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Noun. sonder (uncountable) (neologism):
The profound feeling of realizing that everyone, including strangers passing in the street, has a life as complex as one's own, which they are constantly living despite one's personal lack of awareness of it.
Dear One:
it is one of those days, when everything becomes a poem,
every mundane, brushing my hair be/is a philo-treatise,
& the errands of the day, starting at 6:45am with an assessment,
a weighing of oneself on a numerical scale of justice,
requiring one to rethink his moral behaviors of a prior day,
a kind of confessional I guess, for I have never been inside one,
(a confessional and actually confessing) but my hebraic genetics
require Veduei (1),
constant awareness of one’s
everything deeds, making confessing a ongoing process 24/7
process unceasing, onerous and relieving,
by reliving our each~very individual action,
which means that I am in a sensory paradise / hell and
sleep comes in bursts of exhaustion,
as I misplace my compass
daily, and the re-search required to obtain, nay, reGAIN,
my footing, my true directionS,
and it is worse than never ending, more akin to the
regularity of irregular breathing…
Thank you for “Sonder;”
restoring the awe for not knowing it, and occasionally forgetting, that there are words, ready, willing, and able to become poems, as I exegesis, excise, and exercise their purpose
to better to remember the worth of everyone and every thing within in a too oft / clouded, self centered
“I exist , therefore I am”
very limited filtering device….
so sonder becomes a poem, an essay, un écrivez,
and I study your photograph, and fly away,
I am in a garden,
you may have (no, probably!) planted,
(like the sonder word in my brain)
and the colors, the soils, the colorex (2) variety
teaches me you better than words…
while I am sundering, sondering, you,
and so many others
who give me the great pauses
of my existence,
the purposed understanding
of the arrogance of pre-judgement…
Surrounded,
I am breathing salt air, luscious greens, a variegated
bluey (love that show)
sky,
and all my voices rise, in a choir of one,
fo forgive me, forgive myself,
for failing not to be bigger than
than the distances
my aging weakening senses
and my low powered sensibilities
physically provide,
I hear you,
I sonder you,
and so many others,
and I
bind and bound myself to you
and
thus emboldened!
to go forth and walk in unfamiliar gardens,
to read better and be,
between the lines
y’all provide
here’s where a a modest thanksgiving
is due and herein provided,
and the inspirations keep coming and
coffee need re~reheating, so the brain can
start
all over again,
S’wondering
S’ondering
just like a (wink)
An American in Paris,
the next poem is aborning,
jealously
demanding
it’s very own
birthing;
an embryo,
asking to be
imagined.
so thank you,
dear one…
(1j Viduei, (our words of confession) has become our sacrifice. Atonement is as far away as your lips. Don't allow your silence condemn you to a prison of guilt
(2j. colorex ~ index of colors visible and even invisible .
09:50am
Fri Jul 19
two thousand and twenty four
