bringing experience along

experience is only a bystander 

to one's personal growth.

potentially a documenter of sorts,

hinting at the high points,

as if as experience's delights.

otherwise the what, the where within, and the how,

all live on their own,

possibly working together,

alternating leads and follows,

as if life without a narrative net, 

so to speak.

seeding the living process,

behind, beneath and within,

yet not necessarily outwardly acknowledged.

living on the ever-change,

one vibrational passing after another,

possibly transducing into evident behavior. 

experience, then in audience, as always,

but laying claims,

like Columbus day all over again,

as if discovering oneself 

is the mode of operation that life gets lived.

so vain.

are we ever in the driver seat in essential ways?

given an hourglass of my life in grains

and will I attempt to name each grain in passing?

experience generally runs no deeper than passage,

no position of authorship,

certainly a creator in costume.

yet it's hard to leave the red-wagon of self behind.

experience is dragged along

and manages somehow, 

to never get out of the wagon . . . . . .