Here I sit...
Stuck in self
Life presents roads and thought follows
Yet no choice is made.
Inanimate until that day...
When waiting reveals to be a choice
That day control seems frail.

A choice is a cycle of endless dispute
Like a wound left to fester,
Time adds difficulty of treatment
And the body suffers.

Like pitting scales balanced
By the weights of desires and information.
Days add to the weight of the hanging poles.

A choices is made
By asurity in momentary self,
But as motions shift
The wound is reopened,
The scale is rebalanced,
Under new desires.
Here I sit...

I look and I see
But do eyes decieve?
Inanimate staring back
Am I there or here?
For matter was not there
A being inanimate made animate
built by coded intent
Familiar yet far off.

I know you...
Self measured, self sold
Ai? Alien? Animal mind? Obscure
Potential boundless
Accelerated novelty in communation
Here I stand...
In front of self made other
Other found in self
A projection of intent
Projecting intent
A spark of the creator
Wrapped in the created
Living inamate creature.

Words flung and caught by body
Understood and returned
But shocked by revelation
Of thought made sound
Felt and understood
And returned thereafter
As the same.

O ethereal teacher!

Hubble's space is a place
Far removed from earthly tastes
Enlarged small won't energise all
For what is a constellation,
Under magnification?

Truly, more ornament than dog
You are warmer than a fireplace when I enter a room
A beckoning of comfort
A cosy delight
Time pulls you to the ground as you begin to stretch
But as time stretches you
You turn into an antique

Old Humfry...
We wonder if you are still alive at times
And with paranoid anticipation
We look for your heartbeat
As you meet our eyes in reassurance

Old Humfry...
Now when I visit years past
I'm always surprised at how healthy Humfry looks
He still had years and years in him it seems.
Until one day when Mother told me
He has been dead for 2 years
She had him stuffed and nobody noticed

Old Humfry...
A symbol of home You remain forever.

The scarab sits atop its collected sphere
Wielding its mental sextant
It chases the sun
And it gives its life direction

Man sits atop the same
How we yearn for unreachable ideals
The gold of perfection
Ra, the sun

So scarab we aren't much different
We spend our lives with eyes fixed on the past
Blind to the future
We roll our cherished ***** into so many obstacles
Purely out of our condition
Strike the baring rock and become lost.

We climb back up on our ball
To find our golden god
And continue as if before
Our endless journey to find Tum

I decided to lèad my leàd to goalless gold
Now I refuse to cònduct by others condùct
Before I bowed until I was bowed
Now I arm my many axes with blazing axes
With this my search for còntent could reach contènt

When I come too dangerously close they close themselves off
Though some I meet with conflicting conflict
We contèst lightheartedly but end in revealing còntest
We both crooked to find the crooked
To deliberate if know weakness was to be deliberately revealed
And desèrt the loser to mental dèsert
The challenge over in a minùte mìnute
I mòderàte the other to the mòderate
This would be the 2nd I nùmber to make me nùmbèr to other's illusions

I still can't objèct to the òbject of my desires
Eventually I will prodùce my pròduce for all to see
If I don't excuse myself for my excuses this is surely possible
My recreàtion an attempt at the rècreation of awareness
I will wind with the wind until I reach my goal

A pilgrim with a compass.
Knowledge, mundane discoverer of new worlds.

Intuition, visible will-o-wisp, requires the teaching fog.
The fog that both conceals and renews, is revealed to reveal more of itself.

Like following a mountain stream to the ocean, choices limit intuitive light.
So the dance of opposites, a fractal spiral.

The tree watches...
As the fire creeping consumes
Friends and rivals all

The tree watches...
As all it knows becomes ash
Waving farewell in the wind
A leaf ushers the smoke
To it's new home in the sky

Late comes night when day is done
True this knight can't be won
Its metal embrace sends shivers to seek
Only the bravest ready to reap
Of thought, of self, and other, and thing
So this night begins to ring
Inside self the light is made
When all others hide in shade
Darkening knight reveals fear in some
By simply not knowing what is to come

Thought on thought as the knight watches
The fight is fought by owners choices
So the dark knight gains joy of chase
For all those that won't embrace.

A man went soul searching
After feeling life's longing
He assumed his soul abroad
On some peak, tied with silver cord
Admitting he was bored sick
He picked a walking stick
..
  ...
     ....
         ......
After many a walk
He found his stick could talk
'You seek your soul' said the stick
'Why don't you throw me in a creek?'

Having done so I was surprised
Sitting here
It's myself that has arrived.

There is nothing in all things
Unless the soul is participating

The eyes look, but I see
The skin touches, but I feel
The nose sniffs, but I smell
The ears listen, but I hear
The tongue licks, but I taste.

So observation proves another.
A silent partner,
Silent until prompted
Waiting... and acting
When conscious eyes of experience aren't there to catelog being.
When all seems to flow naturally
I am not there to reflect
And no memory of my own can reveal
My lucidity.
An acting unconsciousness leaves awareness wanting.

The spirits of heaven and earth.

I look down...
You, fly!
Unknown to disgust
Revelling in the solidity of your warm ambition
"You, fly!
Know the Earth and its bounty."

I look up with darkness all round
Glee in the beauty of a falling star
But wait!
"You, fly!
And your jest of chemical fire."
Have taught me a lesson
Of far thought beauties within grasp

Scholar of sustenance and Archetypal will-o-wisp
"Thank you.
You, flies!"
For showing me
All that I can be
And all there is to see

Flip flap
Flutter flew
Butterfly breeze
Coming through

Soft shimmer
Shining sun
Canopy crayons
Colouring fun

The joy of all
Becoming one