reality is all about echo.
no originals actually occur.
the landscape of subjectivity
determines the lay of the landing.
and what is heard is only reflective,
and so we travel the land
of our own making.
blinded by the stimulus,
we are somehow always in response there to.
we negotiate the prismatic prison of our personage.
life is affect made evident,
under equipped and over stimulated,
sensory overloaded without deeper insight.
the burdens of intake presenting overwhelm,
apparently on the outside, looking in,
seems like all windows and bleacher seats.
birthright is ticket to ride,
self-consciousness so overly preoccupied.
the sonar of soul would like to tell the truth
but it’s not in a language.
and hearing it does not apply,
for there is no story to be told.
so listen up,
is the conundrum to start
and then, reality is the koan . . .
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