inquiry can seem so
innocent,
so pure as an
endeavor,
a distant calling
without repose.
who is there from
within
who spies on the very
nature of being?
there is the agreed
upon content
as a fluid currency
of apparent intimate
exchange.
if mind-body-spirit
were a violin
and one were asked to
play
from something spontaneous
beyond their know,
where would one put
one’s attention?
on the tension from
fingers to bow to strings?
How is emotion
conveyed
from beyond the
pretense of mind?
Where is that secret
relationship
whereby the savant of
spirit intervenes?
where one wholly ego-steps
aside
to transcends the
self as medium?
an imposition that
self-consciousness would
knowingly resist if
discovered,
as the channeling is
fragmented
if not totally
disrupted.
such are the remains
of the ever unspoken.
fingers to the bow to
the strings
seems mentally
concessionary
as if safety from the
haunt of spirit unchecked.
this is so subtle as
if alchemical,
even if it would
appear as so humdrum.
there is a need for a
recipe without ingredients
that transforms on
the stove of the mind.
can the emotional
child have wisdom
free from the
concepts given to them as thinker?
how to channel a
quality of bliss
and not be
experientially seduced.
the mind-grab of
relevance is a disturbance,
a sense of self-subjectivity
that is no help to
one’s cause.
audience would only
come to bind and restrain.
soft and humble as
traits
worthy of efforts at
presence
only give appearance
to others
but do not set one
free from within, to play on.
what if this as
trust, self trust, had no glitches,
no recourse of
self-dismissal,
no pause to
reconsider,
no re-contextualizing
to begin
to counter the
denials from within,
no measuring of self as
mentoring,
no apprehension
towards embarrassment,
no authority figure self-imposing,
no social construct
to be met,
no ideological icon
to be socially approved,
no rash of
impulsiveness, held without defense,
no energetic truth
with proper spiritual introduction?
so say, if you were
that violin,
fingers to bow to
string,
where is the soul
residence that is to play?
the sound of you may
have un-claimable method,
to disrobe of
knowledge, to play your being.
Inspiration would
have you
by an
incomprehensible means.
bleed it, weep it,
sneeze it, wheeze it.
give it to the world
in any inspirational please.
you cannot make it go
away.
you will die with it,
subtly on your face,
coming out from your
eyes,
nesting resoundingly
in your heart.
this vibrational
intelligence does not demand.
what calls you is not
that as separate from you.
cause-worthiness is
not the essence of you.
what is truly
emanative exists from within.
the underground river
of you unifies us all.
oh please play,
from beyond our current conscious
means . . .
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