,
It ever remains eternally unconstrained.
* * * *
Hesitation, guilt, shame, remorse,
Are the plight of the conditioned mind.
Live each moment fully, and regret nothing.
* * * *
All lives are played out in one pattern or another.
The mind habitually requires the order of purpose and meaning,
Yet all purpose and meaning, is nothing more than the make-believe of delusion.
The realization that you are but a dream is the only salvation.
* * * *
All that is, is of the patterning, but what resides prior to all patterns?
Who cares whether you exist once, or expire times beyond counting?
Every moment's kaleidoscoping streamtime is the story’s true telling.
* * * *
The quantum matrix kaleidoscopes into human beings,
And humans imagine the mystery in their own image.
* * * *
Every culture creates an ethos to perpetuate its continuity.
Identification with any mindset, any tradition, is inevitably a quagmire.
To become eternally boundless, to realize absolute nature, to become the cosmic dance,
Discern that all mythos is nothing more than vain, arbitrary fabrication.
* * * *
Those claiming they are keepers of any given belief system, any given word,
Can never be more than false prophets and sordid hypocrites.
Even That I Am cannot know its origin.
Chapter Nine
Everything you see, hear, touch, taste, smell,
Every thought, every belief, everything known and intuited,
Is personal mythos, entirely of your own creation, your own imagination.
* * * *
An enlightened parent's purpose in life is to empower a child
Not to depend psychologically on them or anyone else.
Do not use the innocent to redeem your deficiency.
* * * *
Psychological dependency aborts sovereignty.
Chapter Ten
Life's seeming meaninglessness
Is a thin veneer disguising its purpose.
Rip off that mask and discover your real face.
* * * *
The quantum of humanity awakens at its own pace
Into conscious action in routine daily living.
Do not wait for others to follow suit.
* * * *
Each must find their way alone as suits disposition, interest, and capacity,
The mysterious givens of the manifest patterning that makes all unique.
* * * *
The mortal mind is a temporal, mysterious tapestry threaded by desire.
Fear and anger and obsession and every variety of vanity,
Are among the most negative outcomes.
* * * *
Some might argue owning this depends on karma,
That no one can accelerate or coerce the awakening.
Others contend it will happen if you simply desire it so.
Your own research into the matter is warranted.
* * * *
Those operating in a limited, conditioned view of godness
May see your light and may even invite you to reside in their fold,
But your vision of totality, they will likely never even begin to comprehend.
* * * *
Any belief that you are separate from the totality
Is founded entirely upon unwarranted delusion.
Chapter Eleven
Coincidences, are they really?
* * * *
Honor and respect your family, if possible,
But allow them no reign over your calling.
* * * *
Those who quest that which is true will discern it written about in many teachings.
But to actually be the awareness is to look prior to mere belief and faith.
Union with that which is absolute, that which is eternally real,
Is far more than hollow superstition and idolatry.
* * * *
The countless abuses of affluence have ever been set before you.
Those whose greed helms their destiny have neither heart nor mind for eternity.
Their absorption with gold and other shiny things blinds them to the reality of the. Mystery.
* * * *
Whether the emphasis is on one teacher or teaching,
Or a wander through a wide array of teachers and teachings,
All are in reality nothing more than masks of the same quantum matrix.
* * * *
Do you truly believe your puny little personality,
Your gratuitous perception of identity,
All your noxious little habits,
All your silly beliefs,
Are what will be someday reborn?
Chapter Twelve
The mind-body is a temporal vessel of finite patterning,
In which the infinite has potential to consciously manifest.
* * * *
You can never go back, you can never return, to what you once were.
You have seen too much, and can only carry on wherever the fates lead.
* * * *
Those using insight into the patterning for self-serving purpose do no one any favors.
* * * *
We are all drawn to the scale we can fathom; absoluteness is a rare calling.
Chapter Fourteen
Conditions set by any given mythos need not be more than endured.
* * * *
All identity is but a habit, a patterning of human conditioning.
The broom of discerning awareness sweeps it immaculate.
* * * *
It may be disturbing to realize that you do not really exist,
But the fact remains that your ultimate destiny is oblivion.
Chapter Fifteen
Seekers of truth are like moths to a flame, their destiny, oblivion.
* * * *
Everything you think you know: every memory, every belief, every opinion,
Is a temporal fabrication, a dream whose reality can never ultimately be proven.
