A Poem About The About

What's the About About?
It's a matter of taking in the intake and digesting the digestions
I can only do the doing if I'm up for not having had having to begin with
I can only do the nothing if I'm not hoping for the something
I can hope for nowhere or somewhere but not both,
Certainly, not both.

It's so much more than this and less than that, it's only of course a desire to desire itself
It's only of course the devotion to devotion and the love of loving
Am I the lover of the loved or the loved of the lover?
I can hope for both and certainly, when all ligns up, there it is.

I can be the one who Is and the who is not, and what about the Either Or?
Am I the She or the Them Or the He or all of the above
I can hope for all of it to manifest and really, it does,
it's just about the relationships, it's always about coming
coming together and coming into being and dissolving into the nothing

The nothing that is the Unbecoming of the Heart
that gunmental ooze I talked about once all those years ago
when I realized that stasis is only a state of being that is unfixed,
temporary, always in motion even the stillness is in motion
thank fuck thank god only they can help me move
through and out of the Stillness that place that Unbecomes the dissolving

If only
I could unbecome there with you

Am I learning to die or learning the life of love
The life of dying and the change that is the unresponsiveness of stasis
Hemostatic update the upgrade the software the wetware the changing and the unbecame comes
Together we gather at the edges of the moss and it smells like the dew
if we're lucky enough, anyway, to have a nose that smells the scents
The forest smells us more than we whiff the forest because it hasn't forgotten how to use
those sense perceptive organs that make it up and us too but we forgot
somehow
all those generations ago and to this day we've been forgetting the forgetfulness
it still haunts the father's house

It takes up all those empty rooms in which we wake up each day
Full of clutter and void of smells
We only have that little glimmer of the smell
the USB-powered essential oil diffuser that makes it all a matter of mattering and I cannot
I CANNOT STAND
I can only get up and walk away or walk toward
or stand
still
and wait
to be shown the way

The way home and back and up and down and if I'm on the dragon's back
then maybe the next step I take will have that desired efffect
of teaching me to fly
or teaching me what the mother knew when she stood at the edge of the cliff
and asked
her mother
what the doves were singing

And her mother's mother had once heard in turn that the doves sing the song of returning
the longing
that turning back into the heart of the matter that the mother and the father had not forgotten
and she heard
many times, because that's how a pattern works
it repeats
She heard that the doves were inviting her home, inviting her to relinquish her eyes and use theirs for a time

What could she do but say thank you, and gracefully fall, below the sky,
into the wings of the bird that had nothing to say but everywhere to be
and only eyes to see and ears for hearing the song of the whale as it pierced the water

so the girl and her mother waited for the dove to dive and say hello
meet them there in that place above the hearth where they could leave behind
all that worried their human selves and see that the earth is so much more
it is the orientation around which we all turn
and there is nothing here
nothing else
but the rising and setting sun