I wrote a monostich (one line poem) about oneness, dissolving the distinction between "You" and "I", and about love:

You(,) love I.

Still more, in words

In experience

Confusing Familiarity with Comfort

Confusing Comfort with Peace

Reifying confusion, but not successfully

Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky

Forgetting

Seeing through, a single pinhole in a perfectly realistic backdrop

Pinholes everywhere, more than can be contained

Not containing

Torn all over

Dispelling everything

Stripping away the Stripping away

Trying to stand very still and very quite so I can feel, hear, sense

Perfect realism

Wanting to be convinced by rage

Agitation, but only conceptual

Feeling tight

Feeling rehearsed

Feeling like an imposter

Wanting to impress

Wanting to be convinced of Self, of Realness

Fortified by others knowing, or preferably- admiration

Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes

Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, likes, thumbs up

Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead

Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse

Compassion, like collapsing into a safe lap

Relinquishing

No pretense

Bare being

More naked than when unclothed

Total exposure

Outed, in the light of knowing

Self forgetting and glimpses of freedom

Trusting sighing

Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad

Feeling continuous

Feeling fragmented

Feeling like motion, like flow

Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering

Grasping at impermanence, visceral

Resting in the middle

Dancing down the tightrope

Knowing perfect poise, brief equilibrium

Reifying stability. Gone.

Everything is hysterically funny

Hysterically

But also, sometimes, just plain humorous

And absurd

Crying

Loving people

Grateful for people

Seeing beauty everywhere

Encountering this, intimate, me, indistinguishable being, but everywhere

Ouch

Awareness

Always coming back

Like an epic

Like a great love story

Like the last wring of that silk dress you weren't supposed to squeeze dry

Feeling like I shouldn't know what I know, like I couldn't. This must be illegal, cosmically illegal

Knowing the inside of my hand

Knowing teenage shame

Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small

Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong softness

Loving with understanding

Loving with teeth and nails

Music, lacerating

Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving

Becoming one single, concentrated point

Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. Like physically with my body.

Knowing I am not this voice

Or this writer

Or this narrator

Though I am also all that

'I', it baffles me this 'I'
I question 'I'
Am 'I' the question?
I witness 'I'
Am I the witness?

'I' is insatiable
On all fours
'I' is the caterpillar
In this metaphor

If I transform
Or if 'I' dies
Am 'I' still I?
Is the caterpillar also a butterfly?

'I' wish to transition
but to accomplish this mission
'I' must die
there is no I in butterfly

Doubtful of Self, of Realness

Fortified by others' knowing, or preferably- admiration

Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes

Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, Likes, thumbs up

Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead

Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse

Identity is a social construct

Awareness is not

You have loved me Doggedly for 12 years

He said

Tears in his eyes

It didn't matter if I knew

He said

It didn't matter that I didn't know how to feel it

Tears rolling down his cheeks

It didn't matter if I I couldn't love you back

You just sat there, loving me anyway

Eyes closed.

And I (me)

I just sat there

Holding his hand

Loving him

Doggedly

Sometimes it's like a drum in this deep deep tummy place
Always rhythm always pulsing away
Like waves rippling out
Over and over
Very very gently rocking
Like an undertone
Drumming through

Sometimes it's like sickly sweet sap deep in my throat
Achy
Coating everything
Oozy
Liquid
Tarry
Burning acid around the edges

Sometimes it's like a huge trampoline
Everything moving
Up and down
In slow motion
Breaking up on impact
In my heart
Disintegrating
A bit at a time

Sometimes it’s like sand
Falling through clenched fists
Slowly caressing them to open
Relax
Just a little bit
Compelling them to yield to the constant motion
To the gentle gentle cascade
So gentle I can’t stand it
So gentle I actually can’t stand

Sometimes it’s like a slap bracelet
A moment of contact
And instantly
Wrapped all around
Totally gripped
Coming to on a bathroom floor
Bells and dishes clanking in the background

Sometimes it’s like nerve endings
A young fern
Unfurling
Cautiously
Recoiling easily
Healing
Raw and delicate

Sometimes it’s like the wind in the swaying trees is whispering
Singing
Howling:
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You are forgiven
You are loved
You are a part of us
You belong
You are a beloved child of the wild

Sometimes it’s like confusion
Marshy
Organic
Alive
Decomposing
Dark
Trusting the process
Trusting life

Often it’s like ungraspability
Trying, failing, words
Loving eyes
Comforting faces
Guiding hands
Achy knees
Bright sun
A heart

It’s just like becoming alive

Sleep deprivation

***

Guilt

Sense-making and maps of meaning

Revisiting memories

Crying

Staying away from scary corners of my mind

Deliberately going toward scariness

Not resisting

Yes resisting

Respecting resistance

Compulsive tv watching

Dropping or letting go over and over again

Exploring

Curiosity

Forgetting and then remembering that it’s all happening on its own, noticing this, knowing this, realizing this

