I struggle with the nature of understanding.
As a construct, I am at the mercy of it
as an in time process.
Where by the sum of me, as audience,
is in receivership of input.
While the sum of me, as importer,
ingests sensory substance
and the subsequent immediacy of interpretations there of
that then causes a unity of cognition to occur
in which I come to an internal stance
of private agreement from within that.
That that which I understand and to have a posture of it
be a mind posture that I take
as an internal presence of conviction.
This conviction is a show of consciousness
as solidarity of thought convened within,
which is defendable and repeatable
and possibly conversable to the outer world around me.
In that I find myself interactive in this way,
as acceptably conscious,
has become the norm of daily ongoing life as reality.
Yet what is, understanding of itself?
Is it a state of belief on my part,
internal to me, as I am aware?
How does it do the work it does within me as me?
Is it only ancillary to my ability to agree
with other humans who agree?
Is it that I have the defensible skills as such
that make understanding seems so prominent?
Yet understanding seems to feel to me
as if it is summational
and wearable on the memory boards
all internally around within me.
And yet, understanding seems excessive
and ritualistic more than necessary.
Even after the all of understanding,
I have to find a way into the next moment
and its enterprise.
Although sometimes useful as grounds for opinion
and impetus as it is,
there are other times,
clearly not so useful at all,
in entering the next moments wherewithal.
Understanding feels like it ages me to participate,
like a wisdom of burden
and memory as baggage.
The rules of understanding, as they are operational,
are like a prayer that I am constantly repeating
every waking moment to be a participant in aliveness,
when that does not actually feel to be essentially true.
It feels like I have to have a pretense of separateness
in order to have the initiative-ness to pursue understanding
and merit its worth as it so applies.
I am propelled into a preoccupation of comprehension
and a positional sense of what it is
and what to do with it as usable.
At a subtle level,
I feel like understanding provides for me
as my own press agent
and gives me topical intros
into being with other people in apparent yet odd settings
in which I have say
based on understanding
and we do that as away of being together
although we profess from our separateness.
I feel vacant at times
and sometimes in special circumstances violated
by how say keeps us far apart.
At times, I feel like I come from
a species and a gene pool
where understanding as an aspect of that gene development
is a detriment to my being.
It is an element
in a curse-versus-blessing world of consciousness.
Why does understanding have to be outside in
rather than inside out?
Please, I am not asking for you to truly understand.
Just know this of your self and don’t mind . . .