A drop is an ocean
of consciousness.
We are all part of that liquidity.
Given the scale of the universe
and ever expanding,
we are the current compromise
to the understand of it.
Yet we are rendered
to be that hum of occupancy,
that cohesion of sacred
unspeakable apprehension,
that smatter
of indecent blessedness,
that we timelessly go forth
but call it out otherwise,
giving most of us
experiences of years into decades,
and for some,
decades into a century
with millenniums
as reference points.
But we, as in the throws of it,
are not eras into epochs
or epochs into eons,
as oceans
would have come and gone
and then returned,
more fully then before,
unaccounted for ahead of us.
We maybe prized
to be self-conscious
but so far,
dumbly so by its constriction.
For our sense of self
is only by isolative means,
a ceremonious pronouncement
in which we further cosmically delve
into our petulant indecency
of presence.
We laboriously work with
the simple tools of mindfulness,
as it interfaces with matter,
as matter is a subsidy
of engagement,
sort of as breadcrumbs
to give us a heritage of context.
We all have the senses of myopia
and trust in them
to the crudest level,
defiling any sentience
of refinement
with our abject dismissal
to only feature the evident,
the consensual,
the concretization of memorabilia
as foodstuffs of advancement.
We invented time
as a form of mind decency.
We have cultivated
conclusive thought
as if an essential currency
of approval.
We made language
as if we, as marionettes,
are more than amusing.
And then we became audience
as experience became
a popularized medium of choice.
We are woefully labored
as a consciousness of observation,
as always in the parking garage
but with new models to test drive,
immediately at hand,
that will philosophically only get us
from here to there
and yet never to question,
beyond the beyond.
We are a snobbery
of mind-tourists
casts into our ocean liners
of conventional wisdom
as if only by complete failure
of means
will we be allowed
to drown ourselves
back into the heartfelt ocean
of consciousness
from which
our original
and essential essence
of oneness is means . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment