to ingest the outburst

I want,

for the drum skin of soul,

where reverberations warm me 

with soothe,

where air breathes me 

into light in passage.

I have needs, 

for sorrow to grow wings.

we all have needs, 

to taste the lightness of being,

where the seediness of heartache 

blooms into emotional wing-petals, 

glee-facing,

where the gravity of backstage smolder

relents, 

to become an all-everything embrace,

where rumble becomes a heat-seeking roar,

where murmur becomes the boom of quietude,

solemnly awash, 

from the heavens of ascent,

where the magic of mood 

is atmospherically transformed,

where we are 

unearthly gleefully unabashed.

I have no more the lips 

of earnest request.

I am embrace, 

beyond the feel 

or the need for connection.

there is a oneness resounding,

beyond the drum-reverberation 

of earsplitting presence,

as if electrifying was from beyond 

the realms of thunderous,

where vast and void kiss into the eternal,

where I had breath, 

but now I am light.

no meaning has survived this transcendence. 

being is from beyond 

the cumulative of experience,

where vibrancy has no audience 

and are all there, 

fluidly into these soft torrents,

where the dream is ever

to outburst 

into the vapor of this,

all of this,

the oneness stream . . .

give up the know to be

the awareness of life, as it registers,

is the immediacies of the recent impressing.

art recognized is another dimension,

calling out, gasping for the breath of spirit

to save oneself from the onslaught, informing.

one can have a view of this view

and call it philosophical or psychological, 

dependent on the immediacy of a need-response.

it all plays as the in-depths

that experience offers. 

and where it commonly resides,

there is a voice behind the normative,

a voice that articulates some other dimension,

a view beyond where conclusions go,

a part of being

that does not rightfully fit in

or recognize the whole of self out of living.

it gets the act-outs taken to be real

but premises that, 

for all of the surface of life.

there are currents that travel with poignancy, 

that do not take stands or reality pose.

they offer insight and depth of feel

but do not and will not interfere

or override the apparent-ices 

from the onslaught of circumstance.

it's always dimensions added 

and never the business of override,

as if a softer voice spoken clearly

but not commanding attention,

just offered.

how many times every day does this happen?

cues missed by sensory habit's feed

and our awareness functioning in automatic.

my eyes serve two masters.

and yet, I only have eyes 

that feed the momentum of commentary. 

yet, I am aware that they see 

in a different time-dimension.

in a normal sense, I would have to say

that they pre-see.

they hunt at what is coming.

they work for a part of me

in full guidance that I habitually ignore.

we go our separate ways 

and yet are, one-in-the-same.

I wanted a sentience to occur,

but I plead with denial as my means.

I wanted insight to assist

but I ramble past the views.

I wanted the insistence of stillness

but I plead that boredom has come.

so where is the when I long for?

how can I ask of myself,

by means of righteous denial's plead?

if I have a sense of witness, self-witness,

how can I get behind all of that,

when I am wildly conditioned 

to be up front and fully occupied?

it feels like I am a single flashlight,

no matter how bright,

but in a vastly larger room,

then coming and going takes me.

I only have a sense of direction for going.

I don't truly sense the embodiment

or the means of embrace for that.

I identify with the mass of me

and the form of the act-out.

I don't get the presence of me, really.

I get the presence of others,

but somehow that plays.

but I don't have a concept 

for how or what to say.

I just get the fumbling and the wrangling,

and the supposedly moral 

and the sense of self as a projection.

but beyond that,

it is vast 

and to me, apparently vacant.

if proof is my means,

then I live in the ever unfolding denial.

I can't say I know better.

but I do have a sense 

that does not relinquish this feel.

it includes the spirit of me

beyond the evident 

and the subsequent act-out.

I live for that to come forth,

to become second nature 

to each moment in passing.

to be the presence of me, I recognize, 

beyond circumstance and conditioning

and the incessancy of habits into the unconscious.

I want for that, 

out of the here and now.

