Wandering doesn’t mean lost
Tho the forest is thick and dark
But as soon as the sun peeks
Over the trees
The flame bursts from the spark
It takes a while to see the forest
When all the trees are filled
With endless scraps of what’s not real
And 'what’s happening' seems as killed
Sometimes it takes the mouths of babes
The gentle whisper of trust
To move the seeming unmovable weight
And the "mountain" whirls to dust
Nothing’s ever damaged
in the hurricane of fear
No matter how far the dream’s progressed
The Truth of Us is Here
No one decides just when to wake
That’s destiny ancient song
It’s just a moment’s play on play
Until arrives the dawn.
And then the Sun’s the brightest star
And new fields come in view
And do I need show Gratitude
When your shore needs mine too?
I thought I was writing.
I thought I was thinking of all the words…all these “years.”
I thought I was the one who liked to write,
And yet, they weren’t my words.
To think they were so foreign
So far apart from who I thought I was
To know that something else was doing it all
That was fulfilling some type of script playing out in front of me.
Every time I wake up,
There I am.
There is an unfolding.
My thoughts think the day can be predicted
That it knows each event that will take place,
Until something happens, that sets everything in a different direction.
There is a laughter that comes from deep within
Or at least it comes from somewhere.
It’s not me.
Yet, it's what is being experienced.
How can this body feel so much?
How is my heart able to feel so much connection and energy
From itself and when others are in its proximity?
It happens to someone that isn’t me, clearly.
However, there is an experiencing of it.
All my senses come alive.
They are agents acting like tree roots
Allowing the energy flow of all that is living and breathing
To saturate me completely.
I can feel it all, even when I shut it out.
Something breathes it in and something breathes it all out.
The experiencing of so many sensations, I have come to know as
anger, frustration, anxiety, impatience, kindness, compassion, love—
It’s all here
It’s all here
This body dives in and out of it like water.
The thoughts come with so many ideas
None of them in correlation with what this body does.
There is a detachment, when you look closely.
As the mind moves chaotically,
The body does something entirely different.
How did I not notice before?
There is a story playing out in the head
The body just moves.
Two different things are going on.
Here where time rules,
This happens endlessly
Over and over.
This is a universe where stories cannot exist without time
And time cannot exist without stories.
Master weavers of words, ancient playwrights
Painted this universe with stories from the beginning.
With radio, television, film, the internet, different forms of stories appear and take shape
Through the landscape of time.
The mind says, “I lived through it all.”
But, the body never lives that story.
It was never bound to the mind, time, or stories.
All seemed to be happening to a someone,
When no one was in control
Not the mind
Not the body
Not a me.
No story, no movie ever started or played out.
It was all imagination.
We gave the stories all the meaning, we thought they had.
I could say, “You can wake up now.” But, you have never been asleep or awake.
The Truth is…you have never been.
The Truth is...The Truth has nothing to do with the story.
Blessed be the archer,
Who's poison tipped arrow penetrates the armour of that which I'm not,
Laced with the message,
Let the poison course through my veins until it overflows onto the tips my very own arrows and into the ink with which I scribe.
Blessed be the archer.
Reality is too real for us
So we temper it with thoughts
Caught up in the myth of "me"
Into believing in us
Just a pile of old sheets
Just a hamper of dirty costumes
The posthumous identity
This idea we're believing in is
Don't you see it?
We're made out of dirty laundry
And it becomes crystal clear
That even were we to clean our worn out suits, these
Roles we wear are out of fashion
The emperor wears no clothes