All without occupancy 3/11/15

There is a vast amplitude of quiet serenity

traveling at a breakneck speed

but not moving through space,

resounding, but without bearing or impact.

It passes through the thickness I know myself to be.

I silently weep over this disparity in my being.

That I would occupy a countenance of this space

as a captive of what I have claimed as my presence

and this style of experience binds me to that burden.

The incisiveness of all these specifics, shredding me.

That I would have these loadbearing details,

the piranha of singular particulars gnawing away

at the wholeness of me beyond this embodiment,

the spirit of me beyond the entombment of any next life,

the soul of me, less then the oneness of us all, that I feel.

There is a vast amplitude of quiet serenity

traveling at a breakneck speed

but not moving through space,

resounding, but without bearing or impact.

Finding myself as a form of isolation personified by this.

How could what I feel, sense through me as so trifling?

I don’t know how to reach out from smallness and claim.

We, without exception, are this vast of oneness.

I don’t want knowing this to be my enterprise.

I don’t want experience to be my preoccupation with it.

I don’t want to be myself if it costs the collective of us all.

I don’t want sensate as timeout from the wholeness we are.

That we appear subjugated to mass and form is myth-full.

All these words mock me, inferring a frailty of source.

Yet we are all of this, as oneness,

yes, oneness, all without and beyond, this self of it,

as our false heritage and dimwitted preoccupancy . . .

So sense through your sense what I sense when I say,

there is a vast amplitude of quiet serenity

traveling at a breakneck speed

but not moving through space,

resounding, but without bearing or impact.

We, without exception, are this vast of oneness . . .