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Tuesday, February 27, 2018

relinquish the audience of being 2/27/18

whatever it’s going to be,
I skim the sensory surface.
I get seated in an understanding,
none of which deeply applies
but my life has guardrails,
as immediate recognition is my religion.
it seems unrealization is my addiction,
to make decisions as if a sign of relevance occurred
yet thriving on superficial confirmation
and depiction for audience approval.
this begged assumption starts with separatism
and an insatiable need to reconnect with false sincerity
and not know any better but to name it and story.
authenticity is an accident but when it happens
I am reduced to phenominalizing post hoc
as the currency of the immediate moment.
I am the placard of animation feverishly waving
from where I am stolen from myself.
I want to give you reason
and the apparencies of circumstance
in exchange for deeper vibrational presence between us.
make me admit my truth by being beyond, as you are,
then I convince myself by what I see in you,
knowing it is me, coming forth out of self permission
that you foster by being in a deeper way, my reflection.
but I would never say that to you to your face
none of us actually would,
it’s so outside the format declared.
so much is beyond the grasp of happening awareness.
the movement gathers no traction to be poignant
but it deeply is without the need of confirmation ever.
my every moment features
the supreme energetic awareness of birth
as well as the grand vibrational summary in death.
neither now plays straight away.
I find it shocking
that each moment is the whole two movies
and yet I have to watch it over and over,
advancing the script, looking for the subtlety of source.
I would ask you to pray for us
but that reinforces an ignorance we seem to thrive upon.
so if I realize that you are born
and are dying in each moment before me,
I make the possibility of sacredness come alive in me
not to honor or feel sorrow
but to also live and died richly so
without the assumed drama and the run off of claims.
this quality of intimacy has no audience.
I am more of a pouring presence
and we are a liquidity that reality cannot formally feature.
once accomplished, I realize our oneness outside of time.
I wish the friction-to-flame with those who are present
and relinquish the audience of being.
no more the delivery of sensory as prominent,
just forever fluid, coming as if channeled pouring through,
diversity in the sea of oneness flowing . . .

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