oneness made evident

if oneness is to become evident,

there is a breakdown,

a breakthrough 

and a break out,

to a break free

in a very succinctly implied sense.

they is not a plural of me 

and we is not a plural of them.

for there is a positionality inferred 

that I am them 

but not in a plural sense,

as well as they are me 

in my singular.

oneness looses all of its previous referentials.

we are, is in the singular

and they is, we is, me

but my we, is not me

but all of us, indivisibly present.

what makes and keeps us as separates

is only superficially implied and applied

as a preoccupation of the self stance in isolation.

if oneness is to become evident

there is a breakdown,

a breakthrough, 

and a break out,

to a break free.

that freedom is oneness realized as being . . .

the barometric between us

there is an initial shift in barometric pressure

when I am around you.

maybe even when there is 

full consumption of thoughts about you.

I want to be experiencing this tight-fitting

underwater cave passage as you,

that both scares and excites me.

this inner challenge that is formidable

yet unknown to anyone else,

as the private self experiment that we all have

but no one else is aware of it in the moment.

as major or minor as it is, 

it is richly real for then,

expanding my self of self

in that private dialogic journey sort of way.

scale is not important in that moment 

but perspective is.

certainly, it is not about the actions taken

as much as it is about the mindset occurring within,

declaring as a shortness of breath,

accelerated heart beats,

frozen in thoughtforms persisting.

don't know the source of this within me,

but it is there and active.

claustrophobic in a pressured sense of my self

but motivated to pursue this as unknown worth.

a hidden part of me is compelling me forward with this. 

next lines, next actions come,

not sourced in the normal vain way.

a new to myself me is stepping through me

and I had thought I had me down cold.

there is a sense of levity within me,

as a lightness of a sense of self.

I am both the actor and the audience,

flipping back and forth within.

not sure who of me did or said.

there is a level of us that is, was, 

not evident at a distance

but thunder struck it seems, out of the blue,

as a melody unheard, 

magnets without evidence,

attractors in sync for no apparent reason

but real in a beyond sensory way,

a dimension beyond, that is engulfing.

all of my deep attracted to beyond is attending.

in my simple mind watching,

it would say destiny is calling.

but I can't say that in the moment

but only later in reverent review. 

how can we be like this, 

beyond normal dimensions of aware and approve?

I am my orchestra and my instruments play.

but this is melodic

and I can't name the song that is playing me.

there is a compressive expansion ongoing,

like a first flight is the discovery of wings,

that tears are a waterfall from deep within rising,

that I come from beyond what my body represents.

sure I am there as here is,

but I am also watching from a distance deep within.

I can't declare to myself what we have in common.

an anxious part of me wants items for the narrative.

yet, I can't ask a stream how's it going

or where have you been for my entire life.

I just have the overwhelm of now proceeding.

surely I am here

but totally out of my character range of response.

there is magic happening

and I am a prop to myself 

as this interaction goes.

if you are feeling the same,

then let's enjoy the free-fall

and see where it takes us.

certainly it starts as a scavenger hunt of declarations,

my lip service meeting yours.

but more deeply 

we are an aquarium of mixing fluids.

don't know or sense the boundaries that bind us.

just a viscosity that has its magic upon us.

my mind is so audience to this

while the rest of me is richly submerged.

wake me but don't normalize.

if this is a growth spurt in consciousness,

let me breathe myself alive with it.

I feel humbled, sacred and privileged

and I don't even know your name . . . 

the big top

words like medicine, 

law and news are now suspect.

when meaning gains a certain belief status

as front-stage truth symbols,

there is a backstage of actions undisclosed.

comprehension is suspect.

truth does not present as simply so, anymore.

there is a wider scope 

of unseen marionette strings attached.

linear thinking is not equipped. 

observation does not render backstage intent.

presentation becomes a projection,

a labor of how to be perceived,

for not all of truth can fit in one's mind.

contradiction and paradox are ever 

fighting with the janitors of logic 

and the gardeners of trust 

as their worst enemies.

they are like unsightly germs and weeds.

we have sustained opinions to protect us.

we know what we think fertile is.

we know when goodness is ripe.

we expect permission to be straightforward.

we accept that rhetoric is like a crossing guard. 

naiveté doesn't have a need to wear shoes,

for the world is as known to be a safe place.

that is the premise of our concept of awareness.

how can words like

medicine, law and news become suspects

of wrong endeavors,

of projections of false truth,

of persuasions of economic fraud, 

of positions of untold directives of function?

why next you'll be telling us, 

that television is used as an addiction process,

that money grows on the trees 

of minds bent on personal wealth 

as relevancy beyond belief.

thinking would then become

a mixed-media circus.

and we would all have to realize

or for sure, question,

well, how big is the tent we are in?

and when and how does the circus end? . . .

human predica-meant (haiku)

primal brain usage

frontal cortex in humans

totally programmed

for when

 

when self is lost in the circumstantial,  

when listlessness is an ever-undercurrent response,

when dialogues happens in versions of unsaidness,

when accomplishment is the only light lit in the room,

when the motor's running

and the only means available as mind-speak,

and the only form of exercise available is strategize,

when critical eyes become colorblind

and can only see in successes or failures,

and the highest mountain ever attempted to climbed 

but never reached

is the vista from true self-dialogue.

