slow is expectation's curse

 

there is no such thing as slow.

slow is expectation's incessancy.

it's attention span loosing its grip,

for the focus from oneself 

is too under dimensionalized,

not enough of the depth of self 

as witness to the task.

results-orientation is stealing the process

by impatience to the presences needed.

slow is evocative to unfolding as talent.

slow embraces the unseen 

into wisps of evident.

the greater whole is honored.

the wide gaze and the deep survey 

seek expression.

conscientious meets, 

with scrupulous softly presenting.

one would think is brought into 

the witness of ponder.

conclusions soften their stances, 

to reflect and reconsider.

pace itself becomes a form 

of creative expression.

the dignity of being 

is allowed full expression.

embodiment has a glow 

of participation ongoing.

slow is now only a bleacher report,

as far removed 

from the intimacy's immediate reception, 

to that inner voice 

that harbored the perspective of slow.

a wellspring of emergence 

has come to occur.

the curse of immediacy 

has been revealed.

the task-bound of slavery 

has been inwardly set free.

the great pageantry 

of movement towards resolve

has now a grander scale of attention in play,

no speeding singular raindrop 

ever represents the enthrall of the rain.

too slow never captivates,

while the fastness of task 

never really charms.

tempo has the capacity to embrace.

there is a tease to momentum's pageantry.

every one is the sacredness 

of gravity's expression.

the embodiment of form taken majestically present,

and when done consciously,

slow does not ever really exist . . .