female orgasm without contextual restraints

 

it's one thing to experience orgasm

but quite another 

to be orgasmic from within.

that journey, from experience to being,

is a form of melt-into a deeper awareness

than observational experience is skilled at.

as long as it is happening to you,

you are on the outside feeling in.

there is a self maintenance 

separate from that feeling.

it is as a sensory intake 

rather than a vibratory broadcast.

it has timelines of evidential circumstance

that can appear 

as behavior towards stimulation

and yes, that can appear as a knock 

at the welcome door.

but more deeply, there is a residence 

beyond the continuous knock 

at the front door.

a place within where the tone of the knock

takes on its own life of resonant existence,

where the vibratory has an unrealized life,

maybe appearing as so subtle

as to be in reality-terms, 

ignored, dismissed or duly noted

in a self-spectatorship way.

that inner place, 

beyond physical circumstance,

is more of the essence of oneself

behind all of the evidentials 

and the self account.

to awake to this source-place 

is a complete shift of self orientation.

it is to have a depth of being emerge 

as a presence

as to realize that one is always in that place,

even though reality is a gloss 

in avoidance of it,

that that presence, once realized,

is not sexual in nature

but is only one possibility of its presentation.

it doesn't need behavior act-outs 

to be evident.

it is a field broadcast of being,

more subtle and more profound 

at the same time.

we don't have the culture for that to be,

but for some, once discovered, 

it is that it is.

vibrational then is foreground 

but not outwardly disclosed

and reality is backdrop 

and constantly on display.

female orgasm is not 

a wondrous kite in the sky,

it is the sky praising the kite 

by a constant flow,

as in undulations, 

syncopations of subtle sensations radiating 

from a deep inward sourcing.

not so much local in a physical way

but more so presence blooming 

through the field of you,

maybe a sense of full aura, 

in a pulsating blossom.

not to be the fascination 

of that as happening

but to be the groundedness 

in being the source of it,

where awareness of it is fluctuating 

but the constancy of it 

as broadcast is now evident.

not sexual in orientation any more,

even though the culture only responds 

to it as such.

it is revealed to be more basic 

than breathing,

more fundamental 

than body occupancy awareness.

heartbeat and orgasm dance 

in unrevealed constancy,

where mindful conscious prayer 

is only lip-service

to this overwhelm 

of subtle steadfastness in being.

female orgasm 

without contextual restraints . . .

(reread ……… behold……… be)

the resolute

find the way beyond the behind 

of what appears to be 

and live lucidly into that

for to fathom as to realize

seek the unbounded fringe of the absolute

go after the quintessential 

of the furthermost 

as in the blessedness 

of the living blood of being

where the vibrational is a constant whisper

the cellular constantly befriending

every breath a fair exchange 

with the universe in total 

where the infinite is 

constantly joking about time

and manifest is just the mass 

of en mass wisecracks

where totality has no edges

and comprehension has no means 

of grip but embrace

to be where directional 

is an idle prank played

as in look there 

as if not see the holographic all

what to wonder 

where meaning is not the goal

where the resolute of isness 

has no instinct to search

the carving work of words 

towards meaning is absent 

and experience as impression 

is evaporative in nature

as the last thread of self 

to be extinguished before oneness

be the fuel, the fire, the burn of revelation

until the remains have nothing left 

but connectedness

until all the stories drown 

in the vocal hum of oneness

submersed into the all 

without fallout or remains

where the mind aware was 

but a ball-point pen of purpose

exploring the ocean of ink

using the tell-trail of self-cursory in script

to lead one's thought deep 

into the ocean of entirety

only to eventually evaporate of self 

into the oneness 

of vibrational resolute . . . 

the passing of 'should'

the way the experience of 'should' eventually dies 

in the mind of the beholder.

'should' started out so very upstanding,

a command 

of supposed consensual alignment,

an agreement to an invisible force sustained,

a Machiavellian of principle 

coming into play,

almost a birthmark of dignity as presumed. 

'should' as a standout 

in a crowd of things to do,

the eventual monotony 

of 'should' as reappearance,

so many faceless 'should's 

as if commanding,

to discover the facelessness implored, 

as 'should's demanding army of others,

as if courtesy has it

or caring for others 

has the demanding-ness 

of the unspoken behind it.

