dimensionality as a designation

every dimension known

is only known by its definitional means,

as interpreted by our explorational process. 

dimensions have internal integrity 

and external interplay,

as that suits our style of comprehension.

we live for the knowhow of it, 

but not to be. 

the dimensions we already are,

are a living example of 

our inappropriateness for the essence,

even though it is an isness through us.

we are all about sensory externalization.

time is an extemporary way 

of interpretation

that humans specifically use.

everything we study 

reflects the struggle we have

with the methods we use to study with.

we are the conundrum 

of observational means.

our reality, in fact, 

is based on serial intelligence.

there is very little wholism 

to the linear intelligence 

in the way we pursue

to create impactful observation

in a sensory-means way.

space, in its first order,

is reflective of the human predicament.

that we understand, dignifies us, 

in a self compositional way.

we are the imprisonment of that knowing.

we are forever shackled 

by our means of identification.

true contemplation is an effort 

to undress the mind.

if you leaped into the ethers of nothingness,

with every word you pronounced,

with every thought that became conscious,

eventually you would 

could come to surrender

from the predisposition of being.

our feeling nature is an example 

of the relationship of wing 

to wind in the sky.

where our feelings are 

not the wing, 

nor the wind,

and certainly not the sky.

but more of the forever, 

that elementally expresses itself in that way.

our breath is composed 

of the essence of solids,

that we both honor and abide.

for the father of our prejudicial state 

and the signature of our existence

is the sun.

for without the worship of oxygen,

we are destined. 

and vibratory truth 

will have no further need 

for consciousness . . .

life of beingness

distant memories make us the dry-goods,

primed for the kindling of the future weep.

some days like these ever provide

the scrip for one's autobiography

that becomes loudly pronounced

after having lived them

oh if tombstones or ashes could tell 

the original detailed story

and not summarize even once

then each read would have an authentic life

outside of its primary existence in time

one's departed soul would regard 

each reading 

as an act of sincere kindness

as a giving back by reflection in return

for there would be the authentic feel 

of less aloneness after death

and a sense of more momentous aliveness

for having initially lived it

that is for each of us 

now dead or alive

for us to become aware

that each breath we breathe

is lucidly original

and produces no repetition

that each of us is eventually 

as a grain of sand

unique to its origin and to its journey

from the mountain from which 

we as oneness came

if then we regard the oceans as all ink

then the clouds are all 

these written transcripts

and eventually all the rains 

are our autobiographical memories 

spoken in fluid freefall out loud

so that no one is ever truly forgotten

for their lifetime journeys

and the sky-fall weep 

provides the nourishment

for life to be lived

and for the cycle of livingness

to carry on with reverence

as distant memories spoken

over and over  

for life of beingness 

to carry on . . .

witnessing one's thoughts

to witness one's thoughts,

not for the thoughts themselves

but the feel-source

that generates them.

to witness that feel,

to stream up into that feel

and sense where that takes one.

for the energetic connection

beyond rational arrangement.

to embrace the illogical

in specific spectacular fashion

and know of oneself

beyond the self-sense 

of narrative limitations.

to be beyond the storyline,

to make the connections

to other places,

other lifetimes of dynamic account

that so subtly bleeds through vibrationally

into this life, 

at this time.

and to have a widescreen composure,

as to embrace, 

as if to come to embody, 

a greater sense of being,

more than of this lifetime of composition.

that one of being

that carries on from way before.

out of current character

but more of essence brought forward.

we are all of these facets,

all of these energetic truths, 

either buried or disguised

but destined deep in our soul nature

to be vortexes of advancement,

when the authentic situations

readily reappear, 

as if out of place or character

but not in vain.

for grandness of evolution

brings and draws from all sorts of eddies 

otherwise unidentified as such.

be that which is both mystical and myopic,

enthralled and paralyzed,

compelled beyond restraint,

able to leap out of one's rational skin

and yet land with emotional composure.

be willing to give up the sight of it.

to be at the heart of it ,

while self seen lands its own evolution.

