Mass, for us, has
potential notoriety,
and we thrive on
that for sensory prejudice.
We claim ‘the living
and the dying’
as our testament.
Our human account is
buoyantly floating
on the ocean of the
ever-change.
We made up the crop
of facts
and the harvest of
information as relevant,
basically only for us.
We live in the slew
of incidentals,
the factual fantasy
as impotency,
and the myopia of
self-consciousness,
all of which we
richly endow, as life.
The issue isn’t
really that we see for certain,
the forest for the trees
or the trees for the
forest;
it is really more
about
that we easily see
of the matter
and little of the
non-matter,
or the gross more
easily from the subtle,
or the applied logic
rather than
the irrationality of
the universe.
We falsely would
want the grossness of habit
to be the wardrobe of the universe’s soul.
We seem to claim
that observation
should have a
legitimate front row seat
at everything we can
thing name,
that human intelligence
is the voice
of truth-candor,
and that
understanding is
the bare bones of
that truth.
Death and extinction
are more about audience
in audience’s terms,
and that reality, by
our version,
is really temporal
lottery tickets of winnings,
on a short terms basis.
And that we tend to
survive,
based on our
fondness for secrecy
and our favoritism
for stress.
We are of the light
but claim to be
wick-witted.
Our notion of
experience is but a still camera,
taking pictures committed to memory retention
and then trading those photos
back and forth
amongst ourselves.
Yet we all take
private time,
away from the
convention
of these as
comparative truths.
We all sing in the
choir
produced by the
evidence of mass.
We all inherently
molecularly recycle
on a tentative
basis.
Our mind-full-ness
is a wave,
as a weave of coming
and going,
in the ocean of our
beings.
The Now, functions
by rules,
we have no capacity
to grasp.
We are in that Now
and of that Now
but often in a
marionetted
or puppeteer style
of display.
In many instances of
our existence,
our species nametags
are larger
and more evident
than the apparel we
wear them on.
In lots of
circumstances,
we as a species,
claim the death of
our battery life
is the death of our
living.
Living by the book
is the ever-font
from the past,
giving us a rational
account
that is the
insistence for the use
of handrails of
conclusions.
The essential use of
speech is more valuable tonally
then informational,
yet we doubt that
tonal is
heart-mind outside
of time.
We, as humans, can
all breathe in the Now
but few can sense
into the entirety.
Experience of itself
is the shackles of
perception,
so metaphorically
binding.
To be in words,
presumes a launch pad
that is never left
behind
and all of speech is
still standing there,
presumed to be the sundials of future time,
presenting as
tall barons of shadow
in the procession of
our future as recognition.
Forever is a free-fall
and we claim
parachutes are in demand.
And yes, if an army
of ants built an archway
over a four-lane freeway,
we would build a
city of observation
right there, on the
spot,
yet learn little of
their collective heart
on display
and that would be an
example
of the crux of the
matter . . .
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