07 February 2012


What is written here
Has been spoken, written, and lived
By many in many times and places in human history.
Ever disguised by innumerable masks, costumes, concepts, and technologies,
Its mysterious nature has timelessly confused and frightened
Those unable to discern beneath the surface.

This aphoristic vision is simply another attempt,
Using contemporary masks, costumes, concepts, and technologies,
To illustrate in thought something as old as old is,
That which has ever yet never been.

It is for those who desire nothing from this manifest dream
But that it be a journey into freedom.

Best wishes.

* * * *


Writing has been an enjoyable process ever since I began toying with prose, keeping journals, and corresponding with friends during the college daze.  The philosophical/mystical/whatever-you-want-to-call-them thoughts that started popping into mind since 1989 have always been very out-of-the-blue spontaneous.  Nothing forced about them.  They are being shared on the off chance that others may find them of interest, though, quite frankly, it really does not matter if no one else ever even reads them, for I am first and foremost my own audience.  I got mine, so to speak, and it is, as it has ever been, up to each to discern their own on their own.  There are really no followers in the ultimate quest, only earnest seekers who waylay their desires and fears enough to discern that which is the end to all doubt.  “Yay” if it is your fate to figure it out.  “Oh well” if it is not.  And “so it goes” either way, really.

“The Stillness Before Time” is the original 53-page work that was published in 1992, including mostly aphorisms, a few essays, and lists of movies and books.  Though a self-published version can be purchased at major booksellers, a downloadable copy is available, no charge, at the website below.  There are also a variety of links to several Facebook pages, Twitter, a number of blogs, and links to other very powerful writings of the same ilk.

The different sections can be accessed by clicking through older and newer posts at the bottom of each page, or by searching through the blog archives in the sidebar.

The Stillness Before Time

A recently edited and expanded 53-page PDF copy can be downloaded at:

"The Ponderings of Yaj Ekim" is the second book, and is both blogged and available as a download.

The Ponderings of Yaj Ekim

The 505-page PDF copy can be downloaded at:

“Breadcrumbs” is a blog of a more personal nature than the others, including the most recent aphorisms, a life resume, a photo album, some duplicates of essays and lists previously published, and other this-and-that silliness that has come to mind over time.  All just to show I was a living, breathing, relativity mundane, oftentimes foolish mortal, same as everyone else.  No need to make me more than I was.  No need for legends, no need for myths, no need for fables, no need for miracles, no need for any fictions to which history has so often given itself.  This collection of thoughts is as full of the limited and arbitrary as anything else born of space and time, so please do not shape it into some dogmatic lunacy.  Use it as a launch pad, not an orbit.


A 924-page PDF can be downloaded at:

And the latest blogging unpublished elsewhere:

“The Return to Wonder” blog is a compendium of aphorisms not included in the three other works: The Stillness Before Time, The Ponderings of Yaj Ekim, and Breadcrumbs.  It totals 3,000 pages formatted in 300 ten-page chapters written since 1990-ish.  It has been uploaded beginning with Chapter 265 up to Chapter 1, followed by Chapter 266 up to 300.

The Return to Wonder

Please note that this sort of wordplay is very random; all but impossible to put into any rational order. Probably best read it in bits and pieces in the here and there.  One of those open-to-any-page works.  Especially well-suited for coffee shops, coffee tables, and porcelain thrones.

Please also note that all writings are subject to editing without notice, so re-downloading PDF copies every year or so may be a good idea if you want the most current version.  This applies especially to Breadcrumbs, which is likely an ongoing work until a few minutes or hours or daze before the last wheezing breath.

If you find these many thoughts at all relevant, please feel free to share them with others who might also appreciate them, else they will more quickly slip back into the timeless oblivion from whence they came.

All the best,


P.S.  Regarding the name Yaj Ekim ... It is just a reverse spelling on the first and middle names ... Michael Jay Holshouser ... Mike Jay ... Yaj Ekim.  Coincidently, make of it what you will, Yaj is an Indian boy’s name meaning worshipper, sacrifice, another name for Shiva, a sage.  And Ekim is a Turkish name for October meaning “sowing” (of seeds).

The Stillness Before Time
There is really only one Way.
It is without division or boundary.

