this method of experience

the method of experience 

is a worn out shoe.

the toil of awareness 

is new socks or bare feet daily.

attentiveness is almost a form 

of preferred style consciousness,

as subtilely ever the immediacy explored.

this is still a predicament of fixedness. 

the confines of self-consciousness rule.

comparative truth yields no higher ground.

everyones is still a colored palate

in other people's eyes.

familiar is an acceptable unsaid compromise.

we all go about our busyness, 

rowing on a placid lake of conceived intention.

what makes the lake

is the constancy of recognition's assumptions.

sensory reintroduces us to the ongoing.

somewhere within,

we are all carried along.

purposes becomes our excuses.

deeds become our act-outs.

the real juice of my being

will be used on interactions.

we all serve up splendids of care.

we could have been bartenders

of mood enhancements.

some instinctively know,

when enough has been said.

we all, well mostly all,

wanted planes rather than canoes,

skyward rather than land-wise,

a faster film speed to living's rewards.

most have concessionary page-turns

to their life narratives.

cross acting in multiple musicals simultaneously

is common place among adults.

having one's character in other's show

is almost a given, across the board.

each day, a plethora of experience is afforded.

but method is never really in question.

intake surely gets refined

and output has character traits presented.

it's a wonder how magic ever happens,

given the evidence and the overlay.

but there are occasions of the unexpected,

vitalizations from the beyond,

stimulus unwarranted.

and oh, so readily received.

wrapped either in spontaneous or surprising,

revealed by glittering cues or baffling happenstance.

the feel is richly rewarding

and experience is duly altered,

making room for the real self to emerge

fresh from the comatose of expectations.

oh, to live for the wasteland of astonishment

to eye-openingly appear.

a chance at zest as impromptu to surface,

for bland to fall asleep at the wheel.

how childlike of all of us,

to have played astonishment 

into a reality format, 

as a game of worth, 

worthy of commitment

yet hard to state the rules

and get others to also play along.

this is a necessity

when experience becomes the land of clutter.

like a bad game of tag,

when every one is it all at once.

we all do better with the in-breath

when electrifying in on the mind,

as if exhibited 

from the manifest of one,

in heart-fullness . . .