I want to free my heart
from the certitude syndrome.
I know of nothing for sure.
Everything else is contingency.
My blood moving is in the language of now.
It’s Carnival flowing out
and Festival on the return.
Certainty is not stillness
but stoic and stultified.
It is wanting to live
in the world of stills’ wanton memories.
The mind is an easy rider
on the road to certainty.
It is as if we have trained our entire lives
for that journey.
Much like having one leg longer than the other,
leads to circles however large or small,
the brain, having one side
more dominant than the other,
leads to certainty patterns
however fanciful or analytic.
Certainty is a brain lead syndrome
in which the heart is captured in humdrum,
and the idle worship of icons and their entourage.
I want my heart free to sip
at the pooling beyond time,
to comingle with others
as if intimacy was fallout from that,
where spoken language is a seldom-used prop,
and everything heart feed and heart shaped
was a conduit for conscious spirit coming through . . .