It is without name or theology.

Awareness is its scripture,

Here now its venue,

You its witness,

Your life the journey.

A 53-page PDF copy can be downloaded at:
Main Blogs

The Stillness Before Time

The Ponderings of Yaj Ekim

The Return to Wonder



The Stillness Before Time (53 pages)

The Ponderings of Yaj Ekim (505 pages)

Breadcrumbs (924 pages)

Recent Breadcrumbs

The Unfolding Next Round (Unpublished elsewhere)

Standouts from "The Return to Wonder" Edit


Michael Holshouser

Michael's Little Warehouse of All Things Amusing, Absurd & Profound

Le Fichier Circulaire de Michaël (Michael’s Circular File)

Yaj Ekim

Hughson Union High School Class of '72


Michael Holshouser


Michael Holshouser


Michael Holshouser

Odd and Ends

Final Exit
The Blind Men and the Elephant
The Joyful Curmudgeon
Of A Philosophical Nature
Quotes, Quotes & More Quotes

The Four Agreements
Le Fichier Circulaire de Michaël
50 Rules Kids Won't Learn in School

12 Rules You Can Live By

How to Work in Any Environment

Seven Translations of the Ashtavakra Gita

The Heart of Awareness (Byrom)

Ashtavakra Gita (Marshall)

Bitten by the Black Snake (Schoch)

A Duet of One (Balsekar)

Ashtavakra Gita (Richards)

Astavakra Samhita (Wood)

Ashtavakra Gita (Vedic Scriptures)

Translations of Other Ancient Writings
Ashtavakra Gita: I Am Shiva
Tao Te Ching: Verse One
Tao Te Ching (Marshall)
Yoga Sutras (Marshall)

Dhammapada (Marshall)

Avadhut Gita (Shastri)

Song of the Avadhut (Abhayananda)

Atma Bodha (Chinmayananda)

The Essence of the Ribhu Gita (Ramamoorthy & Nome)

Yoga Vasishta Sara (Ramasramam)

Crest-Jewel of Discrimination (Madhavananda)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Stillness Before Time
Reflections from a Fellow Sojourner
© Michael J. Holshouser 1992
© Revised Edition 2001
© Revised Edition 2008
World Rights Reserved

One Way

There is really only one Way.
It is without division or boundary.
It is without name or theology.
Awareness is its scripture,
Here now its venue,
You its witness,
Your life the journey.

You Are Gold

You are perfect.
Pure gold.
Brighter than the sun.

Dean Evans


Before all experience,
Before all thought of identity,
Before all mirrors and photographs,
Before all vanity, gratification, and delusion,
Before all vexation of desire and fear,
Before all suffering of existence,
How are you, really?

* * * *
Move prior to concept, prior to known.
Return to the untainted awareness of the child,
The uncarved freedom of the empty tablet,
Prior to all said, all done, all imagined.

* * * *
You are the source,
The quantum ocean,
The absolute supreme,
The eternal unicity of isness.

* * * *
Discovering your true birthright
Requires the persistence
Of an aloof scientist,
Gradually scraping away
At the layers of conditioning
Until at some point there is nothing left,
And what you truly are, and are not, is quite apparent.

* * * *
There is really no death,
Only the departure of the senses
And the dissolution of imagined identity.

* * * *
When in every moment
You see without a trace of doubt
That there is no master other than you,
That those many pedestaled images of great souls
Were projections of the inherent longing
To awaken to the birthright
That is prior to consciousness,
You will be free of artificial limits,
You will have triumphed over illusion,
You will have discovered the indelible truth:
That you are, indeed, sovereign, indivisibly absolute.


Everything that appears real,
Everything that you have been told,
Everything that you have come to believe,
Is all the fabrication of your mind.

* * * *
There is no path.
There is no dogma.
There is only the absolute,
And a universe of appearances
Disguising the way home.

* * * *
There has ever been now, is ever now, will ever be now.
Never has there been any time other than right here now.

* * * *
When you are satiated of identity,
Weary of meaningless experiences,
When you would even die to be free,
You will do whatever needs to be done
To spin no more on the web of suffering.

* * * *
When struggle and resistance end,
When surrender to what is, is complete,
You will be the awareness that is home to all.

