in heart, in mind

what, having compassion for obsessiveness?

ever the self,

on the lonesome donkey-express, 

yet feeling for daily sunsets in passing

as breath having a future of intake?

what to make of intimate common sense 

that survives as my introspective needs.

so much of life is distraction,

as if carrying a lit candle

down a bumpy, windy whiny road,

to where, has not been made clear.

inner self awareness is an obsession.

there is so much distractive occupancy.

what happen to the warm soaking tub

of each moment, going forward, aware?

attention seems to be a lit flashlight activity.

making sense out of the objectified

and yet contextualizing a feeling sense

for carriage through the day.

the world is composed of too many guy parts.

too much of know in override.

too much of the catharsis of doing

amidst the need for being.

what happens if the big picture is contemplative

and not more massive or more of scale endowed?

it seems most skillsets are about negotiability.

one comes to live more around than live with.

inner awareness can be at an all time vacancy.

there is an endless stampede of topicals.

one is asked to have an ongoing stance

even though the imaging presented

is fundamentally a capitalistic motivated projection.

is it that we all need a major disaster

on a somewhat regular basis

to get back to a sense of community in action

a shared response to the immediate as the obvious?

why can that be an inner response sensed

without the obviousness or the apparent outcome?

there is a collective in heart,

somewhere back there, deep inside

each of us.

but to call that out

as a way of life by intention,

seems so in unison remote.

somehow we are in a three-legged race 

and that third leg does not coordinated

with the deepest species goal 

in heart or mind . . .