'should' becomes the process of discovery,

the inferred command 

of others has vacancy.

yet the amass 

of others is a few and far between.

the significance of 'should' 

appeals to an ignorance

for the lack of self in intent

or the apprehension of the unknown 

is at play.

everyone on the bus 

is not the mentality of the driver.

the expression of self existed 

before an explanation comes. 

one is channeling their existence,

not living to appease 

an audience's approval.

'should' with all rights reserved,

comes to rest in peace,

as a lesson learned,

a perspective gained,

a right of passage achieved. 

'should' is a perspective 

in the rights of passage.

where in, as experience travels 

that road of learning,

one 'should' revel in the double-entendre

and not live in the gloom 

of its mockery . . . 

the big switcheroo

conclusionary reality is 

a conveyer-belt existence

the allure of unpredictability sits 

muted in residence 

the driver for the enticement 

is anything unusual

please, just any whatever 

to wake up the take

the streaming takes on its own life of fatigue

just how does monotony hypnotize 

one to the core?

it seems all the senses have been trained 

to lockstep intake

recognition is cruel in its demands 

to have viable status from cognitive account

the constant stream 

of judgment endorsement

this is a suffocating use of human advocacy 

eventually I am an idiot light 

to muttered reckoning

I'll take anything, 

even a earthquake tremor 50 miles away

anything possibly out of place to my eyes

sounds that contradict 

the general hearing display

even a sneeze of substantial proportions would help

this passing of the day 

in the boots of conclusions

does get me from here to there 

but really where?

I need a non-somnambulistic occurrence 

as a grand interlude 

to what passes as the day's concerns

a glitch in the normative

a glimpse that lingers 

into existence notwithstanding

a fulcrum of notice that thrives on ahas 

a heartbeat of deeper truth 

present beyond evident

a comeback surmise 

that eliminates the obvious

a prayer for a false god 

the lies in shambles before me

an axis that alters the swim 

of my buoyant existence

a way to care for the load 

but exist as the pleasure of doing so 

a connect to the effortlessness of existence

the genius of witness 

by never being in the way

turning flogging into flutter

humdrum into uncommon eventfulness personified

evident into the grace of embrace

and being into presence 

holding light into existence . . .

watching my sight

I watch what my sight beholds,

generally working strictly for identification's purposes.

somewhat lazy in the repetitiousness 

of these tasks.

familiar's demands are 

sort of bossy about that,

as if habit has 

the most deliberate directive delivered

in a kind of unsaidness ongoing.

I know there is comfort received 

from this mundanity obliging

but when I give my eyes 

curious looking to do,

the eye-work is so much more active.

it is still in the notice mode

but does not settle 

with feeding recognition its due.

looking, normally, can be so passé,

required but ever so assumed

as to the task at hand.

it's so different 

when looking through a microscope 

or binoculars or a telescope.

my eyes are being asked to freshly perceive.

they are task-excited in a thorough way.

but just to look out at the world 

in a normal vain,

in which case

something has to be out of place 

to really be seen.

so I watch what my eyes do, 

sort of from behind-within 

and above-behind.

I get what they are looking at

but I am curious about 

how they go about that task itself.

so once in while,

I will interject that what they are seeing 

in only a mere camouflage of surface,

and then for what,

to have them look more thoroughly?

they actually are hungry for it,

report more myopically, 

put multiple sightings together,

are less of an audience

and more of a studied detective by intent.

I am not asking for reading the fine print,

just see the world with a different sight

on their own. 

they may focus on something

that leads me to wonder

as if the burden is now on me 

to process their sensing 

for what sight is offering.

I, for myself, love that process.

it's like having a hunting dog

sniff out the unseen or unknown,

right before my eyes.

but in this case, it is my eyes 

doing that task with fervor and intent.

I have appreciation for that

and for the way we can work that together.

watching my sight see is more interactive

than I ever presumed it to be.

it is a cross conversation 

all about an inner dialogue 

but not necessarily done in talk ways.

this style of witnessing has provided

in deeply insightful ways

and I am ever so going forward 

appreciative . . .