* * * *
Love can only be total, unconditional.
Other uses of the word are of self-absorption:
Incomplete, limited, conditional, manipulative, painful.

* * * *
It is natural to want to know who you are,
But the thoughts of self, the attachment to persona,
The encasements of identity: labels, definitions, assumptions,
Are not the instruments that will truly get you home.
All concoctions, all speculations of mind,
Are only obstacles to the journey.

* * * *
Call it by whatever sound you will:
God, Allah, Brahman, Tao, Buddha, Krishna,
Christ, Great Spirit, Way, Absolute, Supreme, Totality,
Or any of the many other labels it is given throughout the world,
It is ever the same indivisible mystery cloaked by the illusion of diversity.


The manifest dance is timeless, ever-present, undying.
A dreamtime without beginning, without end;
Without cause, purpose, or meaning;
Neither definable or explicable,
For it is beyond all rational appearances.
It can never be known, comprehended, or understood,
Except in the most roundabout, circumspect, oblique, effortless ways.
And in that which is intuited there is no gain or reward.
One simply wanders spontaneously free,
Whatever the course.

* * * *
Taste the tasteless,
Hear the soundless,
Touch the untouchable,
Smell that which has no scent,
And you will see the unseen.

* * * *
All identity is make-believe, a collusion of human scale.

* * * *
Manifestation is simply mask after mask
Disguising an artful, mischievous trickster,
Playing an eternal game of hide-and-seek.

* * * *
The many teachers of suffering:
Illness, injury, aging, dying, and death,
Would you, could you, awaken without them?

* * * *
You who seek are already that which is sought.
You are the unequivocal source, the mystery, pure and simple.
Discerning it clearly in the everyday, without a trace of doubt, is the challenge.

* * * *
There can be no serenity, no contentment, in the restlessness of desire,
The dread of fear, the isolation of anger, or the arrogance of pride.

* * * *
Occasionally, attentively reflect within … "I am.”
That unadorned thought is the first and foremost assumption.
Contemplate it closely, thoroughly, add nothing to it.
See its subtle movement to the source within.
Those persistent and discerning enough
Will dissolve into the inexplicable.


This fleeting mystery is a whimsical kaleidoscope.
An eternal, immortal weaving; without beginning, without end.
A boundless, indivisible ocean of light and shadow in which all forms dance.
All one can observe of the mystery are the countless manifestations;
Never the dispassionate, unwavering witness beneath.

* * * *
All mythos, all sense of time, all sense of history,
Is nothing more than the make-believe of adults.

* * * *
What you call real
Is merely a reflection;
A temporal, dreamy illusion;
An enticing, ever-changing lightshow.
Your true nature is none of it.

* * * *
So many words you cleave your Self into.

* * * *
The infinite source of manifestation
Is tasteless and untouchable;
Without vision or sound or smell.
What one perceives is but the mind’s reverie.
The vague, obtuse, ephemeral quality of awareness called intuition,
Is as near to understanding as any one can ever come.

* * * *
Be serene, content, alert, cheerfully at ease.
It is your original state, your birthright.
It requires no choice, effort, or contention.
No outward manifestation or proof is required.
It is a natural state of awareness, of simple beingness.
An effortless wander in the unconditional, timeless aloneness.

* * * *
To maintain any one path most true,
To insist on duality in any way, any shape, any form,
Is to completely misconstrue the relativity of this manifest dreamtime.

* * * *
Worship martyrs, crosses, statues, crystals, photographs,
Nature, wealth, words, ideas, or whatever your own will manufactures,
Or simply attend nothing but your own momentary awareness.
But for the sorrow of continuity in all but the latter,
All dreams pass in the same manner.


Put aside all hope, all gain and loss, all dreams of glory,
All yearning, hate, anger, fear, envy, and jealousy,
All dread of sickness, injury, aging, and dying.
Your mind-body is but a temporal dream,
You are eternal, sovereign, absolute.

* * * *
There appear to be many paths
In the return to isness.
All are equal in the quest home,
Because, like Dorothy's adventure in Oz,
No one ever really left Kansas.

* * * *
Understand the subtlety between
Claiming you are god,
And knowing you are godness.
One cannot be, and the other never was not.

