Each moment undresses itself,
most always in different ways
as if we, as the voyeurs of audience,
come with different unique perspectives
to play in our diverse minds.
Each moment inadvertently reveals,
through its self-conscious fumbling
with curious timidity
and foreign first person self sense,
the eventual yet deducible truth
that each moment is the same moment
but not again.
It is anew as the same
in essence, it is the same,
yet while in process,
wildly no . . .
apparently not the same.
A thousand moments
of refined viewing
and a faint of sameness
may flash or blush.
Ten thousand moments
of committed intent
and the same emerges
as a philosophic birth,
easily dismissible
by a simple blah blah blah response.
A way of life as observation,
lives that moment
yet undisclosed.
Belief as stature,
as substance,
has come and gone.
This commitment seems arthritic
to view
though deeply efficient
yet not herald.
Each moment has taken over
but unexpectedly,
it was the in-depth observation
that should have triumphed.
The wardrobe of awareness
strolling the sensory boulevard
is basking in the tell-all syndrome
of self reflection
but no,
this is not really gated properly
for the purposes of entry.
It just is . . .
moment upon moment.
Like a foot placed upon the surface
of the lake of life,
then with one foot after the other,
as if the mystery was hidden
in a standing wave
buried beneath that surface,
the weight bearing of awareness
with each step forward in time,
is more deeply immersed,
for by this means
an entry is gained
below the surface
of our generalized experience.
No . . . this cannot be.
shattered by the rippling
going out onto surface details
observable as results,
yet still stupefied
by the appearances
of self as pace and gait and ramble,
meeting with wetness,
liquidity, and immersion
is an underworld awaiting
and yet there is so much more . . .
Each moment, as the point,
with some much depth
behind the flatness
as quantum in disguise.
Each moment is . . .
as every is . . . in time.
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