A moment with voice

Waking each moment

amid an environment,

heavy with contingencies,

with considerations

barking in the background,

the weathering

of emotional follow thru

charging the air,

with breathing

as a comforting labor

of occasional recognition,

once in a while,

actually appearing as a sigh.

Amidst this fanfare

of meaningful symbols

with an audience face

amidst the reluctance,

there is an outright resistance

to perform

apparently meaningful acts

that are simply empty of soul,

that are rationally construed

but barren of juice.

For they are too thought out,

too automatic and rehearsed,

too repeated to death.

I go away from such acts

and do them at the same time.

I give of myself

and give up on myself

by doing so.

It is a helpless treading

of the liquids of lostness,

grappling with

newfound substitutes

for a spirited existence.

There is a floating down

but subjectively lifted up

by the naiveté

of first person novelty,

prancing before its own

cynical self-conscious view.

There is a murmur

with a half mind voicing it.

There is an exhausted listening

with a half mind hearing it.

Nothing is really distraction

and no thing is really a focus.

Happening is in effect,

living the life as affect.

Disguised as a functional self

representing self,

I am here as my agent,

to represent myself

to gain a permission

to be myself,

well, to be my undisclosed self.

I am here to negotiate

for a wealth of being

and to limit performance times,

and audience appraisals,

actually eliminate self-audience

altogether.

I want no standing back,

no withheld-ness,

no regard

for the appropriate demeanor

or the politically correct

topic or delivery.

I want all candid,

all alive

all of the time.

I hurt.

I loose.

I laugh.

We suffer.

We feel.

We embrace.

Slap me with unexpected turns

in the road.

Throw pebbles at the windows

of my soul.

Rub up against my character

and respond.

Validate my aliveness

by likewise and return.

Sober me up

with soulfulness.

I want the nectar

of the depth of being

to wash over me.

I don’t want me

I want the me of us,

the momentum of us-aliveness.

I don’t want words

and agreement,

I want the oneness of us.

I don’t want definitiveness

or accountability,

I want the collective

with empathy.

I am only breathing

for myself,

what we all share . . .