The wind out of my sail

If I ever trust an ocean

to stir the skies

and bring me a breeze

to bless the moment

then I am a superstitious fool

for the deliverance

will come as it does

with or without

my perception or need.

If I were to ride the moment

no matter its favor

for I made up that story

to soothe me in that moment

then I must admit

to the inward struggle

and my lack

of gratefulness and presence

for each moment

is/was its own reward

for me to drink from

and to not reinterpret

to benefit my whimsy.

I did not penetrate that moment

for its richness offered

in my direction.

I surmised and concluded

to support my own shortcomings

and then rewarded myself

with its personalized

disappointing outcome

and now I spin on

reeling from what was not mine

but perceived to be

and then lost on my expectation

as its delivery.

So I am doubly trialed

for this recovery

to be here once again

free from claims I made

and to re-instill from within

and begin anew.

The wind out of my sail or in

is what it is

without my demand or expectation.

If I ever trust

it should be empty

free and clear

so as to be here

receptive and present

and for the next moment’s invitation

also to be present in trust

empty . . . free and clear.

Where does why end

Where does the question ‘why’

actually, in terms of brain time, end?

Does why ever end in knowing?

Say like at the end of a road

looking out over

the vast chasm of a question

and knowing says . . .

“and that’s why,”

and certitude,

like a form of concrete, sets in?

Does why possess a hidden checklist

covertly filled out

by the answer to why . . .

why ends?

Is why really just a process

for answering,

a kind of private stroking

as a kinesthetic way

of verbally calming inquiry

masking anxiety?

Is why maybe an induction

into a secret society

like handshakes

or gestures and colors

that reaffirms those who know

as opposed to those who don’t . . .

kind of why?

Is why by some indirect rules

an incantation of sorts

as a way of exercising the brain

towards some sort of synaptic efficiency

without regard

to any specific content need?

Is why a kind of self permission code

that justifies

inner private self-dialogue?

Is why a frame of acceptance

for a possible political philosophy

or the invention of a self-religion

or ever so the invitation of reason

as a subtle process of self identification

without ever truly naming names

or appearing to be self involved?

Is why a never ending way

of being on the run

with new knowledge providing cover

almost as a means of escape

without leaving old-thought evidence

or recent opinions as obvious clues?

Why why . . .

as to undress its entitlement

from purpose?

Who within us calls ‘why’ out . . .

almost involuntarily?

What sacred sanctuary is this

and where are the boundaries of ‘why’?

Is knowledge just a shill

and learning a fencing operation

to fill the time

by asking . . . why?

Where does ‘why’ end its formality?

‘Why’ is . . .

to some degree

who’s asking?

So many answers

may go down the same road.

But how far does any one of them go

when the push to be,

to substantiate,

resides only at the outer limits

of one’s attention span

to end that why?

Is ‘why’ really a first person method

or a superficial defense

for first person behavior?

If ‘why’ were motive

then would the ‘why’ account

be an entrapment,

since the ‘why’

would give a highlight version

based on rational presumptions

and logical order

almost as a learned style

of convincible storytelling?

Isn’t asking ‘why’

like asking for re-enactment

or reproduction on an on-call basis?

Question authority.

Question reality.

Question questioning?

The essence of oneness

Time is a measure for suffering.

It provides the eavesdrop

and the source field

as the ongoing eyesore.

Suffering is a style of attentiveness,

also a distortion of content.

Eventfulness is a method

of accounting for suffering.

The notion of mental linearity

is as an assumption bias.

An assumption that has to lie

by reduction from what is

and distortion of how it is.

We provided a party for the now

that was called experience

and in doing so

we did not attend

to the essence of now

but more intentionally

we became distracted

by the account of now.

Essentially, now has no context.

Feeling as response,

is not essence

yet it results in embellishment.

There is no experience assigned

to the essence of oneness.

There are no edges

everything is seamlessly so

so much so that there is . . .

only one thing

almost in defiance

to human perception.

We made up everything

as separate things

with definite surfaces.

We are not ready

for the experience of one thing.

We could not have trained

more improperly

for the observation of one.

We ‘default know’

by comparison mostly.

We spend major amounts of time

keeping track of things we identify

as separate and distinct.

Our senses lack the depth

to come to that oneness

and we converse to reinforce

our ‘many things’ model.

Oh yes and words themselves!

How does that ritual of speech

and subsequently the written word

bring us essentially closer together?

Is it that . . . the greater the diversity

the more the depth

towards the empathy of one?

By the ‘naming everything

as everything’ as our process,

we produce edges and separates

and a custodial life

as a succession of labels

to fully occupy the mind.

And all of these words,

they lobby for ‘living truth’

out of ‘static pose’

to appear in an ‘agreement status’

as to our making.

That we would take time out

from being the truth

as we impose a consensual truth

as the truth.

But truth itself

has no real surface

or place in time to do that.

Everyone is only coining

their own understanding

of everything

as anything is

as any next thing!

There must be limits

to the truth,

for eventually . . .

there are no edges.