Self-consciousness is only the likes of it 1/1/15

Understand this,

no meaning is truly specifically intended

by what I am about to say

but than I mean to say with words

what cannot directly be straightforwardly said

yet I plead with you to understand and go beyond.

I go to a place where no think can observe.

I am wanting nothing from retention in being there.

The who of me who goes out from here,

does not have any sense of leaving.

No one of me, as my familiar self, is taken along.

The itness of me is not about what is discovered,

but my self-consciousness seems to make it so.

What I sense that I get with words is just a mirroring,

reflecting more of my observational sensing style.

For I have nothing concrete to announce

as any recollection is done in these reflections.

The emptiness of my cognition is all that remains.

The who of me who is here to speak about it

is in return with affectations but without substance.

What is from there, I cannot say

for I am only the craft of words forming from me now.

What I have feels like feathers

but what I wanted to give you was like that sense of flight.

I have no words that place me in its vast or void.

What is here to say is framed in fragility

covering a buoyancy of isness without claim,

for that of there, from there, does not return in frame.

I have no map out of comprehension.

What was quantification skills when I left,

either did not go with me or returned without account.

It is not a world composed of specifics to grapple with.

Experience as we define it here

is there but without composition or identity.

All of substance there is emptiness but completely filled.

There is no separateness to perceive.

Being, there, is what is in and of itself, selflessly.

Therefore sensing serves no masters in return.

Taking off the robes of my conventional awareness helps.

There are no spaces or sizing or ground-figure to relate.

Existence is throughout everything and every non-thing.

Differentiation is but a nervous habit as much as

anxiety has no recourse or fall back position.

What becomes of what could be known is forever fading.

Comprehension is locality-stuck and soon, out of phase.

There are no measures for quantification as

all these means of self-consciousness have no self audience of usefulness in attendance.

Dimensionality from there is beyond dream-like feelings.

There is no sense for wealth or need for appraisal,

no presence for persistence, no longing for effort

or presumption of meriting or willing.

How we actualize of ourselves as consciousness

is not of a functional means for there.

For there, notions and measures of time are pointless.

The how of now for there, is not within a time perception.

That there is always through me, through us,

without our recognition to gain.

It always is, even through our consciousness

as comings and goings.

That now has no pretends of passaging.

Its embodiment is without the need

or the presence of distinctions.

Nothing announces or is named.

Everything of there is forthright evident without evidence.

So what I am saying is but like scripted sand, pouring down through the hourglass of my self-consciousness

as self-consciousness, for me, is only the distant likes of it.

And with every word you read,

please leap beyond your understanding of any of this.

For there, that of there, is always and in all ways

here, in what we would perceive as a deep silence

and feel as ever embracing . . .