consciousness

Whether it be sheep or Shepard
with any glance, it seems,
This life continues to explore.
It sees the shapes of emotion
And colours
That permeate our world and wonders,
Vividly wonders,
What mystique it all has!

From the uncontrollable glances at the beautiful systems
We call the human body
To the unavoidable ear perking at the magnificent aural symphonies
Of the teensiest little birds.
Ah, what magic! And here I am, the once-practicing magician.

And the hope. This life revels in it.
Without it, it doubts there would be
Serious attempts at the experiences.
Because the hope is driving such vocal change.
Even when its appearance is so wrong.
Even when it stomps and treads on the little ones as they scurry.
Remember, even the voles and the snails
and the cutest puppy dog tails
Need to escape once in a while from the vociferous rumblings
of the giant we call humanity.

Oh, and the insight. Let’s not forget our friend
That finds its way to this life and whispers, delicately at times,
At others, with contempt,
At the way this life is run. Always there to lend itself to a situation
And pretend it was always present,
just away from its desk for the moment.
Preoccupied with something seemingly more important at the time.

The wisdom, too, doesn’t mind the obligation it feels at times
Being called to task is no more a chore
than the duty of flushing out old sins
Or stomping through old Chinese restaurant kitchens
on its way to visit old enemies
In order to indulge itself and this life in its own stirred up way
It fries up ignorance for the ever-important breakfast.
It is the protein for this life’s vegetarian diet.
And in its infinite state, it compels that endless quest that
Prophets and the greatest of modest folks tell us
Is worth experiencing.

Trickles, they say
Of these acquaintances of this life make it through every so often
They make themselves heard.
They dance, and sing, they jump and shout
They move around with fluidity and
They reach in and dig around and pull sanity out
And they laugh. They laugh, my friends, at the sincerity of it all
The sheer intensity of the moments when nothing as it seems could be more
important
Than the crisis at hand.

And they worship, my friends, they worship
At the altar of the experience.
At the temple of the trips around this town
Where learning occupies this life’s time so much of the time
Their vehicle of choice? It just happens to be this man’s mind.
Or, shall we say, this consciousness that makes it all worthwhile.