end to intimate aloneness

the front door of intimate aloneness,

even if I give directions,

is in a neighborhood deep within.

it seems all knocks happen quite suddenly.

not sure to ask who is there.

two worlds collide, from the inside out.

how often does that ever happen?

it isn't like meeting face to face.

already by presence so much is exposed.

can't be greetings exchanged,

as if feeling foreign, makes that seem alright.

it's almost like waking up in the same bed

and wondering about past lives.

nothing about this has gender to it.

can't really ask,

yet always wanted to leave 

the practical, the pragmatic, the projection.

do you see what I see

or do we sense about something the same?

agreement does not satisfy this thirst. 

wanting to risk expression about

a world like no other from within.

feelings that have wandered in the lonely.

wanting a groundedness from a beyond.

for this has nothing to do with reasoning

and everything to do with a sense of the anchor as awe.

a source for being identified as coming from,

to be known in a deeper way that is other-worldly.

somehow a code that is hidden 

within the feeling depths of intimacy

but gets revealed though it can't find words.

it feels like pools of specific ocean of selves,

meeting up once again, 

as baffling currents have precisely allowed.

its not for memories sake

but for a depth of aliveness,

that experience rarely offers in passing.

it's not for the excitement or the memories claimed.

it's the immersion, the clarity of depth as nectar,

the sense of completeness that abounds.

it's not even having a personal experience,

for it goes well beyond 

all that is comparative and cumulative,

beyond dimensional display.

even my breath is sacredly quiet but present,

so internally fighting against a notion of separate from.

words to be spoken are far from being approached.

one pool, so many emotional thermals cross exchange.

the dismantle of separate from, is before us

yet wildly occurring on the consummate of us within.

every question over time about living,

is finding answers, though not formally asked.

even meaning is for the bystanders in each of us.

why life as living could be any other way.

I have never smelled the rose of time before.

maybe never been formally in this garden.

if we are a crop,

then this is a blossom,

wanting fragrance to be an ever mindset way.

I have only until now,

had broadcast as a way of living,

a self sustained by inner radiance realized.

we are together, as a touchstone of deeper oneness.

what that merge and synchronicity has offered,

is a sense of being beyond reason,

a hive of blessed aliveness stirred,

for that which accesses beyond the space and time

of being a person, lost in world-order's maze.

I will fall back into you, as referential and memory.

we will go on in human character in separate ways.

each as inwardly un-extinguishable,

as a resource to the other, without refrain.

for we now have no space occupancy

that withholds us as separate from.

no thought models that hold us as deeply distant.

thread by thread, stitch by stitch,

souls like ours unite.

intimate aloneness

as a neighborhood's deep-with

now suddenly knocked at invisible doors.

eventually, we will let each other in . . .