consciousness as a passenger

when is consciousness the doorstop of meaning

and not the passage through that open door?

for the beauty of elusivity 

is that, no find will ever answer,

no lens will ever capture,

no audience will ever glean. 

for meaning has a short shelf life,

in closed cupboards, 

with short attention spans.

so the travel of humans' ideals, 

as experiences human values, 

is roadkill along the journey.

so why is meaning assigned 

such a deadweight existence,

when 'open door' is an expression 

for leaving the past? 

the past, 

as if time had presence and restraints

for leaving,

as if there was a here and a there, 

worth distinction, 

other than a notion of smallness imposed,

as a perspective on being 

that diminutive a view.

as if an expression,

as if dialogue was a mouthpiece of spirit, 

ever in expression.

and the open door,

as a framing of spirit on the rise,

a depiction of being as a separate with a view,

and aspirations to a greater whole,

that still provides for the smallness of a self

to be the transcendent full-blown view.

consciousness, as if a ticket to a ride,

as if experience, 

is the inhabitant of the self,

is the prime for that journey . . .