trying to get past
wherever I go, there I am.
keep running into myself.
clobbered by the mirror-self, facing back.
it isn’t the recognition per se.
it’s that the recognition has a nagging quality,
like looking repeatedly in the mirror of self
and the same self keeps reappearing.
I mean, what that is like is
when you’re breathing in a closed-in space,
a small space, like a paper bag
and it starts to feel like rebreathing the same air
and something happens that makes it claustrophobic
like there is a twitchy need to get out.
not sure yet what the get-out implies
but the need surfaces with some degree of emergency.
not the cutting edges of panic
but just in the soft and gentle folds of it
like there is a self-consensus inside my mind
that makes for an alert to happen.
for there is an insistent conclusive remark made
internally to oneself, something like,
“not again!” and a feeling sort of takes over
as if this is all too familiar as in, ad nauseum.
so, ‘wherever I go, there I am’
is like that, but happening just internally,
not with external space, by location-wise
but more by mood, not the cause of mood
which results in feelings
but more the stank of feelings
that just appear to be there
and never seem to leave
as an environment of it, lingering,
then haunting, then stifling.
this is some of the re-breathing syndrome happening
but that is not the all of it.
if I go deeper, then it seems to be also
the method of self-recognition is involved,
like there is a secret driver to this representation,
almost as if it is a venting
from a deeper cause within me,
like an internal white board right there
that I can’t erase what is written on it
but also I don’t really understand what it means.
and when I look directly at it,
I only discover that it has been staring at me
for, it seems, like decades!
yes, it seems, I wrote it down
but I don’t know how or remember when.
so, once again, “wherever I go, there I am”,
and it is weighty and monotonously flogging me.
it is like a riddle to solve before moving on
as if life is a scavenger hunt under cloudy weather
and forest for the trees, either I can’t see it
or in breakdown puzzlement, I don’t get it
but it keeps happening
with quiet glum but insistent frequency.
it’s like I made up a story
of how my life was supposed to go
and I got writer’s block along the way
or it’s like I took on a sense of self as character
and somehow got amnesia
and am now being browbeaten
by self-repetitious remarks said internally.
it is not always affrontive as if face to face
but even sidebar-wise, I get the point being made.
if it is only a negative syndrome of self-consciousness,
well then, I guess we all have to deal with this
in our own private way.
but since it is happening to me, as of right now,
I guess I am looking for revelation
or some grand disclosure to come into frame,
some aha experience to just up and coalesce
and therefore insight would come into view
and the insistence would begin to fade,
lesson learned, I do get that.
so, wherever the projection room is within me
that creates this self sense and it’s ongoing dialogue,
I need to circumspectively find that room
and tell myself
to stop with the reruns and the subliminals.
enough already(!), get me something in pre-release
or find me a different source room to come from.
yikes(!), all I have to do for myself right now
is add tears and I would have mud!
I want to breath the fresh air of me ongoing.
look, if this is the result of retentive mind in a takeover,
I want this to stop.
stop the intake that fosters self judgment incurred.
stop the unspoken unrealized guilt as burdensome.
stop with the proving oneself as life’s work.
I want to be the wellspring, not the cesspool.
I am not pleading for this
but I am calling up a deeper sense of my being.
a being from the early childhood of me,
who knew me better than I seem to now.
and I am putting them in the driver’s seat.
they were magical, where as I am not.
that me has vision to live it alive.
if it is square one all over again,
let it be so,
that when I now look into the mirror of self,
I see the light of me and the being.
and that being sees me
and sees through as me . . .
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