it is a mountain without altitude 

and totally compose of attitude.

so when do-being and be-doing 

seem to be much the same,

when deep thought is not about the thought 

but about the thinker of the thought,

when the poker of life 

is not really about the tells for winning or loosing

but eventually becomes about the tells 

from camaraderie and idiosyncrasies

and the feel of things rather than the think?

it's when aloneness provides 

for the richest in depth of self conversation 

to be done in all sincerity 

with honesty with naiveté.

as a listener,

eventually the only hurt that really matters 

is the one done in aloneness,

where the self as healer is unaware.

and if humans only saw birds as ever in flight,

they would be regarded that species 

as is strictly philosophical,

for humans, everything perceived as up in the air, 

only presents as renderable but not meaningfully real.

for those birds lives are perceived as a here to there 

of somewhere else.

this is where immediacy has many faces 

but really only projects the ones that get attended, 

as if an affronting mirror 

and the depth of that mirror is totally dependent 

upon the quality of the eyes cast upon it, 

reflected back in the viewing.

for the river of self is only seen 

in surface still-shots taken.

and then the chase after the flow 

is a constant effort of living.

and doing-being intelligent 

is just oars on the boat of self

that take one from here to there 

but have little to do with the buoyancy 

of that being, being afloat.

the conundrum of give me liberty is that

in that process of pursuit, 

one can never be free.

for the search is ever the admittance of absence

and the successful results gained

is only the wardrobe of achievement.

where memories are a trophy-case filled 

but never the source of embodiment.

and as life passes by, 

the only importance of remembered,

is that memory is not of you 

but of you as part of those that composed you.

it's where we all live, 

to become the romance of livingness.

it's how we learn to let isness teach us 

how to dance to our own internal melody of being.

for the mind provides for all of the shorelines

and emotions provide for all of the seas.

yet the spirit of each of us 

provides for our sense of liquidity. 

facing the land-surface of reality

and for all of the land of our lifetime of walking it,

we never are really taught nor come to learn 

how to become the sea.

for we only get the skills of walking upon 

that then applies to the swim afloat and the run along,

but for when that becomes our mainstay,

we never become the free-dive within us 

to be . . .

one in the same

we've danced before this lifetime.

even now, I feel our energies from then aligned.

we've been together to the far side of intimacy.

we each recognize the other in sublime.

so, what ordination brings you back this time?

I, for one, to garden in what's sung,

to hang out, 

basking in the ever-last,

to take experience 

beyond its capacity for exposure,

to reveal that limits are just ribbons,

dressed in bowties on fickle suits worn,

to find out how snowflakes make a life for themselves,

knowing that they were once liquid

and soon to return,

to dismantle togetherness into a unified,

to have at oneness undisclosed 

from the another side,

where self is a prop

and being is, 

as we are now completing 

as an incomprehensible energetic whole . . .

to just be

in the picnic of smartness,

where curious only leads to interesting

and squeezing the mundanity of life

does no cause the juice of a calling to appear,

there is a nest of unresolved issues

that do not contribute to warmth 

or to the hatching of new directions 

or even new ideas.

there is the stigma of being reality-possessed, 

ever fast-paced but basically a float.

how to escape or evade the obvious evidentials. 

there is this conveyer belt of next thoughts.

I am not sure it has an off switch.

yes, there have been attempts to find and stop it,

but it securely works.

it's more a matter of what's on the belt as content.

it was tricky 

to put a view of the conveyer belt as if stopped

yet on the conveyer belt ongoing.

at least that felt better to mind view.

but still the other senses would mutedly respond.

I tried to go into another room,

someplace else in mind.

of course, I took myself with me

and that sabotaged the whole effort.

so under the cover of quiet,

I snuck out, 

still showing presence of course,

but totally projected. 

otherwise vanished to another time and space,

maybe.

there they don't keep time 

and space it seems it is optional,

but it is also without visual overload.

cognitive seems to be minimized.

emotional is doing watercolors

without canvass or bush or palate,

but richly blessed in animation phasing.

there is no engine noise of being human, running.

whatever context is presented as contact

is somehow embracing my sense of experience.

not sure this is experience as I am use to.

it's more like if you lying in a stream, under the water,

and you didn't have to breath, as a distraction,

and the water passing was always the same 

and wonderfully different at the same time, 

so much so, that you couldn't be audience to it.

you were invited to be yourself 

and yourself in passing.

that change was not an option to be noticing.

it was too involving and immersive.

to be the self sense and separate from 

were going, gone.

how to embrace was all motion unto itself.

even embrace was becoming a lost concept.

dare I say,

there was a sense of oneness,

yet without objectification.

not that this wasn't meaningful

but meaningful doesn't mean any more.

there is nothing referential as happening.

even the framing of thought as observed, 

it's gone.

it's a kind of a wholeness 

that can't be quantified.

I am only saying this that way,

because I am back 

and the conveyer belt is running in the background.

sure, I now have thoughts.

all I can say is

as if I gave you a fragrance to smell,

and when you did,

it gave you a holographic environment of presence.

and you went there,

even for a very short period of time absent.

but it was and you were

and a kind of oneness occurred. 

and that oneness is happening all the time,

outside of time.

and we are there, 

but not by the way we conventionally experience 

as our method.

so imagine, as best you can.

and take the time

to go there 

and just be . . .