life in the jungle of resilience,
is taking impactful clues
from long lines of cues,
as the mind-dance made
of the weave,
woven from attention spans
as efforts at deliverance.
for there is
no easy sense of confluence allowed.
pick and choose,
puzzle pieces in disarray,
foreground to back,
camouflage is the greeter
at the otherwise sensory doors.
did I just see
what I just heard?
did I just come to understand
what I just said?
how strange to be
in self-sensory dialogue.
some done completely internal
and otherwise,
some on the self stage.
does that mind ever stop reading,
when even feelings are like one chapter ahead?
it is if one could live in a town of answers
without the sensory of questioning ongoing.
would that be like a hammock on a lake-view
in the passiveness of summer's call?
is that like no place further to go
but being here as a full approach?
is that like a sense of serene
as a complete sensory intake
and settled in
as sensual becomes that embrace?
yes, if I only had a tail wags dog
or a endless flight in a peace of mind sky
or a diatribe of inner dialogue
that turned into a quietude of purifying hum.
yet resilience is a residence of uproars,
a choir of outrage finding common song,
setbacks with small smiles inwardly beaming,
defeats being held hostage by wide open ground,
stumbling blocks providing further leverage,
reversals forthcoming in unseen winds,
and the action pact of turnabouts
in a much larger game
then ever appeared to be,
that which is being played.
resiliency is not the logic of legos,
nor pander of problematic in overdrive.
but it is of witness coming from
before, behind, beneath, and above.
the wisdom coming from
beyond the mindset of time and space.
for that which comes to manifest
is sourced from deeply within.
resiliency has that source,
without measure,
without claim,
and without any need
for all of this otherwise of confinement . . .
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