pain as personal passage

as if pain is conversational,

not pleased with the topic itself.

don't appreciate the tone of voice used.

incessancy is experienced, 

as the start-up for overwhelm.

initially, so to speak,

hard to get a word in edge-wise.

at first, it's loud and blab.

then it gets to be pointed, particular

and mostly never-ending.

engagement seems to never end,

from muted to booming.

either way much the same,

as my me is deeply engaged.

I seem so pointedly issue-bound about this,

as if I was separate from 

but constantly in the ongoing of insulted.

change and or deny as techniques fail.

realized there were elements of variance,

hotter, colder, more or less.

oddly discovered that I got use to gravity,

settled for the feel of skin.

cope with being 

the physicalness of existing as person.

so where do I draw the line about pain?

there are techniques I have used,

but am totally unconscious about.

I did get use to clothes.

even tolerated the sense of language to express.

somewhere in the vanity of being human,

I have way.

aging is such a grand example of process

and pain is so much the megaphone of that.

so I have body as my apparent means.

what of mindfulness appropriates me?

yes, I have habits of altering capability.

I have emotions 

that could exist without conclusions made.

imagine as if pain was an appendage of sorts

and having the awareness skill to dally.

what could be discovered?

where pain is but a participant?

a cueing of deeds, efforts and process?

pain can be a rainy day,

a locked closet,

just the story of the next breath told,

the death of the worth of expectation?

how much of who I am 

is beyond how I claim myself to be?

what if creating in the moment

was more valuable 

than the projection I am proposing?

what if I am eternally the artist

even though the mediums of presentation

are ever-changing?

if discomfort is then my stylist, 

my brush, my chisel, my chainsaw,

my mind-sweep, my endeavor?

then on with the inevitable.

spirit served ongoing either way.

that which was conceived as pain,

now the consort of attention given.

and the medium of presence aware

becoming the mother of all attention.

and the birth of conscious passage gained . . .