beyond the gist

I use to mainline reality just from my senses,

like periscope, sound track, 

full body massage,

smells as passing fancies, 

with food stops along the way.

but then the crown of thorns 

began to talk to me.

sort of anecdotal to start,

like where they came from,

what is was like there,

before their abandonment happened.

and I had to ask.

who of me is hearing this?

not that I said that loud enough 

for anyone but me to notice.

so I dialogued back, curiously in wonder,

studying for the source of me by inquiry.

facetiously, I keep the conversation going.

forget the pain in or on my head story.

at least it converted into 

the presence of fascination.

who the hell was I in dialogue with

and who the hell was I in doing so?

whatever, those questions, they fell away.

what a world to witness.

but I was also in it.

well, leaving the in-it sense 

to be of-it.

being a thumbtack of a being 

pressed into the reality board

was over.

I went up the thumb of it

and into the whelm. 

that one-pointed frame of reference 

was stuck in the wall of reality existence

but not any more the me of it.

whatever was the sensory stall-points 

of observation, 

is over.

everything is in ever-so animation of itself,

interactively.

well beyond what I had possibly imagined.

it was a swim in aliveness,

a flight in ever buoyancy uplifting.

my stoic mind in madness appreciative.

if I am a self 

than I was an idiot in being so. 

now is interpretive into integrative.

every thing of my world conception

speaks its own expressive language, 

in its own collective cooperative way.

at some point it is hard to imagine

that they let us go on with such compassion.

we are only ever circumstantial 

to be dealt with.

we hardly apply ourselves 

towards their cause.

what we would have as sacred,

they have as essentially mundane.

what we have as mysterious or bizarre,

they have as matter of fact ongoing.

what we would look at as intriguing, 

they have as functionally efficient.

they are all around us, 

not to become as we so envision.

but for us to wake up 

into alignment with them,

we, as humans, are an eyesore ongoing.

we are a species of embarrassment.

the toddlers in the wander of it all.

their idea of efficiency 

is blessed to the cause.

we have clueless as apparel

and act out as an only child 

with expectations

leading us into fury and frustration.

reality is such a disappointment 

of fine print.

who wrote this shit?

if it is a script,

it needs a rewrite or a toss.

I'm for the toss and wing it.

there is little else I can say.

except to take your crown of thorns

and listen up, 

then listen in.

both to what is said

and from where within you 

you are hearing it.

go to that you and turn up the volume,

until the rest of you 

is beyond the gist of listening . . .