personal evolution 7/31/19

personal evolution is hidden 

in the wisdom of non-eventfulness.

any time the mind-grab of awareness is on,

the mind wants a front row seat

working from an audience perspective.

that technique takes one out 

of the authenticity occurring 

and makes a subjective version as a substitute.

that substitute then becomes a basic addition

to the story of one’s life 

as told by the mental account of being.

one is again sabotaged from personal growth

by a mental equivalency as truth

as then the mind’s drive is to prove one’s worth

by an external set of perspectives and standards.

self-consciousness is in overwhelm with circumstance.

evolution, as a deep truth, 

sources beyond and beneath the evident,

not that now is not a stimulant in unrealized ways.

but the ambience of being

functions from an energetic truth basis

while self-consciousness features belief-bias 

as the driver of that need to becoming evident.

personal evolution is a surrender

and not a well-driven conquerer.

there is no 'change' gained in evolution.

it is an expansion-to-include as awareness 

as presence provides.

one becomes more confluent with the energy of being

without a stark realization as its pronouncement

to be rendered or accounted for.

if technique was to be the medium

then non-eventfulness would be a given

and eventfulness would not be relevant 

and more obviously, 

a distraction from the source.

yet both, given the currency 

of our present circumstances,

would be presently applied.

but source-fully, we would not be attending

to our consciousness in the same way.

for the medium of our beingness 

would be the broadcast of spirit 

as radiance

and personality, 

as a projection,

would be secondary and resolute

in service to our spirit . . . 

the profound benefits of failure 7/30/19

our personal dependency on failure

is not with the particulars

but more so on the method itself.

failure is a perspective leading into conclusions.

it is the essential work with failure

to discover beyond the elements accounted for

and to perceive beyond the stated results

so as to come to a clarity

beyond the makings of the event described.

failure is then investigated; 

for its abject worth,

for its stated elements of pronouncement,

for its emotional displacement,

and for its context of arrival 

and eventual resolve.

failure is a version of success.

for failure and success suffer 

from the same syndrome of influence,

caught in a futurization that proves one’s worth

but that falsifies this moment 

for the sake of another,

that substitutes audience perspective

for a value terrain made personal as ascent.

worth then becomes a distraction

in search of its original premise.

no, not the account premise,

but the hidden within one’s self premise.

the one that include irrational truths,

that remain undisclosed in real world ways.

where the context for self appraisal

has been made dependent 

upon exterior measures in a contextual confinement

that no one else really can adequately grasp

as either true source or hidden motivation.

yet the success or failure as vexing 

comes to apply as your worth relative to others,

as negotiated from the market of expectations,

mine for yours and yours for me.

all a false-front of existence in a communal sense

but still exceedingly prominent and practiced.

there is valuable information from success or failure

but not as a stifling conclusion or reaction.

somewhere within is the fluid state of being

that sees through and works with

the framing style exhibited by success or failure,

both of which produced a false status of being.

if passion were the guide

then neither would weigh heavily.

for instead of chasing success and avoiding failure,

both would serve to cultivate

a deeper sense of passion of being

and a refinement of drawnness 

as if purpose needed to take a momentous stance 

from deep within one’s being . . .

as if time was ever the measure 7/29/19

I want to leave all memories behind 

for aliveness.

not that they are not historically relevant,

but I want the kiss of now 

embracing me.

no, not for the momentary impression made

but for being lost 

in a timeless immersion,

where I am becoming nameless 

and without any identity out to save me.

I want to be usurped 

by a dimension beyond belief,

that recognizes me from the inside out,

that gives me a sense of being before experience.

for who we really are 

when we have no more verbal account.

for memory veils upon us 

in unforgeting but muting ways.

it is as a distortion 

away from calling out for timeless time.

but how we are humanly impressionable 

stalls us, into slower versions of being aware. 

we are than laden 

by what current reality versions command.

each moment as is, 

is experientially an aftermath of what really is real.

for us to be on the comeback from this

to actually be transformational from within.

we are not the need to be making up ground. 

but more so we are to ascend 

to a different medium of being.

gone are these daze spent 

in our circular journeys

as if time was ever the measure 

for this calling . . .

my express-way 7/28/19

I am with the tire-tracks upon me,

the tapping chorus 

of soothing rain in passing,

the cacophonous contact sounds of litter 

heading for the curb.

I am burdened with the last remarks of roadkill,

the passing shadows of cloud-like cars.

I am with the yawns of sunrise

and the deep sighs 

and the cool-downs of sun-settings.

there is a certain grind to my complexion.

all of these images very studied 

and yet still sensing.

I wanted to be the life of a mirror

but opacity has taken its toll.

few will look at me 

and reflect upon their life.

sky is my only constant friend. 

