Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Rational action

When I write to you, do you hear the voice inside your head that I hear in mine?

When I sing to you, do you hear the words inside your head that I hear in mine?

When I speak to you, do you hear the thoughts inside your head that I hear in mine?

The voice you speak inside my mind is your own
to the extent you speak outside my mind,
but to the extent you speak into my mind
the voice inside me becomes your own.

It is so dangerous to have no thought control. How do you wrestle the others from yourself?

You, in there, I'm talking to you

Me, in here, has no idea who answers

in me, in there, there is no idea

here, out here, there's answers but no idea

who speaks them

or who listens

who reads them

or who writes

who asks these questions

or who stays undisturbed

When do our illusions constitute our souls?
When is having a soul simply an illusion?
When do you love another person's soul?
When do you love another person's illusion?
When do you trust you know who you are?
When do you know you are deluding yourself?
When do you move from awareness to delusion?
When do you move from delusion to awareness?

When the yawning world opens itself up and splits across your minds inside, and the cartoon hand descends downward and brings you out from the page and into the truth about the ever-ending chasm you now can see, how do you know it's not really a dream?

And now that I'm jumping into it, how do I know I'm not still there, dreaming that I'm flying endlessly simply by tilting my head just so even as I'm endlessly falling into crushing oblivion? Which is the reality I want to believe in?

Why do I believe in both?

How can I be the end of this all
and be so irresponsible with that call


it's just a tiny little hinge I must turn
the historical lesson is that it's all just that
"it's the little things that get you" says the man
from the future, the ideas are always moving into us
from the future

the loop must end with me if I'm to make
the turn to the next larger loops
and consider:
life has a topological surface
a skin with many sides—
tracing out how your life ends
as the narrowing of a cone of choices
into one singular ending
and then
setting it alongside several many others
—surfaces of lives' beginnings—
tracing out from the future
those who want to exist as themselves
acting in the spaces available to them

we are their battleground,
site, plot, soil, hole,
grave, field, acreage
home, temple, vessel,
source and fertility,
forest and necessity,
from us they become
who we are as ideas

but who am I, when I realize how
overwhelming it all is

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