be in the essence

 

the brushstroke on the canvass of reality 

is too hard.

yet, quite absentmindedly, 

there is paint left behind.

of course I can recall the original intention.

but the medium of communication 

has shifted.

yes, there will be an image to render 

in the end,

but more importantly, 

there will be the message 

of pressure applied.

stroke by stroke, hidden away,

only the subtly of deduction will read 

the fineness of the press.

my nervous system has these kind of eyes,

as we all do.

but apparent reality is the all 

of the art presented.

no one attends to the grip 

of the pallet and the brush.

they all had their moments in this process,

but without endpoint distinction.

the creativity of being goes undisclosed

into the projection as the living art itself.

I'm for the yoga 

of the spirited-mind and the rendered heart.

the body is for show 

and the walkway of evidence. 

I want for the method of self in the hurl,

from where did it originate, 

and how did it get to be these incidentals 

of projection.

the birds of personality will fly off.

so take me to where the nest is still warm,

where the branches hold memories 

of their sightedness,

to where the deep roots of being vibrationally auric-linger, 

to where we all take up no space 

but essentially are,

to the miracle of the script 

before human occupancy.

energy spent has so much 

in the saying of itself.

it earnestly works for deeper causes 

than personality would.

essence cannot be distracted 

by the culture of circumstance.

I want to inhale the blessedness of being 

as the art.

all of this manifest is just the wrappings.

find me the ripples, the pools, the flooding

and take away all of the obvious, 

the evident.

now let me feel for the flow, 

the sacred in its honoring.

I want to be in the essence to essence,

where we all fall up . . .