frightening * 4/6/14

Frightening, that thinking even of itself, is a subtle exercise towards aloneness, a ritual of isolation practiced thousand fold daily. Frightening, to be a person in the world who recognizes words as symbols that keep us in a language that keeps us apart. Frightening, that to go amongst each other and accept meaning as we do, keeps us in agreement but never approaches oneness of thought. Frightening, to use self-consciousness to chauffeur our attention towards a feelings of protection from where we are mind-fields, littered with doubt. Frightening, to make love with another, to come all the way from our aloneness only to express the remoteness of the rest of our lives. Frightening, that we step through each other in acts of love that ignores the enormity of our already connectedness by celebrating the deliciousness of our physical appetite. Frightening, that what we think so fulfills us with self-presence that we go on with our actions as if the world is brought into balance by these deeds. Frightening, that making an attachment is assumed as a way of participation when keeping track of that attachment promotes our separateness.  Frightening, what shallowness goes on in our lives that is outside our ability to sense, to dance, to be yet it is of us behind our solemn self-isolation. Frightening, is the stark kind of acceptance-phobia that embraces the realm of appearances without the embrace of merit or truth. Frightening, that all we have to identify with, our senses, inner dialogue, our momentum for being, seems so second hand, so much the hand-me-downs of understanding. Frightening, this chauffeuring imposition of time that animates our concept of being, leaves us feeling short-changed, embarrassed at the oddness we sense for being in time. Frightening, to be in conversation this way as if a distant feeling slowly overcomes us, that we, you and I are, unbeknownst to ourselves, are out on a limb. Frightening, that we are free-falling through a universe where, only the resistance to the fall, is a meaningful existence to us all. Frightening, that if per chance anyone else crosses our path, that we ignore them by immediately interpreting their impact on our story. Frightening, to be with others, making life meaningful and realize how frail are our responses and how difficult to sense what to question. Frightening, that we would go outside ourselves for confirmation, in such a way, where all we create is a convention of agreement to be seeable by those others as then, as knowing ourselves. Frightening, that the intimacy with which we breathe in, can so easily regard the breathing of others with such indifference as if they are far away except for the commonness of the air we share. Frightening, that the sum total of our lives is singularly consumed by experiencing. How can taking in be so all consuming? Frightening, that we do not know how a next moment passes without complete abandonment overtaking us  and yet, by some discreet momentum from within that overwhelms frightening, next moments come . . .