I live a fantasy life 

through the journey of clouds.

and every day I turn another page.

so, what say you, 

in passing? . . . 

at hand 7/27/19

my hands, 

holding nothing evident, 

play the instrument of life.

this is not the grasp of drum sticks

or the use of fingers 

on a keyboard’s melodious parade.

this is not the finger-tapping of trumpets 

or clarinets

or the feathering of violins

or the deep swirling swings on a harp.

there is absolutely nothing in sinc with breath.

escorted by no apparel as uniform.

just my hands on this instrument of living.

the escort of symphony is all around.

maybe there are page-turns along the way.

but I am not hearing cacophonous, as my sound.

occasional I surely hum the melody, 

quite privately, just heard inside.

at times, it feels like 

there is a seating arrangement

and I have made friends 

with everybody all around.

and yet there are other times 

when it feels like a marching band,

some sort of precision of movement in demand.

apparently some part of me 

knows where to go

and how it all flows,

while I play on,

as the instrument at hand . . .

precious 7/26/19

as if there is a space between 

the space allowed for thought.

there use to be very little space

between one thought to the next.

it was a rapid conveyer belt, 

in all ways consuming 

and then moving on.

my life was evidentially that ride.

I had a set of eyes 

and developed a feel for it.

there was a sort of tunnel vision, 

to living it.

yes, the pace has seemed to slow

and that was my experiential measure 

for my aging.

but then one day, I inadvertently discovered

a minuscule small amount of space 

between these thoughts that unavoidable come

and an unclaimable kingdom of spacial reserve.

curiously these all fell out of context.

they were not 

in my ordinary sense of thought-range.

something sort of backstage to being was occurring.

an open prairie of existence, 

on its own.

not so much ground-figure

or even a world of intendedness.

but somehow confluently belonging,

its seems to have no language

or need for a worldly order.

yet, it is fluid-on in to me.

it seems to feel like I am buoyant  

on this lake of it.

no, not necessarily even the urge for rowing.

fish and sea-birds come by 

to say hi in their own way.

land as shorelines seem to be excuses

unnecessary to make.

surface and sky seem to be 

in an unusual embrace around me,

for its hard for me to feel 

like an observer in this scene.

for now, thoughts labor themselves past me

yet still possibly through me.

as if gift packages sent my way

for me to send on to others.

oddly during this time,

thoughts feel so packaged

as if I am in a fire-line, 

as a bucket brigade of thoughts

are on their way through me

to somewhere else.

seemingly buckets come and go.

yet too, that rhythm has slowed.

for now there is so much otherwise happening

between each pass.

I seem to be made more essentially

of wonderment 

and easily to have wherewithal

to make these words about it.

since so much more of this dimension has appeared.

I have to wonder 

if all of the rest of my life

had been fronting.

for this all now comes to me so easily.

and there is no search or chase about it.

this world, between thoughts,

is a ‘precious’,

being of myself . . .

shortcuts of trust 7/25/19

I live beyond worth.

I take on a life as a traveling berth to being.

I am not in a posture of deserving. 

where all of life is confluent,

there is no need for appraisal. 

we are the subtle physics of oneness exemplified,

to travel bravely through the worlds 

of depiction and specified. 

unity has no declarational need to be justified.

experience is only a seduction to recover from.

all wisdom has an uncertainty to its shelf life.

the only prayer ongoing is the constancy of we.

all utterances are only from the songbook of now.

seeing of itself, 

is the experiential mirroring of being.

all of living is a confessional prayer

as the constant state of offering.

no thought is ever a keepsake or a redemption.

love is but the composition of the auric skin we wear.

all motion is a form of dedicated humility,

for everything is migratory except for nothingness.

the source of all true smiles is the expression of vast.

only nothing can appear to be withheld.

sensing, as experience, is only icing on the cake.

the only existence of valid, as meaningful, 

is manifest.

yes, life is filled with shortcuts of trust . . .

seeing 7/24/19

I have a relationship with seeing.

what I see are sensory friends to me.

most are stoic.

and few offer animation coming my way.

any motion is a form of conversion.

my animation is some form of dialogue in-play.

everything sighted is invitational to me.

its all a greeting line,

eyes open, 

moving through the day.

