That we would grasp at life
with the effort of consciousness
and the viable means of experience
and claim living in attempts
to live more richly so,
is so derisive, so superficial
as if leftovers
yet profoundly pronounced and pursued.
And by the time we get
to the split second evidence of experience,
we have self selected by language
and by sensory input,
a time honored momentum of memory
and relational account
that sweeps us away from any now of depth
or immersion for the apparent connectivity
of story and display.
Now, as the essential now of us,
has no consciousness
that produces retentive experiences.
That now is a conduit passing through us unannounced
and with great integration beyond our means
of lucid explanation or control.
That now has the universe within us
and ever inclusive of all of the synchronicity
all around us also.
We have made depiction and story
be our false but meaningful awareness
without reprieve or the possibility of divinity
from within and throughout.
We are ever the pronouncement of our insulation,
isolation and separation without clearly identifying
or even acknowledging the inner workings
of these means
as they fail us in our oneness realized.
We have no language for oneness.
We have no means of oneness personified
that we attend.
Discursively, we are happy to attend to topic,
to proceed with in time accounts,
and claim a species entitlement
outside of complete dedication
to full participation
in the integral manifestation of the mass of matter
and all of its grand symphony
of interface interaction onward.
We feature a contrivance
of subject/object relational perspective,
which invariably is a reductionism
rather than a respectful comprehension
and thus immersion from within.
What I write is an enigmatic suicide note
in which I give my life and my consciousness
to the slow death as achieved by
in-time reality means.
I have subscribed and participated in behaviors
and thought forms that are complete denials
of a deeper connection with the all of everything.
I went with mind, well over heart.
I went with think over feel.
I went with self of being over being of being.
There is always a way that the truth assails me
but I only hear small smidgeons called honesties
that I cannot deny or cannot live
more directly into my life.
I would need to be a Rosetta stone of a birth,
a passing comet neonate
that bore me life to reach for the wholeness
without trauma or withdrawal
from the universe as my mother.
Please take a moment yet outside of time,
beyond what time in its insistence could honor
and be these innards with me.
Be the oversoul we are
and allow that flash of oneness to come through
even if experience will steal it from you
and event it and phenomenalize it
out of its original existence as you.
I come to you where we are one
and I return to there after every life of time
we call existence.
It is where we dance as all of the matter
of the universe dances,
yet beyond the apparent presentation
of mass into form.
This is what I can’t say but only infer . . .