the pen of the self

I am more of what I am not 

then I am generally aware of.

I am indoctrinated to be a self.

I have referential skills as a self.

I have mind-occupancy as a self

with so much orientation to be a self.

it's like a path and a means of ownership.

well, ownership is within the self definition

as self defining self is a life-path intended.

the pen of self is filled with ink.

maybe it is the ink of experience as a self.

the tip of the pen of self is placed on the now,

as now is being the experience of the moment.

the ink of being continually pours out.

there is this scrawl all around

while legibility is the apparent goal.

well this writing is even more important 

than what it really means.

and so one learns to write of their existence

by how each moment's a possible doodle,

made into a masterpiece of legible presence, read.

it is as if life is just the literal reading 

of the text of being,

as if surface suffices 

as meaning intended and then taken.

but my world has a graphology context to it.

I should have been happy with plain understanding,

but no, there is the plunder of pressure applied.

there is the persuasion of physical scroll delivered.

there is linear versus curvaceous,

punctuality versus untimely,

frame-breaks versus a permanence of gushing,

as the tensions of internal habit sending out sos's. 

there is so much more of what is

that is claimed as not being so.

for me, it is to live 

for the polarization of opposites as construed,

so as to discover the thematic premise

existing in a land of self in denial.

I am all of what I love to hate as an example.

our lives, as accounted for, are a gloss,

an agreement gloss as a glaze over,

an appearance veneer, 

as we are so inclined.

and yet below or beneath or somehow concealed,

there is this richness 

that can't be formally acknowledged.

each of us cannot live the total-ness of our being

and so we live as we write.

we are so cursory as an existence,

embellished with secrecy 

and endowed with extremes beyond paradox's grasp.

we are at least a factor of ten undisclosed.

how rich to become 

that self lives are in denial there of?

every one is easily a village, a tribe, a collective,

beyond what self can come to demonstrate. 

even as multiple personalities would not suffice,

yet we are each a humble of a self of one.

I simply can't wait for the collective of me to arrive,

for the common mind to ascend,

for as beings as so disguised to transcend

and get us out of this paradigm.

it's like a straight-jacket of self-dom 

as if acceptable as we so claim.

but I am only an act-out, once removed

and this approach as separate from

is in some ways, most demeaning to my spirit

and most certainly to my sense of soul.

if life is all about penmanship

than I am about writing the truth in every moment,

even though for now, we only understand 

what we can legibly read . . .