Knowledge is our method
for acquiring excess baggage,
with memories as decals upon it.
We have consciousness
as our perusal form of travel.
Everywhere we go, in the going,
is our negative affirmation pronounced,
by omission, denying our oneness
by ritualistically affirming separates
as sacred articulates of experience.
As long as we are the journey,
we are just at an elaborate white sale,
sensing reality as a personalized context
that does not essentially exist.
We selectively and myopically made it up.
Mass is our sensorial religion.
For the game we appear to play,
we have a God as the backstop,
the end line, the ceiling,
the forest for the trees,
and our outer limits
to comprehension’s endpoint.
We train endlessly to roll peanuts
of token compassion and caring
in an effort to force feed
this imaginary elephant
that is the collective heart
of us from all of human time
up to and including, now.
We live in an elaborate zoo labyrinth
of self-conscious entrainment,
but can’t really tell
who is the cause of whom.
Every first step I take
within my mind consciously,
denies me entry,
because every first step
affirms from presumptions
of somewhere in particular past
as in denial
of everywhere at once
as my quantum sense of being.
Existence is mythfully no effort at proof.
There is no worth position to being.
Being has no world of mirrors.
Being has no intake as method.
Being, beyond the awareness sensory level,
is expression coming forth from within,
harmony waves broadcast
seeking coherency.
Cogency, always searching
for higher cause.
For saying these things,
I am a drug of illusions,
falling through puddles of words,
sipping language to stand upright
as the progeny
of cognitive entitlement.
It is my apparent species birthright!
yet falling forward, as common sense,
becomes my middle ears.
If we, you and I together,
are not beyond my words,
then I have only knocked
on a door that cannot be opened.
One, because it was only sensed
as a knock that is heard,
and two, because it was only
perceived as just another door . . .
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