* * * *
You are a window to the eternal,
But must part the tattered curtains
And wipe away the smudge to see it.

* * * *
There are the ignorant who think they know,
And the ignorant who know they do not.

* * * *
Whether you were born by chance
Or chose your parents through karmic design,
Whether you exist just once, or well past a gazillion times,
With a succession of identities playing out through the abyss of eternity,
From the indivisible perspective, it is all very much the same.

* * * *
Explore love as much as you might with all your beingness,
It is the awareness within all that is its unfathomable cradle.

* * * *
You may sit quietly and breathe with your eyes wide open or tightly shut;
Chant spiritual songs or hum mantras until your mind is three shades of blue;
Practice every sort of rigid, dogmatic, death-defying diet or prescribed exercise;
Submit to ancient beliefs, rituals, and traditions; wear costumes and deify symbols;
Practice any discipline, worship any form your mind or another's might conjure;
Real meditation is the serene awareness of every moment's birth and death,
And no system is required to discern and freely perceive your birthright.


You are the ground,
The splintered I Amness of isness,
Creator and witness to an inexplicable theater,
A dreamer dreaming the kaleidoscoping quantum show real,
The timeless nature masked by endless variations of laughter and sorrow.
Why?  No one can know.  That you are is surely enough.

* * * *
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.

* * * *
Surrender your identity:
Your concepts and cravings,
Your fears, irritations, and doubts,
Your knowledge, opinions, and routines,
Your ambitions to achieve one glory or another.
Surrender everything you believe you are,
That you have never really been.

* * * *
There is no Eastern or Western thought,
Only an awareness manifesting consciousness,
Blanketed by an innumerable array of mythologies.

* * * *
If you smugly believe yourself more spiritually significant
Than a cockroach, grain of sand, or pile of dung,
Then you are missing the real point.
There is profound wonder in realizing you are one
With worms, snails, lice, flies, toads, salamanders, and snakes.

* * * *
Are you able to scrutinize your existence
Without any attachment, any craving, any trepidation?
Dispassionately, objectively, reserving all pride-filled judgments;
Discerning forthrightly, clearly, without ulterior motive;
Observing closely the many joys and sorrows;
The likes and dislikes, the loves and hates;
The thoughts, beliefs, opinions, conclusions;
The endless flow of people, places, things, ideas;
The seemingly boundless array of passing experiences;
And come to the realization that it was really all your creation;
An inexplicable, intangible, ungraspable, timelessly indivisible journey;
Imagined by a dreamer whose ultimately choiceless nature is prior to all imagination.


How will you be psychologically free?
There is no method.
It happens when you will abide
No further infringement from any portion of the illusion,
When you are at last sovereign enough to journey alone, whatever the course.

* * * *
No word touches it, no language explains it, no mythos contains it.
You are it, you have always been it, you will ever be it.
Polish that mirror until all you see is you.

* * * *
Too big to see how small it is,
Too small to see how big it is,
You are, nonetheless, all of it.

* * * *
There is really no religion, no Way,
Just keen observing of a passing mystery
Beyond comprehension or conclusion.

* * * *
The senses tease and taunt you.
They are lies of the delusional mind.
You must ascertain the witness within,
Discriminate the freedom that they cannot,
And know with every particle of your beingness,
That only in the timelessness of awareness are you real.

* * * *
To discover your true Self, you must explore your self.
To see the many others, yet see no other, that is the razor's edge,
Upon which all seers timelessly traverse this reverie both real and unreal.

* * * *
To identify with thoughts is akin to the ocean believing it is the sound of waves crashing.

* * * *
Symbols, mantras, postures, diets, attire, practices of any sort,
Are nothing more than tantalizing, captivating distractions,
Until you sharpen your attentiveness and discernment,
And fully grasp it can only be puzzled out very much alone.

* * * *
Any given mythos is essentially an unspoken agreement, a set of rules,
With language, rituals, and symbols to impose its continuity in the unborn.
When you see the collusion of tradition for what it really is, all become relative.


Polish mirrors that never reflected,
Clean stains never spilled,
Mend tears never torn,
Perfect that never flawed,
Illuminate shadows never cast,
Give purpose that requiring none.
You are ever unfathomable and unknown,
A timelessly whimsical mystery dancing in stillness.

