the butterfly of oneness

there is a place within me, 

that will eventually come forth,

that is more than identity can handle or justify,

an inner voice that sees past 

any of the horizon lines constructing meaningful,

an inner environment,

impervious to outside influence,

a residence of being behind the beyond, 

but immediately face-to-face when called forth,

a knowing not tied to words

or the etiquette of meaning's presentation,

a grasp that is immersive and not linear,

a hologram of self-sense 

but not experience reduced,

an expansive sense of being

that knowing does not adequately provide for,

that maybe even understanding 

is not what attempts to compensate

but certainly, this is not a mind-game running,

but is more of a sense of on-rushing expansion

where experience is a slow draw

yet being embraces in passage within and through. 

there is no self-as center sourcing this.

self is a bystander term from a watcher,

not one who is taken in and taken up.

I don't want knowledge to impart.

I want to be the conduit of energy in passage,

not reduced to story or account,

where narrative is too late to the moment in passing,

where ignition takes up the attention

and momentum is not headstrong as cause.

this is where the conviction of the heart collectively convenes.

there is no say to be heard

as all within is moved by being. 

I do not want to take the time 

that understanding honors 

as if a mind-lead is needed.

how it comes to pass rises up from within

and the mind then follows, 

what the heart has sighted as relevant and sacred.

no one is living this for the story to come.

each moment is its self-full-filling.

nothing is besieged by time-honored residence,

for the scent of each moment 

has no time taken to account.

it's aliveness lived into it,

as alive as the scent has unrivaled existence.

I have that as the drum-skin in movement

before sound is the result forthcoming,

as all of thought is but gravestones of the thereafter.

for there is no claim of speed or intent.

it is immersion without captivation by sensory means.

it is rapture with comparative truth to define.

it is ecstasy without the confines experience.

it is an enchantment without reception aware.

a fluidity without surface or manifest as feedback,

that which takes up without space as occupancy.

to come into that stage of being 

as if a butterfly with wing-colored petals,

made of uplifts rather than breeze itself efforting,

that travels all directions at the same time,

expansive as flutter is needed,

all within an open wings-span ever full-time occurring.

released from the chrysalis of mind-fullness 

is as from the cocoon of previous reality spun,

when time was an attachment to hang from

and migratory callings came from the oneness of the moon

as if emotion is the one divine heartfelt sense needed.

where passage of all of this 

has past as an obsolete sense now evolutionarily advanced

and being only has oneness as senseless occupancy.

this is where the butterfly of oneness arrives,

where mind molted as if sloughed off, not needed,

where the universe is but one species,

and that, that presence is beyond 

what knowing has then, 

to offer 

flight has but wing occupancy

space has no there

and time only has the unbounded present . . .