the homesickness from before nostalgia

there are these longings, 

as if memories wide-scoped.

they fill more than mindful, 

as if recalled.

they don't have surface so clearly received.

they are environmental rather than pictorial.

when this strong, I am not even this personality,

that which I seem to hold close for now.

I don't even have any recency to recall,

just dropped into a sense of being,

though not current, 

not even gender bound.

but somehow distantly familiar,

like having heartfelt treasures 

as if remembered from there.

roots of me, 

seemingly from another forest

then this one, 

that I currently wander.

my common sense-time is laughing at me, 

while I laugh back,  

not haunted by what appears to be so.

feel steadied and deeply moved,

yet not with the surround 

or the senses 

that take me from here to there.

some part that grows me and defines me,

comes from a there, 

by a sense from other wise.

there is an elongation of person occupancy,

as if I have taken up other bodies in other times.

I have a carriage that has no other purpose

in this now's circumstance or occupancy.

but it is there and now here.

maybe now I am homesick for those roots,

not as a past, 

but as a deep presence of now,

not otherwise revealed.

maybe not even to live into,

but launched and yet still grounded.

maybe there is an unseen, unsaid agenda,

propelling and compelling in carriage

and I am becoming in it.

no, this is not a lament of nostalgia.

there is nothing of emotional weep-age in this.

this is clear sky with different eyes.

this has a wildly consuming approach to time,

as if not orderly or in sequence,

but high-points in an ever-flow,

waves from an ocean that spontaneously appear,

yet not beach related,

but deep currents with that reflect and posture.

maybe I would have liked to claim homesickness

but the current is too now to express as a longing for.

surely I am claiming of a past, 

a far distant past, 

from this apparent now,

but yet not really so, 

within me.

I am deliverance.

I wear my message unknowingly announcing.

I could be suspect that it is not worldly in origin.

I don't have a sense of like or dislike.

it just is so, passing through me,

yet memory wants a shot at its worth,

a plead for a narrative at placement,

an account that justifies its presence. 

clearly none of that really applies.

anything of that nature is accessorizing.

it doesn't even effort to approach words.

but the feel is a well-spring

I drink without effort or real need.

and yet I am not trained for conscious carriage.

it seems privately reputational within me,

as a sense that seeks no other contact but me.

almost as if I didn't travel from there to here,

but they are now simultaneous,

as a sense of a larger scope.

and I don't have experience skills that grand.

I struggle with being both at once.

find myself as one or the other,

yet there is a witness within me

that thrives on this, as developing.

I am willing to let this part of me

call it a form of homesickness.

but a deeper part of me, 

a part of me 

beyond what knowing can defend,

is in realization for there,

as then and also now.

as if what is body occupancy for,

besides the expansion to include

that which makes evolution

not an action of change

but a metamorphosis of conscious embrace? . . .