The projection of oneself

The projection of oneself

professes itself as a disclaimer.

This broadcast of oneself

give audience

as kind personal presence,

a method for entitlement

by subtle decree.

It seems to indicate

that you only have

visitation rights to now,

that there is a court order

of self-imposition abiding.

Maybe it is a kind

of karmic house arrest

in a deducible

yet ethical kind of way.

It sees and touches everything

that sees you.

Everyone involved here

is also a bystander

and yet a secret warden

at the same time.

All their observations

and conclusions,

their opinions

and judgments

are reversible wardrobes

of consensus taken

to the conviction

of your heart.

There is a stress

of forced resistance,

a kind of posed relaxation

that is held and withheld.

It is costly on the body

towards stiffness,

the shaping

of skeletal repose,

the fatigue

of the nervous system

that looks towards sleep

as debt recovery

and an immune system

as close to the edge.

Sleep is difficult

from over-tiredness.

Anxiety without purpose

can reveal its ugly terms.

An imbalance in body chemistry

can appear to have

no curative measure.

There is a daily

incessant demand

for extra energy

to quell the anticipated need.

Quick solutions

are always

only short-term flurries.

There is deep rest

in one-on-one conversation,

be they by phone or in person.

For the sake of others,

there is redemption

on behalf of others.

There are resources to tap.

Self-definition comes

from other’s perspectives shared.

A basic method

of worth goes on

unnoticed . . . unobserved . . .

but the tally appears

in the shoulders

and in the cumulative tightness

of the neck.

There is an inner dialogue

that is sensible but ignored

as a form

of countenance rebellion,

a counter-point position

expressed to springboard

a sense of self-defining self.

You get to go

out into the world

and act as part of the world

but nothing sinks in

and registers as home

straightaway.

It is all part

of a learning dance

of fairly constant repetition.

Inside of each repeated act,

there is a apparent

humanitarian core expressed,

namely, “I am the love I give

as wanting it to heal me.”

“I am the love I feel

as wanting to feel it for myself.”

“I am kept and freed

by the reward of service given”

(but rarely of service received).

I have a strong hold

on first impressions

as an impulse

to instinctual response.

I make an impressionable contract

that is rarely ignored or forgotten.

I fill the stage

and then give it to others of need

and it looks and feels

like attention coming their way.

I am possessed at times

but bothered with details.

At that time,

my heart goes out

since I have no real home within.

The home of me

is home to many

thus making it my home.

I have a stranger ministry

as my avocation.

I am suddenly, to new people,

a perk in their day.

I am only a conversation away

from finding myself in others.

I am forward facing the world

of people passing through me

as my day, unwrapping the gifts,

unfolds and surprises.

I am an involuntary confessional

one on one.

I have a self

that enjoys you enjoying me.

I am the benevolent Trojan horse

of service, freely given your way.

I am a consensus of substance

in a constant verification’s swirl.

A love pours through me

beyond what my limited self

would claim.

I am an animation

of deliverance and disguise.

I can always meet with you

closer to the center of your being.

Though we share the ritual

of commonness in details,

I will leave you

with a sense of recognition

and a feeling of expanse.

My alter ego is often

a private torture

compelling impulse

and indulgence as otherwise.

I am always an unsaid

contentious second opinion

inwardly expressed.

I am always readied

as my original response.

I have a heart-felt-ness

to give first hand

upon finding your spirit.