* * * *
Your vain existence is as secure as that
Of a clay figurine created by a child playing,
And then delightfully shattered with a laugh of glee.

* * * *
There will never be political, economic
Or social resolution to the human condition.
Consciousness itself must make the paradigm shift.

* * * *
You will never be free
Until you can say no to your parents,
Your ancestors, your mythos and, finally, yourself.

* * * *
Take a lump of clay, divide it in two,
Sculpt them into any forms that come to mind,
Call one evil, the other good, one black, the other white,
Or any other fabrications of the dualistic mind,
Both ever remain the same clayness.

* * * *
Study anything and everything
But neither follow nor imitate anyone.
What is the point of listening to any teachers
If you do not intend to someday grasp the teaching?

* * * *
Geographic isolation has spawned a broad diversity of mythoi,
Each grappling to protect ancient beliefs, customs and histories.
Humanity’s clinging to what was is becoming less and less viable
As the stew of a shrinking world continues to simmer in dreamtime.


What is enlightenment but simply awakening
To the innate awareness, to the timeless birthright.
Liberation is abiding freely in that discerning ignorance.

* * * *
Identity is like cotton candy bought at a carnival,
A lot of puff concocted from practically nothing.

* * * *
When you awaken after sleeping,
There is a moment when the awareness
Resumes remembering the patterning it plays.
You could be anywhere, anything, anybody,
And what form and identity do you choose
But that which you are least able to resist.

* * * *
Though no one really knows anything, more than a few spout what the masses follow.

* * * *
Desire for gratification of the senses and thought,
Despite its ceaseless tangle of suffering,
Is what binds you in time.

* * * *
Duality is the outcome of ignorance,
And ignorance of the false nature of opposites,
Is the vain prison that identification ceaselessly fortifies.

* * * *
Why cater to something an individual or group
Said or did tens or hundreds or thousands of years ago?
History, whether personal, tribal, national, or world,
Is perhaps the greatest misery of consciousness.

* * * *
When you discover what you truly are, what you truly are not,
What is left but an inexplicable sense of awareness, unchained.

* * * *
You are the nexus through which the mystery manifests a personal view of time and space.

* * * *
Groups of any spiritual persuasion are social crock-pots
For those agreeing to collude to the dogma of one mythos or another.
To regard any as exclusive bastions of wisdom and harmony
Has repeatedly proven to be hollow self-deception.


Since the dawn of consciousness, mind has grappled
With the mystery of birth and death, creation and destruction.
It has used every device to explain that which can never be explained.
Only in complete surrender to the awareness prior to thought's linear conception,
Can there be any insight into the choicelessness of the indivisibility.

* * * *
Unconditioned, immutable, changeless, untamed, amoral, lawless,
 Unburdened, nameless, imperishable, timeless, formless,
Eternal, sovereign, total, absolute, supreme.
Apt descriptions of those rare few
Who discern and reside in the immortal origin.

* * * *
There are teachers at every turn.
Be watchful, they take every form.

* * * *
In the struggle with the indivisible nature, you must lose to win.

* * * *
The frailties of all life forms are within you.
Your empathy and compassion are warranted.

* * * *
No one can tell you what truth really is.
You must discern and explore it your Self.
You must also grasp that it is very much akin
To fine dry sand in loose fingers on a windy day.

* * * *
The eternal quest for understanding,
For emancipation from that which is known,
Is a convoluted, subtle, puzzling, chess-like maze,
A timeless game of strategic and tactical finesse,
Which only the most earnest discern and mate.

* * * *
Words, concepts, similes, metaphors, analogies, parables,
Are teaching tools, study guides, not ends in themselves.

* * * *
Everyone has a mindset, a filtering process that interprets
The reality appearing to appear about them.
The challenge is discerning the relativity of all experience;
That everything is temporal, ephemeral illusion, nothing more or less real;
That, from beginning to end, each and every moment is but the fleeting dreamtime of awareness.


Mythoi across this shrinking planet
Migrate in every possible direction without respite.
The geographic isolation that created this remarkable manifest diversity
Is less important than discerning the thread of indivisibility
With which all creation is woven together.

