In the Forest: Beneath the Surface
One.
Remembering who we are means paying attention.
The simplest thing, yet nothing is more difficult.
We do all this work to fortify our strength
for knowing more of life
to what is outside our tiny playpens
and inside our mighty blindfolds...
this treason we live in is so established, so routine
we forget
that every moment of our life is our home.
To remember who we are, we have to become present...
We have to willingly participate in the transformation of our own consciousness.
We have to recognize our absence
And choose our open eyes.
This is an active decision we make make over and over and over
And over
One straightforward demand, but a ceaseless recommitment
to a gaping black chasm only ever saying nothing...
just thinking about it can make us wonder, really, why.
But what is really killing us
is living a life we do not truly believe in.
Existence Strikes from all directions.
We only want to do our best!
so we get busy
understanding, commiserating, justicing
then re-understanding
again and again
seizing life outside the lifelines, stretching out our bravery
so necessary, necessary
until it isn't.
We somehow still end up missing it.
Oh! But first we have to notice what we are even doing!
To get that when we divert our gaze enough times there is nothing left to see.
And those circuits of sustenance remain closed.
But also, they don’t.
This void scheduled into us banks on our noticing incapacity
so it can show us CAPACITY
those parts that trigger without active choice...
here we are, living life
then suddenly choking on sea.
What gives?
Each one of us responds differently
as individuals
embodiments of paradox
exhausted little lights seeking receipt into the dispassionate folds of time
where memory arrives malleable
reason as mutiny
and fairness,
'objectivity'
as these wretched weights of gravity-defying prejudice.
We choose to move with life the best we can.
We swim.
~