why does my identity reside in the past
and the proof of my self, live in the future?
why is time the mentor of my existence?
if I existed before birth, chose my parents,
live a full life and exist after my death,
what is the big deal about time?
I feel so fragmented
by a time-sense of measurement.
my life is a run-on sentence,
at least by these story-able accounts
and yet time makes demands into punctuation,
which makes me an audience to my own existence.
my vocals, who represents me,
are a trained representative of me, but not really me.
if I meet six people in the course of my life
that actually get me, without further instructions
or a free pass to the ongoing movie of me,
that seems to be of special significance.
so why is this a bumper-cars in space existence?
I feel laced up and prepared for a game of separatism.
I feel prepared and overly trained to be separate
and yet strive to become connected, other than one.
the way I live this game of it,
destroys the playing field, creates rivalries,
a small number actually win,
and audience mentality pervades as the payoff.
there is only a game within a larger game
within a yet to be determined, larger game
but humans seem to be the only players of status.
did I miss an essential team meeting?
why do they call it the game of life?
how lowbrow and vague can that be?
comparative truth is just sidedness in override.
I want to ask the question that frees me
I don’t want experience to be an audience skill.
I originally thought play was permission to be.
and that trust was to channel myself into existence.
now all of memory is life at a secondhand store, shopping.
I wanted zest before the capture of meaning.
I wanted appeal as a realization of oneness.
I wanted diversity to reflect the same in source.
what has happened to vibrational intelligence?
I am now a mind beside myself and muttering.
I search the graveyards of meaningful for what?
My searching skills are a negative affirmation
confirming my position for the-lack-there-of.
I can fill my consciousness with all the positives
I can muster on a moment by moment basis
and yet that means I am in a battle against the negatives?
how did contentious become a preoccupation of being?
all of this rhetoric and posturing does not capture my soul.
my dwell runs deeper than hurt or happiness.
there are no conclusions that give me status for living.
the only broadcast seems to be radiance that matters.
and all that that is, in simple terms is, like attracts like
as if oneness is becoming evident.
we made reality into a soup of sequential idiot lights
as if a path to enlightenment.
reality is indoctrination away from cause and source.
the world of hard knocks has no door.
the metaphor of life is a free-fall device
without ever landing at origin, root or basis.
am I just browbeating myself with language
and meaning is the comedy of mindfulness set to see?
does tail actually wag dog and we don’t get it?
our version of the universe a matrix?
and we, the billions of monkeys
vying to find the front door?
knock knock, who’s there?