I want,
for the spaces
between inner convictions' stance,
between efforts of proof of worth
and reactions to outer world stimulus.
a space so vastly un-preoccupied with self-commentary
that one never thought to think there,
a space deeply within,
that does not see or respond
to the contentiousness of mind-bother,
a space forever free from reality's tags,
a space that looms
beyond what sensible would claim.
it probably never had a birth experience
and most surely won't have a death either,
but lives within each of us,
untraveled by the composition of logic
and the forever hearsay of preoccupation's fill.
it seeks no camouflage
but hides within the obvious,
yet has no evidence to suggest its presence.
passes by, on occasions,
when clarity is not preoccupied with reality formats.
it's somewhat weighty in a dimension of other than.
is approached without the capacity of words to describe.
but there is a sensing that goes on,
as if an intrusion on the normative's domain.
no explanation quickly comes to mind
but the feeling state lingers
and a wonderment attempts to imagine
if not outright claim.
there is no logic to this state or interpretive means.
some may call it far-seeing from within.
its only feature is a sense of drawnness,
but almost nothing else identifies formally
or with any sense of ease
as a porthole of comprehension.
responses are said out of frame.
sequences that relate to each other
maybe years apart
or decades in the making.
there can be memories without lifetime timelines.
incomplete thoughts may come without connections,
but there is a feel and its carriage,
precariously posed against sanity's account.
but not without a peculiar undeniable carriage,
somehow in the invisible spaces between other spaces,
between thoughts
that usually don't acknowledge these frame-breaks.
oddities like this are not a given
against the background immediacies surrounding.
but they are there.
they are vastly there
without any reason to otherwise notice.
life is conscious acceptance of these
without further questioning since fill is otherwise
everywhere else with experience in override.
how self-interior does one have to be
to realize these spaces in between?
what thoughts are there
that occupy with dignity and carriage?
who looks from afar at their mind room
and wonders who are they of me
that present as me,
that occupy and deliver the carriage of my reality self?
how did they get to be so solidly evident
and why am I not totally lost
in their carriage and account?
my stance is not that of wanting
but more of wonder.
this otherwise view of mine
is not in the book of being.
I don't have the frames
that custodialize the rest of me.
I seem to wander
as if a lifetime is a temporal landing.
and my character is somewhat impersonal
to a very distantly present me.
we, that is, the two of us,
don't fight or argue over this.
language is not my calling.
I am more of passage and less of conclusions' based.
for me, time is almost like a hobby of interest
but not demanding of presence or account.
there are much longer measures in play for me
than a lifetime has beckoning to attend or play out.
my thoughts, when introduced, are dreamy in stature,
hardly having immediacy as impact facing its truth.
just distant but profoundly connected
yet not pulling on my otherwise attention in a hard way.
some have a feel for this.
most have it as it vaguely passes.
but there is so much space
between what is accounted for.
vast spaces that are not time measured,
mostly occupying with considerable depth
on the consciousness of this kind of intake,
yet easily dismissible in the apparency of the ongoing.
it's slippery to delve into
as if experience ordained,
almost un-documentable in a straight forward sense,
for it easily passes as private internal gibberish-ness,
and certainly not conversational in a straight-up kind of way.
it is an intimacy of self in the first order.
and to present to another,
is a reach beyond logic's ability to justify.
kids may have access to this easily
and then grow out of it,
since it atrophies by our reality's style.
others may come to it
in a highly subjective sense of a setting
or in later years when self-acuity
is bored enough with reality as its own conditioning.
circumstances, though rarely, would be the birth of this
but transcendences do come into existence this way.
maybe as an anomaly that now lives on,
in spite of the otherwise general carriage of life.
if do, there is then a want to save it as spirit enterprise.
somewhat on the edge of a philosophical reach
but attended to with a sense of distant witness.
a perceptual frame of reference few agree to
and those that do,
are, of themselves, first-person advocates
for a greater cause
then why are we here
or what is the ultimate purpose of our living.
they have no answers
but live in the intrigue within,
with a greater sense
than mind-worthy can handle
or otherwise commonly express . . .
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