experience is a third party

experience is a third-party experiment.

there is each of us, assumed to be so,

and then there is our body sensory deduced,

with a constant input of attention required.

experience is negotiations with those two.

reality, as so described, 

is the impudence of this,

the brazenness and imposition of the sensory

and the constancy of being, 

without need of referentials.

one has no presence, 

without mixed media-interrupt-us.

awakeness is a workstation.

there is no hiring or firing.

one just wakes up in the mayhem

and proceeds to feel and be occupied.

at times, one may feel the need to write home.

oh there are longings 

that hardly have definites about them.

but they are there,

somewhere in the background.

it's disgusting,

how everything is so representational.

you just want to give up your eyes' teeth,

as part of an incomplete sentence of anguish.

trying to say in words,

where feelings want to go,

is so audience perspective bound.

calm, in life, is actually an anxiety attack,

but done without any clarity of want or need.

it's like I am a foreigner.

I have an interpreter who speaks for me.

everything said and done

is so uninvolved with my state of being.

it's like physical occupancy is a prison,

with duly enhanced, abounding.

even all of my sensory world 

seems to work for that cause.

I have not an interpreter 

that speaks my case.

I am restless and unrelenting

yet all that generates is energy usage

in the occupancy of body and mind.

once in a while,

a faint strange moment will occur.

almost invisible seepage passes by,

a single note from a celestial origin,

not so sensory but seriously impactful.

it's beyond what aromas can do,

way beyond the compactness of human orgasm,

beyond what mind succinctly can conger.

it's oneness in complete presence,

vague as it may humanly feel.

it envelopes what surround has to offer.

it defies the presence of time and space.

I could humanly have sincere tears about this,

as an experience taken in.

but there is an essence from within me

that overrides my preoccupancy with experience

and my human language 

and my mental precision, 

for what comes to words to say.

I am timelessly home.

I am full-bodied in the consummate.

I, as self-transport, am gone.

there, with no occupancy,

full-presence unresolved.

the experiment of experience,

said and done . . .