the yell that ends itness 6/8/16

the yell beyond your sense of self, that beyond roar

the sound that does not come out of you

but burrowed within and rising from the deep,

behind the growl and the intimate source of thunder

escalating in a wide-out through the fabric of you

it leaves common experience as only the stir of dust

you come back fully conscious after, to sense yourself

as if an environment, from the bloom of being,

not as a solid sentience, in a moving parts world

but a conduit of fluids that channel beyond worth

unknowing the where or when but it’s fountaining you

that yell that introduces you to a grander sense of being

less of the impress and more of the resounding

go, find a safe place, away from your apprehensions,

away from the consequences of disapproval,

a space in the desert, in a deep-woods cluster, the top of,

a room without windows or the nuance of nosy neighbors

but go and find that leap of permission,

the free-fall ordained by complete surrender up(!)

to reach beyond recognition’s call back

it isn’t for the feedback of pitch or the clarity of tone

or that pronouncement that seems to be the risk

it is a sound without any intention of self aware or listening

it is full-bore when you last checked while on its way out

all other thought ceases to exist, a feeling wells from within

that is not a namable might but fully senses of itself,

its first freedom, is you for being, for consciously being

the after-affects, are as buoyant residue, stillness shocking,

not as particulars but as a full fledged blooming presence

demystifying the lock-steps of sensibility’s claim

you’re primal yet with human mind-fill overload

all creatures around you are talking amongst themselves

but we are not adequate listeners in those conversations

you have discovered this as an inner passage,

out of the cubicle of self-isolated species entitlement

never to be alone but in all ways, in the flux and the mix

it is a self experiment, not without unanticipated risks

you may never come back as the same, unchanged

sanity may have a loose screw in you

you may have a sheen, a glow, a luster to your living

before you have conclusions as dead weight posing

worth may never again be a look back to self-surmise

worth may be a radiance fountaining, forth coming of you

that sound, when realized, has a source deep within you

you will know it by its spell-binding release

until that happens, you are just being loud

until the yell, you yell, is the yell,

that ends the sacred mass of all itness . . .