harmony as conflict 10/16/17

the harmonies of conflict

are the stepping stones of our consciousness.

there is a buoyancy of life-death in motion

yet the extremes do not exist

independent of each other.

our perceptual style prohibits us

from a deeper connectivity of awareness.

that we are driven by isolative fear

excludes us from the grandness

that we are seeking.

experience is our method in our myopia.

we had I-max vision

but settled for a flashlight in a dark room

and tripping over everything unseen as foreign.

we make the game of complaints external

and advocate the separateness of it all as essential.

we invoke the needs and wants

from the prayer of isolation as our calling.

we have pain but in a transfixed way.

we call it hurt,

as if experience is an endpoint actuality.

we succumb to our species self-talk

and pride ourselves on doing so.

we have lapsed from the all of it

to become our experiential storied account.

we are the method of conclusions’ forecast

and then back into the future,

dependent upon a false premised destiny.

it is all bumper-cars to us,

even as we are convinced

of what it is to go forward.

we chase happiness as if it is hide and seek,

take stances of success towards subsequent reward,

as these are all forms of selfies, but out of frame.

we are hurt by the onslaught of details

as if that is our method of embrace.

what mind flogs itself

and does not then tell it to others?

we are basically immaterialists attached to mass

by over-identifying and with much affection.

we have created it all as a witness style

and live as bystanders, in the shadows and creases

that then bind us.

it is a kind of naughty idiocy yet self-rebuking.

oh happy day, for the reminisce

of the daily self-floggings.

yes, the rhythm is sacred

but the experience as detailed,

is a narrow-minded prejudice we fluently cater to,

as if it is an inbred incestuous fascination clustering.

there is unspoken agreement, floating on as dismay.

the matrix has more fluidity

then we have gander,

as we hum along with lyrics

that yet escape as our beings . . .