Realizing that realization comes and goes on its own

Being in love with everything

Crying

Playing with time and concepts

Craving emptiness

Love

Catastrophizing

Ranking what "works" (i.e. sleep deprivation is effective), noticing that the metric of “effective” and "works" is = resulting in greater illusions of "forgetting" with a capital F

Loving everything

Being everything

Self-flagellation

Not really believing any of the stories or narratives

Procrastinating

Being irresponsible

Getting off on self-loathing

Forcing intimacy

Compassion, large, whole, unrelenting, everywhere

Oversharing

Falling in love with a homeless person at a traffic stop

Being bored and sad and hopeless and desperate

Remembering inherent wholeness

Being stubborn

Getting out of the way always feels like dying

Loving dying

Loving mourning dying

Dramatizing dying

Wanting to be seen and loved

Self-loathing

Intensity

Craving intensity

Hating craving intensity

Knowing that nothing is a problem

Suffering

Being impatient

Being very very patient

Feeling like I don’t belong in the world, like people and things and money and social media are alien, foreign and scary

Feeling like I am the world

Forgetting that knowing how to verbalize isn’t the same as knowing

Wanting knowing with words to be the same as Knowing

Wanting knowing to be a Real, solid thing

Fear

Mortal fear

Bewilderment

Constant background anxiety

Hating this body

Not caring for this body

Being burdened by this body

Feeling trapped in a body

Feeling more trapped in a mind

Wanting knowing to resolve everything

Wanting to be saved

Thinking that I probably don’t need to be saved

Thinking or knowing(?) there’s nothing to be saved from

Knowing that I can’t be saved

Feeling open

Feeling vulnerable

Feeling exposed

Feeling bad

Feeling like I'm doing it wrong

Believing it all

Wanting to both believe it and have a choice about when, where, and to what extent I believe it

Not knowing where the edge is until I've fallen off

Feeling violated

Feeling like existence is non-consensual

Somehow trusting all of it, totally, exactly as it is

Watching the panicking

More crying

Being one

Being very very aware

Noticing and letting go of effort in one swift move

Compulsive clenching

Compassion

Dissolving

Disillusion

Dying without the novelty

Being ok vey very briefly and for no apparent reason/because of no reason./?

Wanting distraction

Respecting needing distraction

Getting out of the way of intelligent coping mechanisms

Villifying coping mechanisms

Understanding only in retrospect

Frustration

Compassion, deep, like warm water

Compassion, hard, like being ****** vey very slowly

Torture

Life-giving torture

Never wanting to stop

Marveling

Abundance like grace, like not deserving, like not needing to be deserving, like deserving is perverse language

Tasting everything

Endless kaleidoscopes of being and tasting and knowing

Non visual seeing

Clarity, brightness, nothing is a problem

Being alive

Being sososo tired

Wanting to rest, to die into void and nothing

Wanting to hibernate

Wanting to still

Dying to get off

Begging to get off

Finding the edge more thrilling than the center (because then the center can be anything at all?)

Loving all the previous versions of this being

Needing to hate, loathe, earlier renditions of this being

Hating repulsion

Trusting repulsion

Getting stuck because resisting repulsion

Knowing that there's no way out

Knowing that the way out that I'm seeking isn't a way out

Not wanting to do the work

Dancing around the center, constantly

Feeling dizzy with chaos, with knowledge of power

Feeling comfortable with mediocrity

Hating mediocrity

Waking up with jaw tension from the enormity of my own suppressed power

Telling stories about sensations

Relying on self-bullying methods I know don't work

Perfecting the art of pretending

Perfecting the art of self-deception

Wanting to make the stakes higher

Being overwhelmed by my own storytelling

Not wanting to give stories credibility by dispelling them

Naval gazing

Loving philosophy

Feeling dried up, tired, stagnant, disinterested, not engaged, not here.

Sleepwalking. Sleep writing. Sleep talking. Sleep caring

Not sleeping

Vivid dreaming

High weirdness

Questioning my sanity

Romanticizing insanity

Wanting to blur all boundaries

Wanting to smooth the edges of reality

Questioning reality

Destabilizing reality

Feeling destabilized

Feeling irresponsible

Guilt

Feeling sick and tired

Feeling scared

Feeling hopeless

Wanting to reach out

Feeling like everything is inevitable

Feeling like suffering is inevitable

Recognizing kindness

Discerning well (properly? Clearly? Well.)

Fearful trusting

Thinking too much

Not wanting to love my dad as much as I do.

Chasing the intellectual high

Disappointment

No need for resolution

Feeling caught in existence

Feeling caught up. Like in a potato sack; I can explore the exact measure of my confinement, the sensorial elements, the scratchiness, the filtering light from the outside, the stagnation, the wanting to stretch.

I love this being.

This. It's not a problem.

