I am living in the prison
of other’s acceptable version
of me.
They do not know their roles
but execute them
from within their expectations
and self-assertions.
I am contained
within their value terrains
even though they have,
to a certain degree,
distain and dismissal
for me privately.
They have angers in reaction
and judgments in summary
to administer to me
emotionlessly, face to face,
as there are topics presented
as mediums of display.
I make the walls of my prison
out of inward expandedness.
I breathe in senselessly
out side of these reality tested
compressive times.
In effortless buoyant moments,
I am creative
with whatever these means
that are affronting me.
I am acts
of companionable containment
when I am more deeply sourced
in response to most everything.
My mundane life features itself
as empty vessels
of actions and icons
while where I secretly fill them
from within me,
goes deeper and deeper
way beyond
my mundane circumstance.
I am pleasantly repressed
and overtly dismissed
as we all are,
some of the time,
but unrestrained
in my inward journey.
I fly not by growing wings
but becoming sky.
I embrace not with bodies
but with empathetic immersion.
I am cultivating rich soil
where I am to display
the bonsai tree of my life.
For a man,
this is an invitation
into woman’s world,
living within
the apparent limitations
but richly embracing oneself
through it.
There is no judgment
from myself that saves me.
Everything is contradicted
as normally ongoing.
I live in the sooth of actions
not for their results.
There are no gains to uncover.
There are no rewards to merit.
There is now unfolding.
And how I lend myself fully
to its method, its expression,
its fullness, its silence
its essence,
its untainted-ness by meaning,
its unrestrained emptiness,
and its residence for source,
makes all the discoveries
not conclusions
but permissions.
Permissions to be
in the joy of movement,
to be
in the animation of being,
to be
in the vibrancy of awareness,
and the fluid intoxications
of spiritual enterprise . . .
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