experience as a truth-teller

it is as if I asked of experience, 

to be a truth teller,

as if experience was my best friend.

you know,

always around,

did lots of stuff together,

always listens, 

even to my inner thoughts.

mostly in agreement,

treated me as if I was the star.

hardly ever interrupted,

went just about everywhere together.

never thought of myself,

as the evil twin.

reality is sort of an innocent menage a trois,

not sexually implied,

but a threesome reality ongoing.

just me, and my witness of me,

and experience then of the ongoing.

sure, there was always inner dialogue,

me and my inner witness.

how could there not by?

sort of siamese-like,

and use of a quicker language,

just between the two of us. 

doing from comprehension to understanding.

reality, experience-wise, 

was alway a third party in presence.

sort of there,

waiting for attention paid.

not really a bother, 

but sort of a bother,

with some sense of looming insistency.

generally neighborly,

but somehow sharing the same sensory house.

experience is like a lazy-boy confident,

and we, the other two of us, as me,

are always just waking up from the intimacy of we, 

me, and my awakened-ness as my mind. 

and experience is right there.

just the three of us, ongoing.

but experience, as a truth-teller,

doesn't always get what I am asking.

experience has its conventions.

and I and my inner awareness,

sometimes seem like foreigners 

to a somewhat promised land.

we then get glitch crazy inside.

my inner witness can be cool

but my recognition witness gets sideways.

some much agitation and alarm,

coming my way.

energies in a language base, 

I don't relate to.

can't decode much of it either.

and apparently can ask experience to explain.

so I sort of step back

and let the two of them work it out.

experience is what it is.

but awareness by its means,

struggles to the point of oppression

or denial, or ongoing consternation.

I await.

my awareness seems to have 

an ongoing short attention span.

and soon the moment passes,

though not easily forgotten.

and so I fundamentally live with

a closet full of not-forgottens.

door is usually closed.

and so experience as a truth teller,

is not as if aging equals wisdom . . .

to fulfill the evermore

what if I live to un-see, to un-know, to un-sense, 

yet travel on the conveyor belt of experience?

can't get off of the greater sense of getting on.

how to cease with, 

the input overwhelm,

the narrative inward over-speed,

the sensory onslaught ever forthcoming,

the sense of definite and directedness,

the compulsion of said consciousness.

to become deeper of the beaming?

to be witness beyond the need to express?

have at the hologram,

without holding it as focus up?

be of the eternal output generatively so?

as if of a oneness beyond the sense of mingling?

to be of essence, 

beyond its expression of being so?

where "I" is nothing personal, 

with no sense of depictional or narrative involved?

where all is embrace of one-of-a-kindness?

beyond any sense of intermingling,

but more of expressive confluence, blessedly so?

can't have a thought of that,

without emotional in over-flow.

as if emotionally streaming 

is in an endless outpour.

where everything is but of nothing, 

but the deluge of oneness in flow-torrents,

pouring to fulfill the ever-more . . .

referencing the now

the method of referencing the now, 

puts me in the imminently recent past, 

as these methods ordain that process.

I want to be of the consciousness 

of non-name-ability.

where the sensory of feel 

has awareness prominence.

wanting my awareness to be 

of full empty occupancy.

of that which is not translatable 

into any language bias.

to be of the it of it,

as if normalized sensory

is a second-hand opinion.

to be of an inward energetic 

that has a full occupancy 

beyond the capacity to witness 

in a sensing way.

to be of an air of awareness 

that rivals sensing experience, 

but without a sense of separateness 

or a position of self aware

as a means of orientation.

or without a separate sense 

of self-witness administering.

where knowing functions as a protection system 

premised on anticipatory fear.

to sense the totality of the universe 

as the initial version of a comprehensive self.

and what is heard 

as an original tactile sense of felt 

is an internal sound 

that is the composite 

of an enormity of frequencies 

all in the same integrative pitch.

where one's feel of the universe 

is of one sense,

and that sense is 

enormously intimately holographic.

imagine gravity is like a spatial language 

spoken as if heard as fluid is motion.

with this as consciousness,

there is no sense of self occupancy.

where to preface has no definitional sense 

of futurized existence.

one is in the definite free-fall 

of the ongoing yet of timelessness.

fluid is the expression of the whole 

as emotion is impressioned knowing.

where ambience is an awareness existence 

as dynamic ongoing presence.

memory is paid forward 

with an absence of thought.

where mindfulness does not measure 

in components for interactional account.

where there are no dimensional effects 

from indifference or intent.

all of oneness is the action 

of verbiage unrealized.

where stoicism is unrealizable dimensions 

of instantaneousness as motion. 

nothing has profound relevance 

where think is as presence 

and thought is as absence are resolved.

where mindfulness is a false projection 

of sensory input as if observed.

motion is intelligence 

without experience feedback for results.

motion is the essence of time

in a now equation.

as if swimming in the ocean

is the intimate mind work 

to become an evaporative.

to see without the immediacy 

of retention working at it.

where motion is essence privileged,

yet mentally literally denied . . .

I have dreams

I have dreams 

from before I can remember.

I have to remind myself, 

as a person, of who I am.

this human being thing seems like an act-out 

of something deeper.

what I want to say, 

I can't fit into meaningful words.

there is something else deeply going on, 

beyond this reality pretext.

this feels like higher consciousness, 

but not mindfully so.

I can't go by my attention span, 

as a directive of my being.

all of my daily routines 

feel for a fringe of listlessness.

common cause has to be more, 

than topic bound to matter.

I don't want agreement anymore. 

I want the feel of alignment.

mentally, I don't feel that anything happening 

would deeply surprise me.

there are so many money-chase hidden-agendas, 

as concerns, to even bother with.

there is a need for face-to-face, 

that builds an immediate warmth, 

is all to ask for. 

not interested in chasing blame, 

just want a sense of direction.

now feels more like huddling together 

rather than gathering for enjoyment.

I now spend money on things, 

as a necessity request.

really tired of living 

on past conclusions made, 

sadly affecting now.

having an even keel

is clearly now, an inner process.

which is somehow why,

I have dreams, 

from before I can remember . . .