emergence versus immersion

emergence versus immersion,

(as if surf exemplified). 

the swoon of the wave rising up

or the crash of the wave falling back.

the wave, when put to its own efforts,

peaks and then decisively leaps.

whereby the fall back is shapely,

invitingly curvaceousness 

and in some cases, an elegant reentry,

while the rise-up has mood 

and is long-carried 

possibly up from deeply stirred.

for there is turmoil below the surface

before a clear face is shown.

long before a mouth appears to open, 

there is momentous intent, 

way before the cry-out appears.

maybe there is a moody song 

being intensely hummed

yet as wide lipped appears, 

the chorus is then open mouth sung.

if ocean surface is melody

then surely the chorus is available to hum-ride.

I sense emergence with my eyes,

even from a distance, 

as they look out.

but I would be lying to myself 

not to live for the possibility

of riding out that immersion myself

in the hallows of tall wave coverage of me sung, 

initially softly arching over me. 

for the swiftness of this soothing serenade 

pleases, as chorus sung, again upon again . . .

I receive awareness

I receive awareness 

as if in the form 

of delicate sensitives touching me.

the contact acknowledged

is beach, reaching out into ocean awareness.

there is a wisdom discovered to be this occupancy.

this magical has a mind of its own.

inward melodies that fascinate have a presence.

that which takes up space in me is embodied.

the invitation to be aware is a self embrace.

I become small prayers of details noticed,

a religion of curiosity before I had innocence. 

weather is dancing above me

to music I cannot directly hear.

but by its movement, 

the visuals give me a sense for those sounds.

sense is so invitational,

as if the theatre of experience is an engorgement.

there is so much of the intake to process

without a mandate for order

or a map of intentionality to follow.

I don't know from a whisper to a want.

I am assuming that skin, 

my skin, as I claim it 

sets a notion of boundaries,

as a measure for recognition to surface

as if to pause and conclude into a summary.

I just now realize 

that gravity had been background-laughing,

but now, into almost burst-out laughter

as if in a game of sensory hide and seek.

and I thus realized its presence upon me.

for I have a sense of weight 

that does not go away.

not all of me, 

but surely the physical parts are that weigh.

it's so constant 

that it didn't register by contrast.

and I clearly didn't noice 

the weight of any thing else surrounding.

this makes me wonder how impending works.

even the notion of next in my mind 

is shocking,

as there is movement within me as this realization.

it comes, it settles, and it seems to move on

as if I have limits of awareness and attention.

somehow I am solid and positioned amongst.

sadly, everything is not as evidentially animated 

as I thought.

am I not new but somehow recovering?

as if revisiting this old house of me 

but freshly so?

don't know if this was/is a coma 

or a new life born.

awareness woke me up, 

maybe into cruel shoes.

and I was somewhere else, 

blessedly but for now blindly, somewhere else. 

until this mysteriously or magically happened,

but for now, right now.

I don't really know of their differences . . .

we as sailor's knots

we are all sailor's knots, 

made out of truth,

tied up in the use of ongoingness. 

of course there is the uniqueness to the knot.

each person, their own variations

as the purposes served, 

extended from the tie-up of the past 

into the effort to secure the future.

not so much symmetry 

but surely amazing curvatures. 

each view, however you want to look, 

has those in and outs.

sure there is tension on the line,

as to be expected.

but some stretchiness, 

clearly way into the past,

while others, are just a short rope 

and a big knot.

looks like some were done with skills towards usage

while others feature haphazard, 

clearly on display.

from seasick to long voyager,

the rope of life displays the means of necessity.

some of us on in dingys  

while others are on a cruse. 

nobody is on an island,

no matter what their claims seem to be.

most of us have knots

that have not been formally named,

other then our own.

knots usually used for when sailing

but some have them for being tied up.

some people go by their boat name.

but I am always interested in the knots they use.

the boat is the projection

but the rope is always the essential 

and in some ways,

ever the hidden truth . . .

from the outside to in

I base my awareness on a drunkenness.

I squeeze a size-up-ness out of anything viewed.

could want for things that match 

to constantly appear before me.

for this free-fall of a mismatch

seems to be ever present

as next thoughts come and go.

I have to maintain a sense of witness

to have access to who I would claim myself to be.

if that abruptness arose, say unexpectedly,

how does being a watcher create stability?

maybe it's the endless internal dialogue

that by constant chatter, stabilizes me.

maybe it's the entitlement of critique that calms me,

for I am only tipsy in the privacy of myself.

self-loathing needs a wardrobe change instantaneously

whenever it becomes self-evident,

but carry on.

so what was I saying?

surprisingly, no one is the wiser.