I love it, 

when we see eye to eye.

some much of shared wealth

is in this exchange.

cherishing the adventure of visuals.

what more in viewing

can I say? . . .

moment to moment 7/23/19

no moment is ever the same 

as a previous moment 

because there is only one moment

and that the method of retention 

cues on repeatability 

and therefore sacrifices the riches of the moment 

for the gloss-possibility of carriage of memory 

from the last moment into the next 

as if that concept actually works 

towards richness and depth of being.

that fallacy produces self as audience 

and clipped versions that contrast and compared 

to sustain a notion of next mount revisited 

as an ongoing to the last 

in a mindset way.

therefore almost all skill-sets for awareness 

that humans possess 

get culled down to service in this style

and feature what provides 

for this ongoing view 

of this moment to moment

as a slideshow set in motion 

by the insatiable ever-screen viewing used

as each frame 

is further recognition confirming.

all of which takes us out of this moment 

in anticipation of featuring the next 

as a form of superficial engagement 

in our notion of a reality format. 

therefore now never fully comes into existence. 

we are not able to engage and immerse 

in that depth of presence.

all mental faculties are cuing towards that gloss 

that has become 

recognition’s stance in a mindful way.

this is the difference between looking to see 

and gazing to be.

in a see-world, there are lots of things identified

and therefore things to look at 

for recognition purposes.

in a gaze-world, there is as we are. 

any recognition has no audience elements 

to distinctively intake.

our reality has extra unnecessary parts 

of self-participation 

that keep us from actually being present with, 

as part of.

our version of integration requires all else 

to matter to us, 

in meaningful ways 

without regard to how all else 

truly integratively works 

in the bigger picture 

that we have no frame 

of personal reference for.

we exist, in our minds,

as standalones, 

experiencing the world 

around us . . .

what can’t be helped 7/22/19

how does one come to know 

what can’t be helped?

does that become the wisdom of letting go?

is this the demystification 

of the concept of control?

is this where personal motives and meaning 

part ways?

is this where and how to draw the line 

when lines don’t work any more?

is this not the change 

but the transformation 

for the use of motive?

is this the discovery

of the victimhood of a strategists?

or how accomplishment is 

only a curator’s dream-life.

or why moments of emptiness 

may be more essentially meaningful?

or how bigger and better 

become false perspectives?

what can’t be helped

is such a monumental accomplishment

to the discovery 

and the usage 

of the human spirit’s enterprise . . .

the work of understanding 7/21/19

what is the work that understanding does?

I pass through this moment 

with an abundance of brain-clutter?

I live in an informed countenance of passivity?

I am waiting for an opportunity 

to share this mind-field of wealth?

all that I have come to know

gives fear a basis of operation

as to how I prepared for what’s next. 

understanding has a potential affect 

on how and why next moments present.

but understanding also has a passivity to it.

a way of falsely calming one down

a ploy of ignorance to the moment at hand

a reliance on memory and expectation’s worth

understanding can be a story 

read to oneself to feel okay

understanding can be a workforce from within,

active and ever presently engaged.

it can be a style of self-permission,

a method of pursuit,

a singular means of competence,

a feel providing for readiness,

a personal method for being self-referential,

for some, understanding does not mean mindful.

understanding is only the work,

not the person 

or the grounds for claiming one’s worth.

understanding can fill the moment

and void the depth of being.

understanding is the standard safety net approach.

but it is one dimension shy of being the driver.

the work of understanding 

is in the hands of the spirit of the being.

and the artist of the mind

only creates from the inspiration of that soul . . .

heroes or sheroes 7/20/19

heroes or sheroes only exist 

in an audience frame of reference.

it is a dysfunctional means of relatedness.

I don’t really need to only know what you did.

I need to experience where you hurl from within.

from where within do you see?

how do you spark?

and how your self love 

ignites your process . . . 

in luminary confinement 7/19/19

proclaimed individuality is a means 

of isolation for uniqueness to be a reward. 

that then becomes a refinement of its own.

but the extendedness of that refinement 

becomes appearances of loneliness. 

and as loneliness becomes drawn out,

the collapse becomes evident.

and the method of the initial frame-setting 

intended in the first place

from or for prominence or popularity

yields to one’s own form 

of self-imprisonment

still potentially popular 

but limited from the deep intimacies

of unspecified human contact 

and the interplay 

that comes out of shared mutualities. 

proclaimed is a karmic lesson of delusion,

a deception of the self,

to be discovered

as a means 

to a deeper sense of humanity . . .

H to O 7/18/19

does an iceberg say good bye 

to the intimacy 

lost from the melt?

will we ever be together 

in some other vein?

as frozen neighbors again,

but for now

abundantly fluid 

yet highly viscous,

in sync in the sea,

we are mutually on the evaporative ascent,

huddled together

either in cloud-based travel,

or gravity spent 

in a shared symphony of falling rain.

under any means

I am with you

and of you.

It is always grand

to be

H to O you . . .

where’s Waldo of my spirit 7/17/19

I don’t like the experience of the moment.

I’m always looking for 

‘where’s’ the Waldo of my spirit’ in it.

this is all a big puzzle 

in a blizzard of distraction 

with ambient camouflaged to boot.

where is the touchstone of my being 

for each moment that is happening?

