from where before

born into a point of view,

with livingness having so much surface.

contact-filled with self as occupancy.

relational having supreme prominence.

eventually it will all be named experience.

it will always exist as sensory overwhelm,

done to eventually gain perspective.

how sensing exists defines me,

yet I am here to dance with stimulus.

what I sense becomes my known.

ultimately I become personal to myself.

all of this both isolates and invites,

becomes both foreign and commonplace,

lives as an outrageous baffled-ness,

out-racing my dying

yet bounding before, 

having full blown belief.

still having private worlds within,

who search for external resident existence.

accept recognition as a means along the way

captured in the character of self,

the free-fall of going forward,

within the containment of peephole perspective.

realize spacial as a medium of confinement,

language as a method of self-infliction entry,

physical occupancy as my first hand means,

while living the free-fall of answers,

that do not actually land me

and having dimensions that attention can not observe,

for a wise, that remains out of focus.

yet 'how' is ever presenting in this moment

but so much of attention span is in transit.

still sensing myself as a warm nest before creation.

sophistication lines me up, 

before it sends me along.

there are parts of me as infrequency that appear,

that take command of my audience perspective.

they come forth to resemble and project,

wearing a life jacket of awareness,

in an ocean of overwhelm and swarm.

am an ongoing diary written in invisible ink.

am the cursory of self dialogue said by silence.

memory from there is my servant of assistance.

live as an action figure by personality means.

awakeness is ever conveyor belts on the move.

existence is a constant disrespectful prayer.

commentary seems to have my life in summary.

I have to dare myself to frame it.

self recognition is a whittling process,

for I am bonsai done on a sapling,

only to become a forrest resident of familiar.

once there, I take on the seasons of reasoning,

the perspectives from thought out, 

the feelings that cross me as breeze,

having a religion of skies,

that give me no complete answers.

will question my groundedness almost unknowingly.

live to communicate with other trees, so secretly.

there, we commonly share the makings of our holograms,

co-journey as if time is our bodyguard.

still to be many leaves of destiny,

many seeds sent out into scatter-dom for discovery.

heavily invested in the metaphor of self.

leaning into spirit as eventual override .

reality functions as my chalkboard.

it ages by weathering and written upon,

where written upon both erases yet also remains.

intelligence then becomes the ordering of dust

and recognition is the contrast of those in shaped edges,

which rarely appeal to my spirit directly.

find myself nude inside this mass of my being.

am in the custody of occupancy and purpose.

here to experience appeal and earnest,

the walkways of concern 

and the conjectures of response,

how foreign comes to everyday greet me,

how all of meaning is eventually contradicted. 

that which was born as me, only represents.

what is left as baffling, lives to define me.

my understanding becomes as thick as skin. 

I am breathless from an original state,

sense-less before this all came to pass,

am from before 

the existence of any frames of reference, 

before time had perception of pageantry,

where before the false dimensions of ongoing,

before the curse of history as an ongoing life-force.

to why-born has a sense of beginning,

is still amazing,

as much as death is baffling 

to those who mourn . . .  

(am from a-where, as a way before)