life is that experiment,

from self as audience,

to on-stage to back stage,

to beyond performance as projection,

to source room of current self,

to being before self as presented,

to the essence of witness as self applied,

to scopes and premises

that only contain the spiritual enterprise

of being beyond time and frame limitations.

even before you came to be

that you even then were.

all starts with the simple lit match

in the wherewithal dominion 

of witnessing one's thoughts,

just for the feel-source 

within them . . .

tai chi abstinence (haiku)

 

tai chi abstinence

is knowing what not to do

and not doing it

just between you and me

in the ultimate essence of speed, 

time would not exist

if speed were fast enough, 

space would disappear

if the whole of one is made evident, 

mass would be inconsequential

and maybe not even evident 

if comprehension was immersive, 

we would have no past 

and memory would be a hobby 

as a syndrome of boredom consequence

language, as referential, 

would be an invention 

for within the need of time

thought would be the construction

of the world of shadows

and think would only have a presence

but not a means to identify

and just between you and me

well nothing referential 

would ever have need to occur . . .

empty-fullness

the flow of empty-fullness

that no moment is challenging.

but is readily embraceable,

not by its apparent content

but by its experiential embrace.

where critical-mind provides

but does not create a view 

designed for alarm.

where emotional presence seeks connection,

where all that is composed of aware,

is present, 

in an otherwise 

expansive internal environment.

the self is of giving to transform,

to bask and define 

by every gesture of movement.

that there is a generative from within

but connection is sought and affirmed

with every act of movement

both mental and physical 

and in combination there of.

there is a seeking to express

by competent surrender 

to method as means.

one is a fountain of presence and energy

as if tai chi was the mindset 

of energy expressed.

for there is no gain in the doing

but also no loss in the execution as process.

the candle of being burns brightly,

no matter the shadows 

or expanse cast all around.

accomplishment is in the moment as is

and the task lives to honor that in passage.

there is a sense of deep carriage 

that never ends.

all comes to meet 

rather than pursue to seek.

the richness of reward 

has no measure to obtain.

giving from within is the offering rewarded.

abundance of presence is each effort's focus.

the mastery from within 

is its expression outwardly.

therefore, no moment outweighs any other.

the ripeness of continuance keeps appearing

and the physical behavior exudes 

in an interior calm.

there is no spillage of distraction,

no value displaced by attention lost.

a ripeness addresses 

as awareness adventures.

there is a gratitude in carriage

and a humbleness in the gift of givingness.

the mystique of empty-fullness 

lives from within,

no measure presides,

no account can describe.

the feeling commands,

as the nature of true experience 

is other-worldly . . .

your laugher

your laughter,

however found,

is every snorting ha-ha, 

a slung hammock embracing you, swinging,

every sigh, as if distant rolling thunder,

every voice-sound almost forthcoming, 

itself, a flash-flood brewing.

all of this adventure

is in the mind-quips recoiling

then becoming the dustups of laugher.

every boom is from the lung-drums 

of exaltations. 

all are spiriteds, 

descending from the brain,

while these updrafts 

have emotional reverberations.

they then sound themselves alive,

ascending into a lightness of being, 

yet out of the frame of reference.

for gravity is capable of laugher with us,

in that weight-bearing is now effortless.

where guffaws fly out

as if bats after sunset.

chuckles saw themselves, 

humorously in half.

shrieks and roars become town criers.

snorts are next-breaths wanting in.

sunsets of heartfelts are made of this,

as a whole day is each rejoice of laughter.

your laughter, 

is transforming in every way . . .

timing (haiku)

so when time matters

pressure's holding a clock face

that's glaring at me

when spontaneous and unexpected

 

when spontaneous and unexpected collide, 

is this flint to steel,

snowbank and fender,

slurred speech and laughter,

microphone with questions,

fine china dropped and broom,

a stab wound turning red,

a worldview overtaking the mundane,

cereal surfacing on a fork,

abandoned car keys spotted,

first grey hair noticed,

warmth from a slap on the face,

a yawn turning into a sneeze,

an orphan is really a distant relative,

a de ja vu lands as a solid memory,

lost and forgotten returns as real,

or a next thought, 

without a context of delivery?

is this when, 

spontaneous lives for

the unexpected to arrive . . .