fear has no fluidity

when the fear of sameness overwhelms

my fear of differences,

is when comparative truth is revealed

as a premise of capture 

and I am thereby bound.

when experience is revealed 

as just penitentiary meals

served around the clock, 

how much of nourishment comes from

what is considered to be thought bound?

if the study of sameness

was an investment into the scrutiny 

of personal search,

who would discover the platitudes 

that the work of conclusions make?

versus, say the handiwork 

of further in-depth search,

where all conclusions are discovered

to really be just the fillings

gathering on the memory floor.

for while the chisel and carving continues

that kind of mind-work,

is never done. 

if I started with a massive tree trunk

and I sawed and hammered 

and chiseled,

and carve and slaved,

and sweated and conceived,

until I had achieved the toothpick of desire,

would I acknowledge the beauty 

of interest and effort

while I chewed on that pick,

in sizing up my next tree-trunk of desire?

the ground can stand for sameness to us 

for centuries,

while trees always seem to express to us

the world of differences.

yet trees know the truth

that sameness exists as essence, 

deeply buried inside our world 

of assumed differences.

it is our lesson 

to work the world of differences,

as if to prove our point, 

only to eventually discover

that sameness abounds.

we just lacked the insightfulness, 

as our own presumed presence,

for always using the world 

as a mirror to express and impress,

with what our world of differences 

had to offer.

we live the life of incomplete sentences

by never taking conversation 

far enough along,

until topics meld 

and all of talk is lyrics 

from the same unending song.

fear can only reminisce

about its absence of clarity.

and disguise itself 

as if fears are standalones,

lost in the rubble of meaningful, 

without any inwardly awareness-mittens

to warm ourselves, 

and then individually feel impressed.

I only hurt from incompleteness expressing.

I use experience to express my discomfort

but when in comfort, 

experience has no enterprise.

experience is when I think of myself,

as a drop of water, 

in denial of my own viscosity.

I fear evaporation as death to me,

and not be part of the ocean 

as to what's life to live.

a meaningful life has liquidity, 

as its loving presence.

even to realize

that I come from clouds, 

born as rain,

and live the life, 

loosing myself in the flow.

surely evaporative will erase 

all the full contact of memories,

but I will then reoccur,

with essence as my integrity

and fluid, not fear, 

as my cause for being . . .