the mutual self

 

we are all

the clutter of codependency, 

before we become the cooperative, 

blending towards the collective.

thus finding the lost art 

of the mutual-self, 

is in imminent need 

of rediscovery . . .

the seize of happiness

using experience as a means for permission

still subscribes to self proving one's worth.

maybe unseen and possibly self unsaid

but still functions as a driver for doing,

creating evidence for experience 

as memory to conger. 

the whole of that internalize conversation

captures a false sense of identity

from source to actual presentation.

sure, no one questions or scrutinizes the projection.

others have their positions of pro or con,

but privately held, 

unless there are topics for venting.

each of us are as bulletin-boards 

for the rest of us ongoing,

since we can't address directly, 

how we all work it out.

most of it stalls in the unconscious

but is energetically true, 

yet lodged out of reach 

and so we ride the bus of busyness, 

the pursuit of lip-service claims,

not dishonestly, 

but yet not with depth of courage.

we aren't free to be as much as proclaimed by doing.

we take in small micro-rewards of sentiment 

and frame-breaking bits of private emerging joy.

and parlay those into the vast array 

of consuming busyness, 

as distant glimmers of happiness, 

sighted as reward.

yet to discover, 

that happiness is not merited. 

happiness is not a reward-based surmise. 

the experience of happiness is not happiness,

but the resulting experience of happiness posted.

experience wants in on the self, 

as if the arm that holds the frame for the selfie view.

like happiness has a posed look to it,

that overrides the genuineness of the original feel.

happiness is not experienced based

as self-conscious experience was lead to believe.

happiness is a consciousness from within.

self-consciousness is in the takeover mode.

discernment knows of the difference

as the source of being from the presentation to living.

we would like experience 

to grasp the source of being,

but we are many dysfunctional skills used

away from that quality of clarity.

there are those who are self-generative 

beyond their apparent means.

but most of us 

are mildly displaced from natural happiness.

we know of it,

but less likely source-fully are.

oh such a pronounced conundrum to be chasing.

as happiness is the carrot 

and experience, as the concept 

of being duly rewarded . . .

teetering (haiku)

I have tried to take

a photo of teetering

but still-shot denied

satisfaction's mirth

satisfaction lives 

as a conclusive state of being.

a surmise of self 

as if status has worth.

satisfaction is not hearing the hounds 

at the door of the mind, 

ever listening.

hounds are all the ya-butts, 

barking into recognition's range.

satisfaction is nothing more than relief,

broadly stated as merit, 

removed from subtlety 

of the intermittency of chaos.

memory takes a vacation-photo

to pitch 

at other points along the turbulent way.

how does a look in the mirror of living

ever come to conclude 

amongst the ongoingness?

satisfaction is a false deliverance as means.

living is not for arrival at an ambient state, 

as the suitable construction of surmises.

yikes, are all movies of self 

about proving one's worth?

satisfaction, as external proof of being ,

is a hoax.

it is, 

as if living the fountain of life,

is ever looking 

for a mirror of reflection . . .

white lie (haiku)

soul says to one's mind

life is not versionary

but is a white lie

class-room #1

we, as humans, only have agreement 

with each other as our false-confidence. 

we have species entitlement overplayed

and planetary respect under-represented. 

we have species insularity 

as demonstratively grand.

but planetary awareness 

does not seem to be 

our essential learning process.

what attention to nature teaches us,

should be class-room number one,

in a school of unending learning potential . . .

before mull (haiku)

I was before think

thought is predeceased to me

thought is someone else 

consent or mutuality?

so, recently, I asked 'context'

to ride shotgun with me.

and I came to a place in time

where I was face to face with

'consent or mutuality' going forward

I asked context for a set of fresh eyes

and so I presented and we discussed.

so I proposed:

it's winter time and the snow abounds.

and we went out and made

both angels in the snow 

and then built a snowman together.

I asked,

consent or mutuality?

context looked at me and smiled.

okay, so it's spring time

and we decided to build a raise-bed garden

I had the seeds 

and we went out 

and bought the materials together

then built and planted.

consent or mutuality?

context gave me a silent but sobering look.

okay, so, it's summer time

we decided to go on a hike.

I got a map I had

and somehow we ended up on this particular trail

that you knew about and loved.

I brought water and sunscreen.

consent or mutuality?

context shook its head 

and stared up at the sky,

as if that was a meaningful response.

okay, okay and I sighed.

so it's the fall of the year

and we go out and rake up all of these leaves.

we make a huge pile.

we run, yell and dive into that pile repeatedly.

and then we go about to start an evening fire

by gathering just some of the leaves,

more of twigs and small branches.

where we put the fire

was not good for us to sit around.