* * * *
Like and dislike, pain and pleasure, male and female, white and black, true and false,
All sides of the same coin created by dreamers locked in memes of dualistic notion.
* * * *
Your mind-identity is a perceived record patterned by the relative etchings of time.
All dissolve into dreamy insignificance once you as witness are timelessly witnessed.
Chapter Sixteen
What you are attached to is not outward manifestation,
But the habitual movement of the ceaseless thoughts about it,
Personality is the outcome of this patterned consumption.
Leftovers Added to “The Return to Wonder”
Transferred to fill out the diminished ten-page blocks during
the very gradual edit underway since September 2015
The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
Dedicated to all those fated to ponder the mystery
From which all things great to small
Are indivisibly created.
The Return to Wonder
Field Notes from the Unknown
http://thereturntowonder.blogspot.com
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved
Chapter One
If it is your calling, your fortune, your kismet, your fate, your destiny,
You will discern the me within you, the you within me, the same me,
The same awareness within and between all things great to small.
* * * *
How can you think
You have accomplished anything
If you have not yet discovered the unconditioned?
* * * *
The world, the universe, the hologram, the matrix, the quantum, call it what you will,
Is in a relentless state of consumption, a constant state of fluctuation,
Unscathed, unchanged, uncaring, all the while.
* * * *
Identity is but an imprisoning, painful habit,
A play of light of temporal reality,
A fabrication to which mind desperately clings.
It requires the greatest courage of spirit to journey beyond it.
* * * *
Male and female merge in the throes of sexual ecstasy.
In the quiet tempest of goo, two fertile eggs unite.
In the mystery of the woman’s dark womb,
In the eternal stillness before time,
The seed grows, forms into life.
Out comes an organism
Wired for a fate yet unknown
Into a universe of its own conception.
Chapter Two
Every moment springing simultaneously anew within the indivisible quantum matrix.
All its concoctions, all its innumerable forms, ever the same source,
Ever the same awareness, ever the same you-ness,
Ever the same boggling mystery.
How astounding this indelible Song of Godness,
This eternal eye gazing out the masks and veils of manifestation.
* * * *
Awareness is the “awakeness” of all living creations,
Of the indivisible quantum matrix, the stardust, come to “life.”
It is the eternal eye of the unknown prior to all manifestation ever-changing,
And whatever dreams they in spontaneous combustion may inspire.
* * * *
In all destinies there is an executioner, an assassin, a slayer,
Ever formed of the earth-air-water-fire of all things here-now ether.
There is no escape for the awareness you are, only an abiding endurance.
Spurn the Fates, they cannot touch you once the shadow of karma loses its hold.
* * * *
Identity is the mistaken belief that the awareness you really are
Is at all attached to the sundry attributes of the food-body,
Or the world of appearances through which it renders.
Chapter Three
How ridiculous it is to believe anyone individual can save anything or anyone,
When in the reality of this kaleidoscoping dream, there is nothing to save.
And even if there were, it would be the matrix-level synergy doing it,
Not some illusory persona wrapped in inflated self-absorption.
Chapter Four
It can indeed be a long and winding and oft times lonely road
Until you discern the matrix through which all time-bound linear notions wander,
Is, has ever been, will ever be, eternal aloneness unto thy Self.
Chapter Seven
If you know pain, you likely know fear, and what weaves pain
But the conditioned mind that clings to its imaginary universe.
Chapter Eleven
You are here now because your genetic line,
Since existence kicked off in the swampy puddle of origin,
Somehow survived, somehow thrived, at least long enough to procreate.
The consecration of patterned happenstance; nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
What does any patterning, small to great, do,
But waft through its tiny slice of matrix,
For as long as its shelf life pertains.
Chapter Twelve
Imagine existing in this spinning garden world when it was perfectly untamed,
And you with neither claw nor fang, only mind and opposable thumb,
And an abiding, pitiless will to survive, and perchance thrive.
You are a direct descendant, the genomic outcome,
Of those who somehow persevered,
From the puddle of origin, to this here now.
* * * *
There is only one quantum dimension, one quantum matrix, one quantum soul.
Neither within nor without, neither known nor unknown,
Neither here nor there, you are.
Chapter Thirteen
Some call it this, some call it that.
Words, words, words; sounds given conceptual overlays.
The nothingness given meaning, given purpose; identity it neither needs nor requires.
The busy-busy cacophony of the human mind’s unceasing obsession
With re-hashing everything in its own muddle.
