shipwreck

it is all insanity isn't it
to do anything other than breathe
to take care of necessities
and peer with wonder at the multiverse
ever falling beyond and within
like an ever-blooming rose
and isn't it madness to do other than
caress her petals
inhale her essence
and unfurl into her soul
any which-way we can

such a beautiful, terrible dilemma
to be or not to be
to see what is real or to make real the dream
of being and not-being
to see that depending on how you look at it
they are the same
for reifying the dream is real, its own part of reality

i wonder, is this reality not just an ocean of potential 
rippled by phasings of reified dream?
and i wonder how far that extends, inferring of course, infinity
and i wonder what the totality of totality may contain
that i cannot imagine?
as i appear to occupy the bandwidth of imagination
beyond which i can't

but there is this deeper quieter space, in which if i am silent i can abide
whatever i is
whatever space is
at that point i surrender the quest
and become the question
alert to any feedback as reed to wind, water to stone
a quivering slick of mercury upon which all that falls leaves record
and the implications are digested and sorted into bins
for the pilings that shoulder the weight of my constructions
which eventually collapse due to the many inherent contradictions

and NOW it occurs to me
that is what is happening to me
i am collapsing from the strain of my inherent contradictions
right out in front of god and everybody
and i am not sure i could be happier about that!
what an incredible opportunity
to sit naked and gleaming on the shore
as the rusted behemoth of the entire construction
or at least a significant piece of it
finally sunders on the teeth of truth
and to finally let it die
to let it sink beneath the waves
in faith that in the end, the middle and in all the betweens
what is true will remain
even nameless
it will be what stands when the deconstruction is complete
assuming it is ever complete
assuming i do not continue compiling constructions
which inevitably decay and sunder on the truth of things

so that perhaps it is but ceaselessly human
to create this odd exoskeleton
constructed of nothing but reified dream
forming the world for a season
but in its time, falling away
informing the next and next construction
with its most nutritious gleanings
and we humans
we are most curious creatures!
we are working our way to truth this way
by learning to keep what is precious and alive
and to instantly, without mercy
sink that hulking ship of lies
even as we slip our skins
and watch with wonder from our next construction zone
as we open once more to vast possibility
carress the soul
and unfurl