if it were

ah, the eternity of epiphanies, 

experience would want that.

but for the entitlement of error,

decisions demand that out of us.

agreement is only a form of willingness,

as shared-venturing into next moments. 

yet dispassionate approval is self in denial.

for accuracy yields presentable extremism 

and method cultivates boredom blooming.

we are all aware that,

as subjectivity has its reasons.

that preferential is a show of mind.

that behaviorism is act-outs as pantomime 

and approval is a display 

of unsaidness presented.

my objectives in saying all of this,

may have had forethought 

as heresy in mind.

I am blinded by recognition 

as my hindsight. 

true, deliberation is only editing 

my self script

but never the author of its inspiration.

discovering that to stare at finality 

is that it never ends.

all of preferences are only 

anticipatory contingencies. 

but the mess-ups of life 

makes good fabric for living.

new normal is a relative waste of mind.

find me finding you.

we can have that in common.

hard to take off the shackles 

of our separateness.

if it were up to me,

I'd rather leave you with a feeling

and not so much of a thought . . .

empathy is seamless

empathy is not contractual.

it's not one way either, 

but certainly 

on different frequencies expressed.

if there is immersion

and feelings get inwardly expressed,

you have awareness working from within.

yes, there are external circumstances present.

but the motivation is not reality contrived.

being moved is blessed in several ways,

one, that it is inwardly happening,

two, that your presence is ordained,

three, that what you give out,

also begets you a deeper sense 

of being yourself,

four, perception becomes as well,

five, the storyline has 

an inner worth revealed,

six, you are humanly initiated into being from within,

seven, your future walks itself differently forward,

eight, one's sense of being may not be, 

just a self,

nine, priority perspective 

is more deeply altered,

ten, this is a baptism of being, 

long lost without presence.

empathy has its passion 

from beyond practical means.

topics loose their sharpness.

tone becomes a language of worth.

care has less of an agenda.

concern looks more deeply 

into cause and response.

sometimes empathy is affording balance,

other times actions carry 

an emotional response.

empathy is connecting,

while sympathy is assisting.

empathy awakens the healer from within, for then.

the wisdom goes beyond 

words and rationale. 

truth does not search for an explanation.

connection was always there, 

but unexplored.

empathy makes compassion intimate.

empathy discovers a deeper self 

than observed.

a light of being 

that is also glow and fragrant.

there is support of being 

beyond circumstance.

empathy comes from a world 

beyond contractual.

the collective pours through us all, 

once awoken . . .

a sense of resolve

is there a resolve, 

without decisions 

and subsequent judgment involved.

a level of aware, 

without sensory overload, 

as primary influence.

a me, within the soul of the surround.

no topics,

no run-on mindsets jabbering away,

no features for sight,

no audio with poignancy's demand,

just resolve.

featureless and full of a presence,

yet nothing is declarative,

but an embodiment is present.

not turning off to anything that might,

but here it just is,

and a deeper form 

of human emotion appears.

it has no experiential tag,

to represent a storyline in action.

it is as if soul-caring has a moment

and it lives un-fancied by human actions.

it's just there,

behind all of the apparency sensory, attending,

where a sense of expansion occurs.

it has no audience,

just feeling, 

as part of the whole.

all life, all form, all mass,

and I sip the self

and call this singularly,

as a sense of resolve . . .

self in witness

self-witness, in a short term, 

is a therapy for the moment. 

syndromes, like veils,

alter my see-through thoughts 

with moods that linger.

like sight termed by a cloudy day,

having internals that banter,

with the incessancy of murmurs, 

on the every-day hearsay, 

as if mind-speak that goes on

with self-mentoring remarks,

as if it's still motherings.

for every day awakenings

are these prop-fest of familiars,

as if this frame of mind 

takes over the internal mike.

and I've heard it all before.

the same page of repeats spoken,

waiting for the self story 

to move the narrative far along.

