for wherever you want to go,
relative to time and space,
you can only get there
as the experiential baggage of yourself.
and what you get
for where you have gone,
is the wearage as rewards
and recollection as decals from those journeys,
as the symbology of these wanderings
that travel on as their memories do.
the journaling of you is as a suitcase of evidence.
for experience makes us all travelers,
with these recollections made of straw
as reminiscence becoming the threadbare of narratives.
we make mountains out of landfills remembered.
but we do not escape the seasons
as observation's experiential curses and rewards.
oh, to see beyond what sight offers
and to feel beyond how felt responds.
to not have journey as a here-to-there
and then the reframe as back again.
where experience is
but an animation of highlighted oncoming fog
over our heads
with pinholes in it for our sensory aware
to flood over us.
I want the life of isness
where travel is no elaboration
and living beyond experience
is my deeper means.
where the dance has no bodies of mention
but all movement is in sacred glide.
where intake is without holographic regard,
as the broadcast of being
is the journey unto itself . . .
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