I want to have those eyes for seeing 

and my spirit 

for guiding from my heart.

I feel like I am guzzling 

on a lukewarm of reality.

experience like this produces tired eyes,

too much circumstantial flat-screen overwhelm.

my occupancy is highlighted by boundaries.

this is of itself, a false personal perspective,

as if everyone is a criminal of their mind.

what does that say 

about the inner jury of self contention?

and further, if we all live 

with the weight of these hidden conclusions 

logged as personal memory and jury,

where does the newborn 

of the moment within 

come from with innocence 

and assertion without restraint?

and what forms the character 

of that child of self going forward?

and how does cynical not intrude 

when emotions in the moment run high?

it’s all too strangely inward, 

being human self-consciousness, that is.

not that the life road doesn’t appear long enough

and the illusion keeps that distance real.

yes, alive in the mind’s eye

and light above laboring.

remembering that familiarity is 

an elucidating slideshow, 

used by habit 

to show ourselves

how to go about 

with these props we have 

utilized for living.

I live for the Waldo of my spirit,

rising above and through 

living this maze of puzzle-dumb . . .

snowflake (haiku) 7/16/19

snowflake’s manuscript

unique storyline to see

crystal in maze-works 

the bones about it 7/15/19

our bodies are anecdotals.

and our feelings unattended 

become passe.

I have no knowledge 

of the intense lovemaking of the ‘now’.

for I am beside myself 

with artifacts and memories.

where we are this light,

it casts no shadows.

the song of this goes on

but never becomes sounded as sung.

experience of this 

washes off real clean

yet the isness is undisturbed.

they call it out as love 

with initials 

carved into the wearings of lifetimes.

glimpses of these there-afters

become the continuance of religions.

knowing becomes the petals of memory

falling off the livingness of humans as trees.

yet I wear the down of uprisings

and accessorize with aftermaths. 

I am the abusiveness of intimacy

and the luster-dust of radiance.

I am every octave as open pores,

the cubicles of eternities,

the eddies in the rippling phase 

of flows that last forever.

I am the wink of eras

and the slander of shameless time.

I am humbled as mass

and nothingness as delight.

all surface is butt slander,

in that, oneness has no face.

I offer you the beyond

as a slap on the camouflage of being.

future is a smirk, 

always forthcoming.

the present grabs your throat.

we have lips that meet. 

now is coming into this where-upon.

I am you, 

as are our tongues.

we are this child of existence.

and we only are the bones

that we make about it . . .

openly provide 7/14/19

I cannot freely give

as if there is no exchange happening 

at some esoteric level and beyond.

but I can openly provide

that you in your self-initiative 

can willingly respond.

interaction has many depths, levels 

and exchanges in these ongoings.

most may not be seen

as consciously exchanged

or intentional in any conscious manner.

but we all dance

either by symbolic cues,

apparent gestures,

feelings that flourish,

or callings that surface.

by this of ourselves,

for accidents are only untold stories

yet to be mutually revealed.

that we pass through each other

is, as destiny is the weave.

we are,

even by the faintest of impressions,

as simple sightings

far off in the distance of refrain,

or to the other extreme,

by madcap interactions

that eventually prove to be

beyond the witness of insane.

we are,

as the oneness of us stirs.

account is far in the dust of thereafter

any translation preys upon 

being euphemistically historical.

we only have the flint and steel of now.

I cannot freely give,

but I can openly provide . . .

tree bark (haiku) 7/13/19

the bark of a tree

not loud by the sound of it

but roars standing tall

ode, to live on 7/12/19

I don’t want to live on,

as if for the quench of it.

I‘m willing to set all my desires 

as if they live 

as meaningful cause, aside.

to let my rational mind wander off, 

solely, on its own.

to not be 

in the human nature of feel

but rather in the essence 

of its isness.

to not be

by recognition’s account

nor the dust of knowing 

beckoned to return.

let the  ‘be’ of me 

make its own way 

before language can form,

where cohesion and coherence are 

in the eternal commingle,

where before ‘audience’ 

was ever invented,

be of that ‘there’ 

before identification ever occurred, 

be before ‘oneness’ 

ever had a term referring.

I am then, now, and thereafter.

commitment has no need to form.

I leave acknowledgment for its formatedness,

presence for its self aware,

dignity for its distinctiveness in contrast

and the understanding of love, 

for its immediate implications.

I go no further 

in the sense of time

or in the need for space.

if only,

to surrender the all of it.

where essence doesn’t know 

the rigors of its isness,

where no next is ever coming 

yet ever is the flow,

where light has no speed 

but is ever the constancy,

and where in-breath is

and out-breath was and will be . . .