I would even give up wanting

for that to become so,

even to give up the know, 

to be . . .

somber-fest (haiku)

it's always the pits

so water-melancholy

clean up, day after 

wanted me to be the death of him

you have a phrenetic mind usage,

to express your emotional displacement.

what your soul knows, 

can't be predicated into temporality, 

with retention destroying its original basis 

of self-authorship.

you want primal, 

as validation of being,

but ego invites the torture of your soul,

to be the load stone that speaks your inner truth.

yet, there is no retention to truth,

since it is only alive in its passing.

what you want from mankind

is a transcendence, 

that is emotionally rewarding.

but mindfulness will steal it, 

by awareness and subsequent retention. 

the two tortures of your being: 

1. a mindful facility that wants graze and nourishment

and 2. an ego position that wants to self-audience it all.

self-consciousness is just the jumpsuit apparel.

intuition is contentious with your mindfulness,

as they battle unexposed to each other.

what they have, as common ground,

is inspiration without any need for a callout.

but mind overrides and intuition then has needs

for a deeper more penetrative focus,

to go where mind has no authorship, 

as its bias or basis.

primal has no beauty to share.

primal is without observation, 

as if beauty only portrays.

primal has an energetic language, 

that does not reduce into words or comprehension.

you would gladly lay down your disclaimers,

if your soul had tears of joy,

if intuition channeled your existence,

if your mind was respectful of its usage,

beyond the torture of your conditioning in this life.

your thinks rot with your foregone approval,

not is dismay, 

but to get past its stance of apparent relevance.

oneness is an underground fire within you.

but yelling "fire fire" is a false front, 

in lip-service to an ego, 

yours, that overhears it

and knows there is a truth, 

somewhere back there.

it's not your job to signal others, 

by sounding off.

move mountains by your presence from within.

you are a rock in a hard place of mindfulness.

so when does focus become the isness of action?

when is transcendence, the life of your zest?

you be the artist of radiance as solutional.

you can't expect the world to kiss your white cane,

just because your blindness is heroic.

in your presence, 

deep down manifest, you see.

otherwise dualism is a two-faced complaint,

that you live to exemplify, 

as your triumph of failure.

and contradictions, conundrums, and paradoxes 

are an appropriate wardrobe of yours in waiting,

as you cross this stage of personal existence.

any self recognition you have, 

is baggage, claimed to be needed,

until you beg someone to steal it all.

when will you be 'the death of you',

is a timeless question, 

for you to be asking.

but minds are resourceful enough to try.

this reality applauds you, 

with karma to explore,

with a facile mind 

and ego-bound to cross-purpose, 

your very emotionally ladened soul.

leave these words in the dust of you

and care for yourself, 

from a deeper way . . .

(and you wanted me

to be the death of you!)

the search for common soul

the most personal, 

is the most inwardly ingenious.

the most private, 

is the most difficult to perceive.

the cutting edge of being

does not come to the surface easily.

so much is overlay, 

thickly in passing.

so much are the touch stones of habit, 

ever compelling.

yet we seek beyond 

what expectation can command.

I find, 

before self is realized.

I author, 

out of emptiness, claimed.

so much remains unrevealed 

in each of us.

we are presenting, as diversity, 

claiming oneness unrealized as such.

for us all,

to go inside before cognition steals,

to give speech the rights of tone over topic,

to let emotion be the wisdom,

that crosses the barrier of lifetimes,

to be of the energetics, 

that creep along from within,

overwhelmed, 

by the apparency of sensory in charge,

and the immediacy of circumstance fronting.

to find residence, 

deep drawn inside,

that is not composed of plain and simple,

but having elements, 

that defy language, as the intruder,

that will only let emotional carriage to occur,

for the irrational in sunlight to see,

for the dark night to silently hear,

for the heart to pander,

for what the soul is, 

as conceived.

we don't journey in that dimension attentively.

it is a creative enterprise of profound drawnness,

as stealth, 

in utmost deep-drawn privacy.

know does not get to go there,

for the what 

that tumultuosity of impeccable surrender provides.

where one is eaten up,

as one's own nuance-intercourse of intimacy. 