I'll take anything unfamiliar

in my field of sight,

any drop-in of newly thought,

to interrupt this self-dialogue,

or some habit of mine

in spontaneous breakdown mode.

I'm looking for cracks 

in familiarity's tundra, 

to make new tracks

in overnight fading-memory's snow,

and new-found awareness 

in a foreign woods of mind.

slippage that happens,

when singalong's loose a line,

as just the slightest cutting edge

of keen across the brain.

for where sanity has it causalities,

I want mine

for the keeping . . . 

motherless

we are a motherless species,

having forsaken mother earth,

for our full time jaunt.

we party on and whine.

we are deliberately so. 

so self involved,

we don't have any time,

outside of time.

we are small minded circumstance logic,

as if personal fate

is a self-intimacy odyssey. 

we are on the mothership,

but can't get a grip,

just mostly along for the ride.

at some point,

can't hide the obvious,

can ask though.

how did we get so motherless?

and what is so obviously wrong 

with this picture?

(as if facing a mirror 

of ourselves in time) . . .

lip-service caring

the world of lip-service caring

is too frightened for actual action,

but means-well as bystanders go.

you have my sympathy,

as if a one scene movie 

is in my immediate face.

my caring proposes me, 

as a leave of absence, 

a chapter ending,

but carry on,

as I suspect, 

you will have to.

I have enough information 

for my anecdotal account.

yet, I feel the burdened,

just by knowing, 

what you will be going through.

know my caring wells from hopelessness.

your another episode

in my lonely long sad self story.

only it is happening to you

and it well could have been me.

but I have my sorrow as continuance. 

I will worry, 

as a form of separation's sympathy 

as worth.

we are all in a cemetery of dilemmas, 

dodging the downfalls,

but watching closely,

until it's time to look away.

there is care in my tone,

but disappears in my actions.

I will be talking over myself,

quite privately, 

while my distancing occurs.

at least we all share the same fears.

for proximity in the way,

doesn't really matter.

this is a soft form 

of divide and conquer.

it's very creepy,

but it's also very real.

like we are all in receivership of the news,

but distant for the reality 

of its immediate presence in our lives.

those people are somewhere else,

when it happens to them.

someone has got to restart the fire,

where my caring leads to actions taken.

immediacy is expression of that bond.

it is as if a night time story

and I went to sleep.

and then I awoke 

with caring as if as sympathy at its best.

no, I want the empathy of action.

I want for the embrace of immediacy,

even if it is just circumstantial.

I want my heart to yours,

as your life and mine.

they unexpectedly intermingle.

be what may,

for what humanness is needed.

we are always the avalanche 

of the next moment.

no matter what storm 

we originally came from.

I want the life 

of animated spirit in presence.

I am the uptake of nuance intended.

yet, we know of each other in deeper ways.

this preoccupation 

with a reality-format sucks.

lip-service caring is mindful,

but soulless. 

empathy cleanse me back into action.

I am a field of presence,

even if I am mindfully pre-occupied 

as otherwise . . .

warriors of oneness

kill me.

so that you see me die before you.

so that I am the end of your contention.

kill me again.

so that the enemy of you has died.

kill me once more,

face to face.

so that I die in your arms.

kill me so thoroughly,

that the investment in our conflict has died.

kill me in your memory,

so that the theme of our rivalry 

thoroughly dies with my death.

kill me,

so that you come to live without that cause.

kill me resoundingly,

so that our love of war, 

dies with me.

kill me, 

to realize and face your aloneness.

kill me again, and again, and again,

and wonder where I go.

kill me out of curiosity, 

that grows into this wonder,

that seemingly senses a love.

so kill me again,

and discover, 

that part of you dies,

when I die.

so kill me,

to discover where we are one.

kill me then,

to realize that we as warriors,

have minds as weapons.

kill me once more 

and your mind will die with me.

kill me. 

and we are now both dead, 

to the world,

to its vanities, 

and to ever being a distraction

to each other. 

now, 

warriors of oneness . . .