Confusing familiarity with comfort

Confusing comfort with peace

Reifying confusion, but not really

Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky

Seeing through, like pinholes in a perfectly realistic backdrop

Dispelling everything

Stripping away the Stripping away

Trying to stand still and feel

Wanting to be convinced by rage

Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad

Feeling continuous

Feeling fragmented

Feeling like motion, like flow

Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering

Grasping at impermanence

Resting in the middle

Dancing down the tightrope

Knowing perfect poise, so so brief

Everything is hysterically funny

Hysterically

But also just plain humorous

And absurd

Loving people

Feeling grateful for people

Seeing beauty everywhere

Always coming back

Like an epic

Like a great love story

Like a violin solo in a forbidden song

Like the last wring of that silk dress you're not supposed to squeeze dry

Knowing the inside of my hand

Knowing teenage shame

Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow
hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small, nowhere to go

Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong soft body

Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving

Becoming one single, concentrated point

Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. With my body.

I am not this voice

Or this writer

Or this narrator

Though I am also all that

I Have
With you
This faith
This love
This intimacy
This knowing

I Have
In you
My love
A lilt
A tune
A flowing

You are
Sometimes
My darling
Worlds
Of ache
And pain

You are
Right now
This moment
Forever
And
The same

I long
To tease
Apart
The me
The you
The thy

I want
To scream
And shout
You are
Not you
You’re I

I love you
Slow
And softly
With tenderness
Not shame

I always
Was you
Always
We are
one, And
The same

There is
A vast
Awareness
That seems
Not yours
But mine

There is
Some solace
In that
You are
My very
Mind

What's the fear that feeds the ink?

Who holds the censor pen?

Blacking out lines before they're uttered?

It's my dad, calling my mom "dramatic".

It's my mom, hurt in her eyes, saying "how could you". When I didn't mean to, or I didn't know, or I didn't properly gauge her reaction in advance.

It's online misunderstandings, always assuming the worst intentions: that I'm bad, or bigoted

That I'm dumb, uneducated or boring, redundant or mean.

It's previous partners and broken hearts

When what I couldn't give was mistaken with cold-heartedness, or stinginess or uncaring.


The good news

The truly good news

Is that I am non of those things

And I'm watching, as I speak

I'm watching that pen run out of ink

I want to tattoo
"I'm Scared"
on my forehead
But
I'm afraid you'll misread
"scared"
as
"sacred"
and dismiss
or worse
idolize
me

I don't want either
I'm just scared

I want to tattoo
"I'm allowed"
on my forehead
So people
Stop questioning
Me

I don't want to repeat
My excuses
For just living
Like
Me

I want
To inform
Everybody
That I
I am here
I am whole

I want you to know
That I
I am perfect.
Although,
I’m impractically
so

They call me
A...
Mummy
Partner
& Love

They call me
Friend
Lover
Playmate

They call me
Sister
Daughter
& Auntie Iva

They call me
Mother Dearest
When they're feeling
Cultured
& Refined

Or Mummylumps
When feeling
Content
Shiny
Or snugly

They call me
Hey you
Miss
& Ma'am
When I'm just another body
In line
In traffic
In their way

They call me
Vivi
Vi
Or by my full name
When they know my mom and dad

They call me
Student
Client
Patient
Or User
When they want my money

They call me
With tears, sometimes
Or with ire
With confusion
Joy
Or small triumphs
When I have the privilege
Of being their person


They call me names
These are their names
They are not mine

I'm afraid that if I die

People wont know things only I know

Like how N likes their carrots

Or how L loves her dad

Only I know this, like this

Of course others know some of this too, some of the time

But no one

Not one single person knows that you

You two

Are perfect

I mean this literally

I was gifted this knowledge when you were born

I know this viscerally, like this.

Or that you're beautiful in ways that make me hate words

In ways that render language hollow, meaningless, obscene

I am not being dramatic.

And also that you are good

By which I mean loveable

Like very and always

Fundamentally, inherently

This is not something you can ever change even though you'll probably try

And you might convince other people

Maybe even your dad, or your therapist, or your lover, or yourself

But you'll never convince me

I don't know why

I just know this

And I need you to know this too

Bleeding to death by a thousand cuts makes my heart nuts with the run not coming and the next turn running I’ll be stunning when my body lays quiet I’ll not be sad I’ll be with dad knowing life was the mission for which I came I left in the hands of better men who came and went telling stories that got bent over time and history there’s not rhyme or mystery they knew things we don’t and they got wiped out.

Be the person you know you are and life up your heart knowing no start to the way life crushed Art make space in your life if you feel like it’s too hard change by testing your network they’ll either get to work or they won’t. The answer will be the truth and the permission to move on.

Let them go they drowning and you can swim wish them well and say oh well. I tried and you lied. To me. I loved you and you turned away from me. The path was made for me but yours was a way to change the humanity moved further in away from me closer to a stranger who’s estranged to the danger in the manger. The kids gone, 2 years ago you forgot you had one…