the ins and outs of breath

in-breath is the land of inquiry.

out-breath is the world of describe.

in-breath is innocence, 

while out-breath is the wide of surmise.

in-breath is a rope climb

and out-breath is the after-distanced, viewed.

in-breath is wardrobe on

while out-breath is after mirrored in review.

in-breath is a wild safari 

yet out-breath is a petting zoo.

in-breath is airborne 

and out-breath is landing grand.

in-breath is emotions forming

but out-breath is mentalities in conclusion.

in-breath is thought taken up

then out-breath is conclusions made.

in-breath is senses on alert

for out-breath is everything identified.

in-breath is focus forward

while out-breath is rest assured.

in-breath is initiatory innocence 

for out-breath to be that of philosophized.

in-breath is the heir to experience

but out-breath is the bible of results.

in-breath grows wings

yet out-breath wears boots.

in-breath imagines

where out-breath will therefore pays dues.

in-breath creates

what out-breath then care-takes.

in-breath journeys

for out-breath then has memories.

in-breath itches

where out-breath will come to scratch.

in-breath wants verbs of pronouncement

while out-breath wants nouns of identify.

in-breath wants pour to fill

but out-breath wants drunk into satisfy.

in-breath wants kite up into a windy sky.

then out-breath wants string wound again on the spool.

in-breath has no end to beginnings

yet out-breath is where endings come to complete.

in-breath is the search for gold

but out-breath is the sensibility of worth.

in-breath is where truth comes to live

and out-breath is where truth comes to lie.

in-breath is the search for timing.

out-breath yawns at the passage of time.

in-breath is the artfulness 

of all of these things taken up,

while out-breath is eventually the passage 

of all of these things,

coming into settling down . . .

talk of the mind

I dress up utterances in response deliverances, 

even though I am talking to myself.

words come down from windy mind places,

as if I have to hear 

what I have just inwardly said.

sometimes it is a voiced blurt,

hopefully when I am alone.

not that I don't look around to see,

how can I be so separate from the rest of me.

I just got use to being the bus driver

of a whole slew of the voices of me.

and now I have a loud mouth 

assigned to one of them.

blessedly they don't share topic interest 

amongst themselves.

there are hardly ever choruses or chants,

just one-liners and blurts in side-bar response.

yes, it is wildly different

when in human to human conversation.

usually they stay background silent.

but when alone,

it's like a tour bus of deliverance yakking away.

luckily I have a theatre room for their housing.

so remarks are made

but I have some inner distance from the speakers.

we are all clearly not of the same mood.

so the tone deliverances to me

are more the interest I curiously invest in.

I guess some of them speak 

for my emotional state ongoing.

even if I am mentally preoccupied.

to me, it seems fair enough in that way.

talk is ever ongoing,

if I pay half-way attention.

luckily I prefer an ambient humming silence

to the outright topic-driven voiced concerns.

look, I can't shut them all up.

but I can be,

preoccupied with not really interested  . . .

residence within

I have a resident awareness within me

that experience does't complete.

it doesn't conveniently fit 

towards the presentation of words.

unless you have a real question

that your body-speak cannot express,

than we are ships passing 

on the open seas of observance,

but not enough edginess to pursue an ask.

I already benefit from your presence

and the deeper dialogue coming out of your eyes.

but all of the unwrapping needed in conversation

is a false front to start with.

either first topic has already digested all of that

and then we address, 

where our energies meet in the now.

I could live for that kind of energetic embrace,

presence to presence,

as if the melody, though unrehearsed,

naturally comes forth because we are,

who that authentically is

and just lost track over the lifetimes apart.

I'd much rather feel it

than have to dialogue to understand,

for that which is more than touch could initially offer

and for which time has molded and modeled

our togetherness as well as our being apart.

that feel, if present, 

is worth more than understanding can provide.

however eccentric, our appearances are superficial

to this sense of deeper cause.

we can dispense and more openly declare,

as my eyes to yours as yours to mine,

if we ever meet 

with that kind of sudden exposure.

I am always open to kindred,

at that level of consummate spirit to spirit.

each of our days is a drawnness in that direction,

for the thousand ways that that can manifest,

for rapture to be taken up by rapture.

this is of a oneness that comes to bind.

eventually, evolution of the human spirit 

will make this completely so.

I am pursuing being ahead of the curve

and open to igniting others

of like kind, this residence within,

as if we ever come to disclose . . .

as close as far away can be

I am as close as 

still far away can be.

I am of an intimacy

that will never take form.

this has an occupancy 

of a gemstone presence,

yet never to be

of the other person worn.

I could come to exist

as an inward prayer silently spoken,

which functions more readily

as a fragrance of the mind,

as a kindling used

for a conscious awareness arising.

but it never will appear

as the tongue-flames of spoken words.

yet may wander through lifetimes

as of a kindred of soul.

having a perfect pitch,

that is out of normal audio range.

played on an instrument

made of intention and time.

has the background melody 

of longing and endearment,

while the lyrics are about

the coalesce of two souls. 

it dances best before or after 

these humans have taken form.

it is of an essence

that emotions can deeply embrace,

but shared minds can only observe.

it's metaphorically where,

wings meets wind 

for the grace of flight,

where water meets flow

for the sacredness of gravity's calling,

where seeds meet earth

for the kiss of the waiting sky,

where sight is honored

by the reception in return,

where thought settles into the wardrobe

of recognition's use of wearage,

where one note mutually sung

ever seeks perfect pitch,

where the embarrassment of standout details

seek the camouflage of deep view alignment.

to be that which stands up

in the pride of time passing

and knows of its wisdom

as presence ongoing.

somewhere in the disguise 

of shape and form

a presence enters the mind, 

as sacredly held yet, 

as close as 

still far away can be . . .

when aware overwhelms

what is the intelligence it takes to unlearn?

how deep within 

does one have to become conscious,

to strip away the knowhow, 

to resource the sense of self,

to rewrite the code for being in retention,

to recast what motivation has done,

to un-animate those dance-moves of being,

to re-genderize if necessary,

to maybe even re-born,

even to re-fabric 

how impressions become made?

how deep within,

when acknowledgment occurs

of offending one's own soul?

no one within or around is the wiser.

fulfillment already gardened the past.

memories have not even taken up the haunt,

yet there is a false shadow cast.

where within is the code for that?

light-rays of being are never heading back.

it's not a full-circle story.

it's more of an ever onward in play,

yet the unlearn is held as biblical in need.

no bury leads to decompose.

the true art of being has no audience.

so what is there to do,

to get back to the deliverance of be?

false sourcing of oneself

is to then live in denial?

well then, who of me knows of this?

and who are they to the rest of me?

does truth have to live the life of honoring?

what lies have not died of their own accord?

surely I have alibis in response.

I want to be done with the backtalk.

true living has no history like this.

only my self in narrative does.

that I am reduced to story and to account,

but only in a mindful way.

does any of this appear to matter?

my mind has an ethic

as if truth is to be told.

I am of a deeper honesty than that.

critical mind is still just a servant for the cause.

self love is not lessened 

by its observance or opinion.

what I come to think is not in charge.

what I feel is closer 

to the confluence of my being.

to unlearn is still just a mind game.

and how I feel about it,

is more immersive in the river of me, 

in the ever-flow.

unlearn is still a mind skill.

self-love will fluid resolve.

words within me will come and go.

a deeper sense of me,

will forever be,

in the essence-sense 

of moving on . . .