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 . . .
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