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Friday, November 25, 2016

the depth of a presence 11/25/16

I don’t have the imagery to grasp at limitlessness.
I am in a freefall, I can’t be aware of it directly.
there are integrities of mass, enduring as me.
what I call constant is a lie that I live in by continuing.
I participate but only sense reflection as recognition.
all interpretation is overly simplistic to currently present.
this sympathy plays but no instruments are of usage to me.
I am at the mercy of the hands of the invisible.
I am causative but only yield results in minor passing ways.
the subliminal abounds and only the surface of it appears.
farseeing comes to me but no language I know speaks it.
my words only stare back as if barking dogs in fusion alarm.
I feel for it but appetite is lost in the convention of taste.
parts of me run ahead to get conclusions as if the reward.
the unknown paints me with constancy as in motion.
the paint never dries, no image is ever transfixed to deter.
I am libel by how and what I claim to be, as if known.
what professes as isness is passing through me undeterred.
unless you drink from my tears and swim up my inner sight
what I say is but confetti from a storm, out the depths of me.
there is a syntax of rules for the weave of this garment,
that we naively wear it all of the time, yet keeping us warm.
it’s blasphemy to be the boast of our passivity as audience.
where in our world isness is, there is no retention of need.
currents flow, deeds done, being is without surface, linked.
where I proceed as self-paddle against each perceived wave,
is only my affirmation of denial repeated over and over.
the truth of all of this does not live in conclusion’s abode.
only next thoughts that freely arrive give my lifespan verve.
otherwise I am a rag in the road of a drive-by existence.
my only true grasp is letting go, as if it then comes to me.
a me of my own assemblage that disbands to be unified.     
I am only leaving what I took to be a separate sense of self.
I have no parts, no perception of personage existence
that is not an expression of this whole yet denied.
and that denial is collapsing in leaving thought behind.
I am nothing if not a part of the elaboration of the whole,
as you also , for now we are like depictions in return.
swallowing what understanding offers as each meal
to feed the spiritual metabolism of our collective soul.
eat paradox, chew focus, swallow light as you go . . .

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