I felt somewhat displaced

but happy to be together.

and so I asked once again

consent or mutuality?

context just looked at me,

actually looked straight thru me,

as if my quizzical 

should have turned into wisdom.

what?

consent or mutuality I decried . . . 

revisionism (haiku)

one's revisionism  

as a strength for one's weakness 

can't replace one's doubt

point of view

as dawn arises

the curtain is going up.

all of the quiet gives way

to a readiness approaching.

there is vibratory resonance 

in the air of every breath.

animation is awaken from slumber.

a thousand eyes of tasks, chores and journeys

abound, near by.

the weave of the day

comes out from the fiber of my being.

I am enlisted and enrolled and encouraged.

the canvass is silent 

but sassy and emergent.

dreams hold on to their incessancy to whisper.

I have a mind's eye that rarely blinks

in its vigilance .

sleep had its sweet privacy, for then,

but the curtain of light upon the sky has risen

and movement becomes a mandate.

motion so knows the lyrics

and my senses hum the song,

as each melody has its private and personal calling.

the stage and the audience uniquely share

in the same space.

I feel like we are all migratory creatures

that rest, regain and restore in the night.

and then travel the day as longing.

and in our version, space is not distance

but occupancy as the fluid journey.

we are all riding on a sensory sea,

hoping for a strong wind

of desire or passion for us to take flight.

wanting our days to be of effortless flight,

rather than the bob, the weave, and the float.

wanting my days to be 

of distant sights, albatross ancestry, 

and the wisdom from the curvature of earth.

I don't want or need the emotional flossing

from the grind-lock of traffic,

or the butler-service 

from clock-faces or cell phones.

and I do want familiarity 

to be just a point of view

rather than where I land . . .

narrative (haiku)

narrative fallacy

a storyteller's reward

what they relate to

not know but be

I keep not knowing who I am.

recognition is a slippery slope.

it's selfies without technology.

it's a broken bottle on the bow of doubt.

it's photos taken for memories sake

as if this imprint has any lasting value.

flow doesn't demand instantaneous justification.

every time I freeze frame,

I am subject to not knowing,

like I just awoke from a longtime slumber

into a body and identity to be accounted for.

my reality is somnambulism or fantasy beyond

and then there is the ritual of recognition,

as a set of cursory rules recited to myself.

a quick check on being for appearance's sake.

what does knowing who I am do for me?

it's not a recital or an authentic account.

at best it's a projection skill,

a spontaneous screen test

without mirror feedback.

I just can't keep relying on the past

to justify my going forward.

how did apprehension get such an upper hand?

I should be glad not to be self custodial.

my life should be a free-fall

of what's coming forth.

I should be celebrating what comes thru.

I am life without an I.D. to caretake. 

I don't want recognition as laid to rest.

I want to be the cutting edge of my now,

not that I ordered from the menu of me.

self-apprehension has a false god.

I want the religion of the unexpected expressed.

I want expectation's choir to quietly hum to themselves.

I want my actions juiced with the gift of living.

I want the courtesy of meaning,

not the dictum of it as override.

I want to imagine my life without spare parts,

animation as the wardrobe of presence,

and being as the sounding-board, 

that others feel permitted to respond,

from where they are the essence of themselves,

coming thru.

our consciousness is to sing, 

not mumble.

I really don't want to know

as much as I want to be . . .

subservient (haiku)

well, how does it feel

when you're the other species

and you thought you ruled

lake as life

experience is like ice, 

frozen solid,

formed on a quantum lake.

it registers as a surface of self-consciousness, 

yet intendedly self-consciously aware.

where the ice is of itself, 

thick enough to skate a life on.

our aliveness apparently lives 

in this winter of our awareness.

the ice itself is made-up of recognition

and its thickness, as substance, 

is composed on nominality. 

fear is ever present as unsaidness, 

falling through as apprehension's view.

safety is present 

as certitude and account.

the mind is composed of blades, 

sharpness and skating skills.

while the heart is forever 

looking forward everyday 

to the first polar bear plunge

and the subsequent ultimate experience of self-intimacy

in a new immersion of inner-light,

wanting every moment of experience 

to be enhanced in that way as such.

heart plunge while mind is fully aware.

lake is as life, 

not life as the frozenness of surface-tension . . .