I have fallen through years this way,

appearing to be present and appropriate.

my pen has been out of ink,

it seems forever.

maybe born this way,

but didn't discover at all.

just phased along, 

crashing into mirrors that don't brake,

but look back as if to quantify.

at first I thought it to be a greeting

but realized quite deeply from within,

this is how I come to know myself,

from the outside to in . . .

chrysalis (haiku)

we are chrysalis 

to becoming an angel

pupa of oneness

the travel of think

so I tried to run my thinking by someone else

but they couldn't see it.

so I ran my thoughts by them instead

and that they could relate to,

but that really didn't help.

it wasn't like I had a flat tire

and needed some assistance.

it was more like I needed a map,

some sense of direction, distance

and recognition 

in time and space perspective.

language only dresses up my thoughts

but it doesn't adequately represent my think.

so when I go to thought,

I can yack away

and people are nodding with approval.

it's like we are all at the train station,

waiting for the appropriate train of expectation

and there is agreement 

about what a ticket to ride is.

but if I talk other kinds of travel to foreign sites,

it seems I have body-oder of the mouth,

understanding ceases, 

and agreement ceases.

I'm in an invisible glass case,

viewed as from curious to gawk 

to then just look away.

my think was supposed to invite your think.

but we don't have easy agreement that way.

you had to have a think all ready and waiting,

so that we could ride off into wherever 

that think would have taken us.

I would guess I wanted the travel of think

but not the train station of thought,

as a means of getting from here to there . . .

the self of experience

not caring, 

is caring on a different level.

like I don't really love myself,

but in a loving way.

like I wish I was more 

than I thought myself to be,

but I am.

like there are times

I wish I was dead and gone,

but I'm back.

there are times

I fall through the cracks,

but exist as ground-under.

have flashes of success,

but thrive as a storm of the soul.

I am incapable of telling the whole truth,

only to discover

that truth was never organized for the telling.

telling is just a striptease of the mouth,

for minds that are ever the voyeurs. 

experience is a lot like that.

and so I constantly ask it,

what else have you done for me lately?

curse of habit (haiku)

habit's ritual 

dusk towards unconsciousness

shun of aliveness

to experience experience

to experience experience,

not the results or outcomes,

but the mechanism and means of experience,

the influx and the flood

before cognition takes hold,

before depiction fills in the blanks,

before sensory is totally stolen into sensible, 

before thought has dignified itself as presenter.

note, the whole backstage of it all:

the front screen assumptions,

the bodily front row seats,

before the techniques 

of assumption and expectation became so evident. 

the experience of experience

without all that fanfare,

not looking outward 

but venturing inward

without a scope or convention to receive,

a free-fall or a free-up

with no recognition presenting,

not even a screen sense

or sensory service available as means,

no location for mind to center point from,

time-space not a consideration for usage,

no language forthcoming to handhold,

clips of words fragmenting as meaning disappears

beyond the end point of experience's capacity.

notice is removed from any edginess.

constancy has no sense of capture.

relevance has no self of audience.

what was a self of relevance, is long-gone. 

the deception is, 

call it experience of experience,

since no skills or means transitioned.

experience demystified

amongst the clutter of conundrums,

mass without occupancy,

form without surface,

integrity without observation,

soul without knowing

in being without time,

in simplicity.

experience knocks on the door of itself.

asking if it can come in

but unable to disavowal of itself. 

and we, having a fear of this as ocean,

live on not wanting to drown in the sea . . .

out of ourselves

that which takes us out of ourselves,

does that have to be pain?

do we have to travel as a cathartic means?

how did a self gets so familiar-bound?

what makes self-landscape so relevant?

thought we had culture as metaphor.

thought thought was meaning bound.

and we all dressed up in it

but surely knew that we were richly nude

inside whatever apparel 

or peril we were in.

ourselves is just an un-boundaried meme.

it's a made up 

as ever reflected into the world of the surround.

'ourselves' seems to have notable and defendable limits,

as if that is a preoccupation of order.

how could we clamor for more!

for, out of ourselves.

how does experience ever become a laxative

when the ingest is expectation's call?

'ourselves' has turf in expectation's realm.

the vehicle of being can't go

where the tread does not apply.

so do we want to walk

instead if ride?

do we want to spontaneous

rather than proceed?

this isn't forest-for-the-trees

this is sky-for-the-universe.

this is sky-written fine print

that expectation's eyes can't read.

this is all pour 

but no container worth noting.

a toast without a glass,

a pledge without lip-service means,

a celebration without a cause.

to that which takes us

'out of ourselves' . . .

time (haiku)

time is suicide 

in the death of each moment

and for what purpose?