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Wednesday, June 8, 2016

the yell that ends itness 6/8/16

the yell beyond your sense of self, that beyond roar
the sound that does not come out of you
but burrowed within and rising from the deep,
behind the growl and the intimate source of thunder
escalating in a wide-out through the fabric of you
it leaves common experience as only the stir of dust
you come back fully conscious after, to sense yourself
as if an environment, from the bloom of being,
not as a solid sentience, in a moving parts world
but a conduit of fluids that channel beyond worth
unknowing the where or when but it’s fountaining you
that yell that introduces you to a grander sense of being
less of the impress and more of the resounding
go, find a safe place, away from your apprehensions,
away from the consequences of disapproval,
a space in the desert, in a deep-woods cluster, the top of,
a room without windows or the nuance of nosy neighbors
but go and find that leap of permission,
the free-fall ordained by complete surrender up(!)
to reach beyond recognition’s call back
it isn’t for the feedback of pitch or the clarity of tone
or that pronouncement that seems to be the risk
it is a sound without any intention of self aware or listening
it is full-bore when you last checked while on its way out
all other thought ceases to exist, a feeling wells from within
that is not a namable might but fully senses of itself,
its first freedom, is you for being, for consciously being
the after-affects, are as buoyant residue, stillness shocking,
not as particulars but as a full fledged blooming presence
demystifying the lock-steps of sensibility’s claim
you’re primal yet with human mind-fill overload
all creatures around you are talking amongst themselves
but we are not adequate listeners in those conversations
you have discovered this as an inner passage,
out of the cubicle of self-isolated species entitlement
never to be alone but in all ways, in the flux and the mix
it is a self experiment, not without unanticipated risks
you may never come back as the same, unchanged
sanity may have a loose screw in you
you may have a sheen, a glow, a luster to your living
before you have conclusions as dead weight posing
worth may never again be a look back to self-surmise
worth may be a radiance fountaining, forth coming of you
that sound, when realized, has a source deep within you
you will know it by its spell-binding release
until that happens, you are just being loud
until the yell, you yell, is the yell,
that ends the sacred mass of all itness . . .

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