freedom of choice

freedom of choice is a positive assertion 

of an elusive negative affirmation.

for choice has a flurry of presumptions assumed to it.

there is the premise of being, a separate being,

as if that is an every day, in every way, declared.

that my prerogative state of mind is a given, 

promoted and appropriate,

that this method of being, mindfully referential 

actually serves me in an ongoing way,

that the day is my narrative application 

of expectation's correct and proper usage,

that the nemesis of the mind can be seen 

as asserting by the ritual, of choice applied.

and that my mind states my being 

in all these accountable ways,

when choice itself

agrees to these premises, 

without any other scrutable thinking required or applied. 

and if that be so,

then the only true freedom I can accept 

is a state of thoughtlessness.

but then how would I know if I was there?

for now makes mindfulness 

an act of ordering from a cognitive menu.

it seems my sense of self 

is totally dressed up in a choice wardrobe.

it makes my personal life a broadway show 

in which I am both on stage 

and in the audience at the same time.

freedom of choice is voluntary imprisonment, 

without actual incarceration being evident. 

all it means is 

that I have no reason to be reactive 

to my inward or outward surround. 

that I am mindfully acceptant, 

out of what comes my way.

it's a freedom of contained contentment 

within the confines of the operatives 

of the isolation of self as sensed.

it honors the laws 

of a pseudo physics of being,

in which all the physical over demonstrates 

and the emotional and spiritual accept the constraints, 

as in a mindful interpretive presence.

I wear my shackles as a musical instrument

and I sing only songs that I know.

my mind is the musician 

and I am its following.

'freedom of choice' is like an anthem to me.

its a song I live to sing,

not really knowing the meaning of the words

but I really emotionally love the melody.

it's a great concept of the heart

isn't it?

for me, the problem is, 

if I wished for wings to fly and had them,

I'd rather be the wind.

and if I was to become the wind,

I'd rather be the sky.

and if I became the sky 

I asked to not be on the stage.

and if that came true,

then I wouldn't know who or where I'd be.

so what is freedom 

without a context containing me?

I don't now think choice will lead me there,

to answer that specific question.

is freedom of choice a presence

without ever thinking it?

if so, then how does choice have a life

if I don't have the ritual of it in mind?

the only way that that makes sense is,

if I wasn't the presumption of a self

then I wouldn't have a need 

for the prerogatives of choice to actualize.

and so freedom wouldn't exist 

in a containment manner.

if only then to discover

that specificity is a form of enslavement,

a containment within our popularized mind-style,

common to us all 

as a reality format for existence.

how did this happen?

is this a practical joke 

or the joke of practicality?

is being duped a human state,

in which I could ask?

so, did you hear the one 

about 'freedom of choice'?

and people would seriously answer.

no, how does it go?

and so I would tell them.

but at the end of the joke,

no one would then be laughing . . .