possibly then to survive, 

as an energetic presence

that channels through,

into the course of one's life, 

possibly to realize, 

but not be guaranteed,

conceivably as transcendence unspecified,

just soul presence, more evident,

as deeper levels of embrace embodied.

we all are that nectar.

our eventuality is a chrysalis process.

wings of the heart will come.

for each of us, 

is as migratory, 

to the homeland 

of common soul . . . 

what is representational?

the invention of institutionalism 

is a compromise of human endeavor.

it lives a life, 

shaded in denials and non-disclosures.

it makes subjective decisions

on a publicly unrealized basis and bias.

operatives are shaded and shielded

from public transparency and disclosure.

there is the internal blood-flow of private enterprise,

even if it is a public institution.

profiteering has captured the interest of both.

and by profiteering, 

as meaning economic well being,

in the privacy of nondisclosure.

the head-space of the lead-operatives

becomes the methods, subjectively applied.

wellbeing is a projective term of purpose,

but not an efficient operative of means.

people become their own private act-outs,

concealed by the position of institutional authority.

governments are of the worst offenders.

they are positional, as tactics

and render, as if for just cause.

leveraging is standard fare,

while duplicitous by means.

the institutional world is run by hidden agendas,

where by compensation is 

just a rational construction.

the means of discourse are labored with tactics.

we all are just a think-tank away 

from being further displaced

in the vagaries of this all, 

as it is happening.

why have bother as a concern?

who of us, has the capacity 

for a far-reach?

this parade route is down the mainstream 

of media attention.

we are all solicited, 

as attending audience,

to marvel and be amused,

as if a life of entertained, 

but seriously not ordained.

and I am asked to vote,

as a ritual of the enactment of trust?

so when does this joke 

come to the punch line? . . .

the predicament of either or

the issues that are up for the claims: 

acquisitional versus actualization, 

the methods of control 

versus the path of focusing.

where within, control has its drivenness,

while focus has its drawnness.

skills outwardly acquired 

or skills inwardly discovered.

the taking command of yourself

or the coming into yourself.

is the self package-able in the obtaining 

or compositional in the uncovering?

sensing for a command of self

or feeling for integration from within oneself?

the surrendering of resistance 

or the embracing of inwardness as surrender.

pursue to fix 

or create out of reframe.

to clarify for the purpose of understanding

or to re-immerse oneself in the trust to be.

feeling compelled 

yet not inwardly called.

accomplished 

but not actualized.

the integrity of surrender to a sense of a higher self

or realizing the temporal value of accomplishment.

channeling ones higher self 

as an expansion of spiritual witness

by being the embodiment of flow

or being the bystander 

to one's own act-outs.

knowledge does not guarantee integration,

it just allows for accountability.

noting the differences between being inwardly called

or outwardly compelled.

one's self-narrative having needs 

to be creativity composed

or rationally constructed?

who is the part of oneself 

who does all the think

for the thoughts that you get?

who is that part of oneself 

that generates the feelings

that eventually surface  

registered as felt 

and in their presence, 

fulfill as confirming?

thus the predicament 

that soul searching,

lingers . . .

the seasonings of seasons

 

the spring of spring, 

is confirmed in the intake of air.

the summer of spring, 

is the full blown of coloration.

the fall of spring,

is grounded in growth identified.

and the winter of spring,

is seeds burrowing, 

as roots coming to rest.

the spring of summer,

is invitational towards basking.

the summer of summer,

is the backdrop of laze and toasted potential.

the fall of summer, 

is noticing the shortness of sunlight's breathing.

the winter of summer,

is outdoor photo-memories from indoor views.

the spring of fall,

is more clothes, 

as layering potential suggested.

the summer of fall,

is basking in hues, 

roaming around one's feet.

the fall of fall,

is the barebones of a choir, 

presenting as trees.

and the winter of fall,

is impetus of seeds, 

accepting their birth destiny.

the spring of winter,

is freezing, 

telling temperature jokes in public.

the summer of winter, 

is the blanketing of landscapes, 

out to horizon lines.

the fall of winter,

is the weeping of whiteness 

and the lighting of day.

and the winter of winter,

is the basking in sunshine, 

beyond memories that chill . . .