* * * *
Challenging, indeed, for the mind to just be, given its conditioning,
And the life force at whose helm it navigates the shoals of existence.
* * * *
The universe is a pulsating-vibrating-kaleidoscoping-hologram-matrix-quantum theater
In which you are witness within and without the within and without
That is not, was not, and will never be.
* * * *
Desire, fear, the myriad passions of the monkey-mind in general,
Are nothing more than predicable habits, patterns born of nature-nurture,
Of genetics and the incessant winds of time playing out the vanities of consciousness.
Chapter Fifteen
The next game show: Name That Meme.
And a t-shirt to match: What’s Your Meme?
* * * *
However any life form great or small may sense it,
It is ever the same quantum matrix playing its magic.
Chapter Sixteen
What a mystery this holographic matrix,
A mirage of space and time,
An imaginary sandbox,
In which all play,
But none truly exist.
Leftovers and Soundbites
Transferred to “The Return to Wonder”
from “Breadcrumbs 2019” and All Future Times Beyond
Chapter 015
How easy it is to fall into a descending spiral of self-pity over one’s lot in life.
To stay strong, to stand tall in the bittersweet winds of fate, is ever a challenge.
Chapter 250
Patterns all, puppets all.
Chapter 252
Mindless belief – tedious, senseless, stupid – is the lazy way.
Chapter 253
There is no changing destiny into something it already is.
* * * *
The eggshell of conditioning is but an imaginary shell.
Chapter 254
Every passion has its destiny, death rules us all, the world wags on.
Chapter 255
How quickly the sparkle of obsession can morph into dark shadows.
Chapter 257
Truth serves no purpose.
* * * *
Let go the conditioned mind.
Chapter 258
Every seed has its fate.
* * * *
No matter the point and purpose, all ambition clouds the mind.
Chapter 260
You are a conditioned recording, nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
Chapter 261
Real faith requires no word or act, no belief or creed.
* * * *
Physics ... Chemistry ... Biology ... Patterns within patterns within patterns.
Chapter 263
Epiphany serendipity.
Chapter 264
Another layer of dust reminding you of your fate.
Chapter 266
All fates are but mirages born of imagination.
Chapter 267
We all play out one meme or another.
* * * *
Destiny is the price life pays for existence.
* * * *
Is it an electromagnetic spectrum? An electromagnetic matrix? Or anything at all?
Chapter 268
The Fates are indifferent to yours.
* * * *
Embrace the meaninglessness; embrace the purposelessness.
Chapter 270
Fate is the price you are going to pay, willing or not.
* * * *
Memes all.
Chapter 273
Principles often prove to be many-layered things in the relativity of circumstance.
* * * *
Principles have a tendency to change with the given wind.
* * * *
The quantum matrix born of a quantum mind is a figment of time.
* * * *
The pittering-pattering of every mind,
Every moment further muddies up the world,
Inexorably caught up in the destiny of consciousness.
* * * *
That most primal thing, fear, has been key in molding this imaginary you,
A conditioned identity that you every day wake up believing real and true.
A state of mind, a state of attachment, a sword by which you live and die.
Chapter 276
To meet your fate with a full breath, inspires the greatest courage.
Chapter 277
Pleasure and pain spawn different outcomes in their cause-and-effect spins.
Leftovers and Soundbites Transferred
to “The Return to Wonder” from “Breadcrumbs 2018”
Chapter 279
Is habit anything more than mind’s attachment to the body’s chemical play?
Chapter 280
To be content with nothing is a rare calling.
Chapter 282
Conditioning is all.
* * * *
All your meanings, all your purposes, are but the fantasies of vanity.
Chapter 283
What is this mind that is conditioned to perpetually justify its illusion?
* * * *
Congratulations on holding true to your meme.
* * * *
Even the greatest pharaohs, the greatest kings, were nothing more than pawns of fate.
* * * *
Purpose and meaning … Say whaaaat?!!
* * * *
What conditioning, what groupthink, it takes to charge into the blaze of battle.
Soundbites Transferred to “The Return to Wonder”
from “Breadcrumbs” (Chapters 301, 302, 303)
Chapter 283
What's your calling?
Chapter 285
Real faith, real belief, is the relinquishment of everything in any given moment.
Chapter 286
Memes die hard.
* * * *
Thoughts are merely habits, babbling away.*
Chapter 288
Memes, you are surrounded by memes.