there are the ya-butts of a wonderful life.
the ya-butts are in the 'nots' of the
"I would if I could" remarks.
I could suffer from demystification of life from wealth.
this side-bar experiment is always available.
it is part of the conjure from the inquiries
that self-talk brings about.
yet the absolute control dominance of being
is fabriced by a supreme elegantly profound surrender.
where vast is always bowing
in the witness of experience.
yes, give me the peak experience of an empty mind
without the intervention of comparative truth,
or some non-ordinary states of consciousness
for outing a wisdom that is spiritually actualizable,
when being responsible becomes
totally and sightlessly self-custodial in service to others.
I am currently in the business that defends
but can't actually create resolution.
I put understandings up next to compassions,
and disclaimers next to topics of denial.
as a pleasure seeker,
I only have a visitor pass.
once there is the think I fuel on
but it is often under-dimensionaled
for the substance of truth to occur.
yet smotherings of higher consciousness
overwhelms my daily life.
high frequency coherence is upward striptease surrender.
why have a mind of its own
when contradictions become the petaled path taken?
I can't really complain though
without inwardly realizing how stupidity solemnly stands
out in the cold with the remarks it makes.
there, trembling from the laugher generated from fear.
I could be boasting in out-breaths
as if attempts at calming oneself.
shivers are praying for relief on their own.
as if to get relief from this body
that acts out on its own.
and a mind striving for separation by thought,
is to attempt to outlive the carriage it's living in.
composure is bought and sold
as stoic, pleasantries, passivity,
maybe even long-suffering
or well-aware but uninvolved.
the ya-butts are always dancing.
the mind is a ballroom
and I have feet for thoughts
and wings made out of the-think-of-it all . . .
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