snowstorm

Do we really know what we are doing?  It seems that there are many levels of consciousness.  Seems.  Do we know when we are making mistakes with what we say, with what we are doing?  What level of consciousness are you on?

Let’s omit the question marks and continue.

What music are you listening to.  What is the message.  Are you watching the nightly news.  Are you affected.  Are you a product.  How sensitive are you.  What is sensitivity.  Sensitive to what.  To whom.  What is your emotional state.  What wall, what veil.  Is everything but you a giant slab of reality.  Is everyone in their own reality.  Is there ultimate reality.  What medications do you take.  Do you take medications.  Have you ever slapped your girlfriend.  Have you ever kicked your boyfriend in the woowoos.  Do you know that you were born with badness in you.  What is eating at you.  What is eating at you right now.  What plagues you.  Do you know why it plagues you.  Do you feel that you have power.  Do you understand moods.  Is it all just chemicals.  Is ‘chemicals’ just a word.  Is it more.  Is there more.  How could there not be more.  Why would there be more.  How could it be measured.  How could it be qualified.  What is spirit and what is matter.  Are they one in the same.  Is energy spirit.  Is there a difference.  Why does this appeal to you, why does that.  Are you just your genes.  Are you your genes your environment is there more.  What would be more.  What is faith.  What is reality.  Is faith reality, is reality faith, are they bedfellows are they a trick are they different.  What is conflict.  Are you in the human zoo.  Are you free.  How do you know you’re free.  Is freedom a state of mind.  Are you on medication.  What is medication.  Is addiction.  Medicated by oranges, addicted to football.  Medicated by sunshine addicted to morphine.  Medicated by Xanax, Ativan, Halcion, are you addicted to validation.  Are you medicated by validation are you addicted to sex.  Do you have a sphere or are you on a line.

*

We sing our protean soul to the median, fluting it out, touting it out of other people’s mouths who’ve said it.  Today as high as a kite tomorrow in the scraggled ditch.  Moment hopping, you see, from the porch into the front room and then into the backroom.  Shall I meditate?  And onto the next chore, the next errand, pausing like an elastic toy only to snap back into gear and splat against the wall or fly for a while in a free trajectory if we happen to get that chance.  Everybody singing their sad, beautiful, melancholy moments of bliss into the field’s air, all transcending time to fall back down like stars into your ears and out of your mouths and through the four fingertips each sole path of time space continuum that is never truly replicated but different each time; each listener has changed, each bringer of the word has meant a multitude in their single sentence, all meeting in space, the poet and the listener one in the same; complicit.

There.  A chance to breathe.  Hear the deep whales.

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