* * * *
If … you only had better health;
A stronger, younger, more vibrant body;
A highly capable, nimble mind;
Wealth, power, status;
Lived in a different place or time …
If …
Would make no difference.
All destinies are only variations
Of the same unfolding dream.

* * * *
Before light and dark,
Right and wrong,
Birth and death,
Yes and no,
Good and evil,
Have and have not,
Compassion and cruelty,
Knowledge and ignorance,
Order and confusion,
Sage and fool,
Before duality in any form,
You are.

* * * *
Your real parent is a now long before time.
All creation is immaculately conceived.

* * * *
If there is any attachment,
Any desire to be bound,
One cannot discover the ultimate.
Even the yearning for liberation must die away.
You simply become what you are, what you have all along been.

* * * *
Claims of religious persecution are absurd, fictional paths to glory.
Countless peoples of every persuasion have suffered throughout history.
Many, perhaps most, have claimed themselves chosen by the divine.
The arrogance of collusion has always been an enticing delusion.


Thought is a reflection of an illusory past
And the projector of imagined futures.
Awareness is the tentative, ungraspable now.
It is boundless, eternal, neither identity nor persona.
It is the mysterious origin, the vapor of insight and intuition.
From its unknowable nature thought springs into being,
But without it, none of this would ever have been.
It is the parent of manifest consciousness,
The source prior to all perception.

* * * *
Dread of times to come,
Of the unknown yet to manifest,
Overwhelms those who have not realized
That it is their own imagination that cripples them.

* * * *
The meek will inherit the earth
Because it requires great courage
To discern and surrender to heaven.

* * * *
The sovereign witness you truly are
Is neither the body nor the mind.
It is untouched by action or result.
It is unburdened by pain or pleasure.
It is unconcerned with right and wrong.
No matter the circumstances in which it abides,
It timelessly remains undefined, unfettered, unattached.

* * * *
The sciences have in every manner
Scrutinized the unitary movement of this illusion.
They have stretched the conceptual mind in innumerable ways,
Yet none will ever succeed in determining its origin.
All they can ever do is dance with Maya
On the floor of manifestation.

* * * *
You are the gold, not the jewelry into which it is made.

* * * *
At some point, books and their many concepts must be set aside.
Scholars journey the dead-end path of dualistic intellect.
Reclaiming your birthright is direct perception,
Not the cataloging of manuscripts.
The truth you seek will not be found in them.


The divisive world we have created
Is an outcome of separation from the totality.
Dualistic solutions to all the ignorance, all the confusion,
Posture upon the same conflict-ridden paradigm, and resolve nothing.

* * * *
A gourmet craves taste, a musician sound,
A perfumer scent, a masseuse touch,
A painter color, a scholar thought.
How enticing the play of senses and mind,
That to become a connoisseur in one field or another,
So many dedicate their brief mortal existence in endless pursuit.

* * * *
Virtual reality is not just a computer fantasy.
The senses have created the cosmos with such precision, such exactness,
That you have yet to truly fathom, to indelibly discern,
That none of it is ultimately real.
It is software born of quantum programming.

* * * *
When one surrenders to insight, eternity emerges:
Infinite, timeless, pathless, unencumbered, serene.

* * * *
All paths to glory attain the same grave.

* * * *
Science dissects and names with great finesse,
But of what use is a universe torn to pieces?

* * * *
All life in the unfolding present
Has survived since the immaculate genesis.
The unyielding capacity for domination of this manifest realm
Will be humankind’s inevitable unraveling
If it does not instead collectively
Attain a unified sense of guardianship.

* * * *
We are all spontaneously making up the rules as we go.
Playing so everyone wins is not a game easily learned.

* * * *
Right living is not a statement of morality.
It is a moment-to-moment feeling of intuitive rightness.
It is playing out this illusive dreamy theater as effortlessly as possible.


To know you are one with totality
Seems so simple, so freeing, so real,
Yet so many cling to this belief or that,
As if their clutching complexity and strife
Is so much more important than simply being.

* * * *
To own your birthright, you become less and less
Entwined in the distracting narrowness of self-absorption.
You intuitively fathom expansiveness in every moment possible.
It is the end of paradigms emerging from any mythos.
It is the ever-unfolding realization of unicity.

