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Inward Reflection let loose
A line through the centre of my mind,
A co-ordinate from where something flows.
I let it be what it wants to be now,
leaving my thoughts behind.
Drifting along the trunk of a dead tree,
I'm an ant crawling along the up side of it like a zombie.
Something tickles in the air around my shoulders,
I haven't got the clarity - I have not spoken the words.
Feelings without words are, by far, more true,
and sometimes the curse of speech leaves me.
Then my senses are open - only sharing it with myself.
But what is it worth if you can't give it to someone else?
I don't know - I'm just an ant on a tree trunk.
Closing my eyes to get closer to it now,
The lightness in my stomach - something always happens.
I haven't got the clarity - I haven't done it.
I haven't taken a shortcut across the field of my inner eye.
That big yellow blubbery mass of un-materialized conciseness.
Pressing my eyes to see the colours - what's behind my mind?
Will forms start to appear? Is there something other than me?
I stop and the surroundings render themselves - filling out the space.
There's no room now - I'm in the familiar world of touches.
I know I had something, but it's gone now,
left behind in the tracks of the turning wheel,
thrusting my being forward, driven by repetitiveness,
I shudder and close my eyes to look back, but it's black now.
A humming, clear blackness,
a down to earth emptiness.
I shudder and open my eyes.
The something's back again.
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