the make-up of why

we made up the why.

gave it a context of subjective redundancy,

assigned a descriptive to it

and formalized it

in a sincerely innocent way as,

why does life matter(?).

of course, not in subjective wonder,

but in all notions of honesty.

made assumptions about our positionality,

assumed grandly, 

that this rhetoric was properly assigned,

with only the capacity of a mirrored response.

comforted in the sense of self in capture,

as a kind of innocence,

as if comprehension is a given 

across the universe,

as its superior method of existence.

then, as if we are of the light.

and that shed across the universe

in an intimate self fashion,

has reason for inquiry

yet self justified.

yet we are in a vast parking lot

of questionable car residence,

looking for what vehicle of merit

will suit the keys we clutch so dearly.

and so we consistently ask,

so what color, what make, 

what model, and what year?

we assumed that it was or it is, 

a parking lot of questionable worth.

how did this happen?

what event were we at

that now we are here, looking for,

yet assuming some methods of existence?

as in, a here to there,

a method of delivery available,

a some place else to be,

and a reason for a cause?

maybe a reason for a cause is wildly myopic.

but consciousness is assumptions made to start with.

and so keys with the hands of the mind, 

under some assumption

that recognition will lead the way?

we search with what expectation has to offer.

perusal seems oddly appropriate.

since we assumed some vehicle to be?

actually something of our own perceptual creation?

maybe keys in hand is somehow symbolic.

made keys are the reason.

in that we sense because we can?

we obvious the think we are offered?

we narrative and account

as if a means from a here to there?

so where were we just before now,

that we have these keys

and some sense of looking

as a preoccupation of intention,

lurking our every effort 

at our invention of why?

yet in this vast,

if we are only canvassing what we know

in search with a set of keys to an ignition

that is to be recognized as such,

to get into a something of such

to take us where for then?

so to say it another way?

so if I look in the mirror

and the mirror is what I recognize it to be,

then what should happen,

is that is should reflect

what I then come to see.

but if I only equipped with recognition,

what did I merit

that was not already self as evident?

and why are we here, 

is not a stone's throw closer.

I have versionary account, about all of this.

but I wanted visionary.

maybe I assume a self

that does not function 

as a visionary vehicle of means.

do I have to question questioning to start with?

is the universe to us

all inner work, 

before anything becomes of sensory import?

does thought labor 

in vains of monotony,

yet conger as if in momentous dialogue?

what of mind is more than mule labor?

is this a bad version of

name that tune?

and we are, as a species, 

just wildly a few notes short of even melody?

hey, just riding on the bus of consciousness.

that is taking us all to where?

will it be an event,

experientially available to all?

or is this going to be another journey

into a way of life

that can't be referenced beyond dailies,

and the intimate ordering of appropriate,

and the apparent persuasion of meaningful occurring?

so, why are we here?

beyond all the rhetoric and the guess-work?

what is so heart-fully evident

yet so mindfully out of reach? . . .