the space out there,
if there is that.
that space between something and nothing.
not just beyond the tip of my tongue
but somewhere out there,
where that which was nothing
takes on the evidence of something,
becomes the mass of being
out of vibrational existence.
that space that is between
the integrated production of nothingness
into the densified substance of something.
even ever so small but still conformational.
yes, there is something there
how does that happen?
how come we are privileged
on the side of substance
and so denied on the side of nothing?
nothing is not nothing
but something of something else,
something beyond our sensory range,
our way of perception,
our means of participation
in a conscious way
yet we interface but cluelessly so.
why can’t I take my mindfulness
and go there directly?
what is so much baggage
that travel to is easily denied?
I can’t get even a mind grip.
I feel spoon-feed minor details
and no conscious immersion occurs
yet randomly interactions of this nature happen.
distortions in time and space-locations arise
and all I get from that is story
in delightful account.
I want expansion to include.
I am willing to strip away understanding
to exist in a more formal fashion
even if I don’t have a body
or declared occupancy as a being.
I want to embrace the universe more directly,
leave thought,
be isness without self-declaration,
have the patience for time to exist
and for mass to live its integrity fully.
but not be so at affect
and displaced by conclusions from thought,
not be so quick to cite as magic
because there is a lack of understanding,
not be subject to positions of observation
as if that provides for understanding’s ruse,
to plead for a facileness of existence
among all of existence,
maybe mindless,
as if so currently conceived,
but profoundly immersive,
beyond any myopic account,
to forever leave the bleachers of experience,
to be integral
as if essence is consciousness . . .
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