* * * *
There is nothing to become, nothing to prove.
There is no description precise enough
To express what you truly are.

* * * *
You do not exist in the way you think.

* * * *
The colluding dreamtime of humanity
Conditions each of us to pretend something
No other manifest life form requires of its kind.
It is very arduous to be free of all claims.

* * * *
Essential nature is not divisible.
There is only totality, oneness, isness.
Nothing greater, nothing lesser, nothing but.
We are all in reality an indivisible, indelible enigma,
Quantumly dancing center stage in every form imaginable.

* * * *
All the observations and experiments of the sciences
Explore, measure, and explain only illusion.
The ultimate teaching offered by the rational mind
Is insight into the confines of dualistic sensory perception.
Scientists must at some point bridge the chasm as irrational mystics
If they truly seek to comprehend this theater for what it in reality is, and is not.

* * * *
Endless debate over which religion, which dogma, speaks for god, for truth,
Is sophomoric and only obscures the possibility of genuine awakening.
It is the time-bound distraction of priests and scholars and undiscerning followers,
Who have little interest in anything more than the false security of one collusion or another.


The ancients passed on their wisdom
Through parables and analogies.
A neat trick, but one the literal-minded
Have historically taken to one extreme after another.
All the philosophical inventions contrived since the beginning of time
Have never for a moment encapsulated the ultimate nature.

* * * *
Imagine a nearly imperceptible bubble of foam
Riding the flowing crest of a small wave
On just one of an infinity of shores
Of an ocean beyond measure.
That all but insignificant fragment of illusory reflection
Is analogous to the entire human reverie
Across this spinning orb.

* * * *
Words can only feebly point out the one and only way.
The discernment of their meaning is prior to all concept.

* * * *
The tenuous belief that science will be the cure-all
For humanity's plight is self-deception on a grand scale.
Any conceptual tool is only as beneficial as those who wield it.

* * * *
More than enough, probably far too much,
Has been said of the spiritual quest through the ages.
The delusional, divisive conceit surrounding and permeating it,
The dogmas, temples, money-changers, and Pharisees,
Are burdens that each must over time shrug off
To discern and wander freely in Eden.

* * * *
The irony of spending so much of your existence
Trying to solve the questions:
Who, what, where, when, why, and how,
Is finally realizing they have no answer words can grasp.

* * * *
No other creature on this planet
Has taken naming to the extreme we have.
They do not separate themselves from their experiencing.
They have never believed themselves or others to be what words imply.
They do not slaughter or maim one another for the myriad reasons we endlessly concoct.
They endure passively, helplessly, for us to realize some insight, some rationality,
And perhaps one day return to the garden in which they have ever resided.


Stars, planets, and moons traveling from horizon to horizon,
Cycling springs, summers, autumns, and winters,
Clocks you watch, watches you wear,
Calendars whose pages turn and turn again,
Are tricksters in this three-dimensional, illusory weaving.
Time has never truly passed as you have been conditioned to believe.

* * * *
Suffering is the outcome of attachment to the fictitious mind-body identity.
All endeavors to ease the sorrow of consciousness are ineffectual
Without the realization of your true indestructibility.

* * * *
Some answers are too large for any questions.

* * * *
Clothing, jewelry, make-up, and hair
Cloak the stark reality of the human body,
The various orifices of its physical functioning.
What is beautiful, romantic, and essential to the deluded
Takes on another appearance when the veil
Of genetic gratification unravels.

* * * *
The tombs in which you cloak your vanity cannot lock out the dust of eternity.

* * * *
Being born into illusion
Does not mean you must reside there.
You have never been bound by the original separation
But through your conditioned collaboration.

* * * *
Humanity must accept total responsibility
For its impact on this garden world.
Do not put the burden on god.
There will be no messiah,
Nor hordes of angels to save us.
Each alone must make the paradigm shift.

* * * *
You spend your life believing the part you play,
But contrary to what the senses fool you into knowing,
All your thoughts, concepts, theories, images, hopes, and dreams,
All the kaleidoscoping reflections of those many mirrors passing before you,
All the vain paths to glory you or anyone else have ever concocted,
Have no ultimate reality or lasting importance whatsoever.