Irrevocable Loss

However, irrevocable

loss has occurred,

for irrevocable loss

has been felt,

and observed.

Now . . . irrevocable loss

is a featured event,

which disavows

any other now

that cannot be met

as a continuation

of this expectation’s

back-story line

or unwritten cliff notes

under my breath.

What was so fluid

is now splattered.

What was so commanded

is now scattered

by a profound

and ever providing

and ever proving loss.

What was so fulfilling

is vastly diminished.

The enemy has become

this environment

finely revealed.

Another mountaintop

is not in the clouds

but only in a deep space

above solemn’s shadow.

Memory can commit

yet another episode

into a method

of acceptable avoidance.

Eventually we will have

e-surveyed everywhere

that we will now not go

and therefore cannot go,

to prove our self correct.

The imprint, though fading,

represents the truth for us.

The event, though fading,

represents more things

to be avoided.

The method of avoidance

signifies nothing

but represents

a kind of negative Zen.

premise being:

I now know more

of where not to go

and what not to do.

But memory’s task

and our re-invocation

to this principle

will, at some point, display.

All of life

as vindictive wallpaper

for hallways

not ventured again.

We are proving our worth

by our absence.

I am not silent to this

for myself

though I may appear

to be talking . . .

only to myself.

Absence provides for this

as an option

for this one-sided conversation,

for this broken mirror

of relating to be re-inspected . . .

It still works

with some careful re-assemblage.

I can see clearly the refection

and accept the cracks.

I am enough of a hologram

to do that well.

All of life is reflections

through broken mirrors

from the ideals shattered

yet revealed by circumstance.

I guess for me

some blind spot

has pressured against the now

and blam….

unanticipated moments

have vastly occurred.

But then to my surprise . . .

life always was a makeshift

rope bridge journey

of slatted flat moments

strung together

by expectation’s walk-over skills

through any point in time.

Well then,

no surprise there . . .

And for me,

am I not over gripping

on a kaleidoscope

of self-preservation?

Why I could create

a diet for myself

based on editing menus

where I won’t eat at places

with improper grammar

on display!

I did not go to the symphony

to hear perfect pitch.

I went there

to hear people’s interpretation

of the music at hand.

I personally do not agree

with the score sheet

in front of me,

so I am bored

with those expectations

but I really enjoy the movement,

the animation,

the energy,

that sometimes comes off

the players

and sometimes off

their mindsets

brought into the room.

There is no such thing

as avoidance

for the symphony is everywhere,

my mind will see to that . . .

I can apparently avoid

the billboards of life’s music

but I cannot avoid

these memories or the lessons,

however richly and blessedly,

creatively and divinely

irrevocable loss has occurred . . .