Meaning?

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It's funny how at times I feel empty,

like purpose & life’s meaning’s drained away.

I’m left a shell, an empty garden. Me.

With no life growing in me on display.

No register of passions,  feelings “dead” -

though ‘tsnot as though my feelings on this thing 

are very tuned, or accurate or shed 

much light as basis for a sound judging.

But still it should be said, so when researched

it can be found that this has  now occurred

within this world, in this body now perched

on side of bed. At times things do get blurred.

But also, that there are two good things which

appear to help me not to fall apart:

First is a slight distrust of feelings. Glitch-

-es seem to still occur. It’s still an art -

the feedback loop from body back to “me”.

It might depend on which side of my brain,

is handling the data then, to see

and understand my purpose. Then again

sometimes just one response must do for ā 

few diff’rent kinds of feedback; like there’s tears -

of pain, of joy, of sadness, or  eye strain.

If I mistake the context, then my fears

will all be “proved right”, as my eyes and sight

have testified to me at forty five.

I thought some bad infection came at night.

But teary eyes were just “years been alive”.

The second, is a story, not some “fact”.

And story is what lets right hemispheres,

see context for interpretting each act

and “seeing” what significance appears…

So I recall my story in this world,

to get involved in my self-authoring.

Identify the purpose I've been hurled

here for, get straight my  reason for being!

Then doing it (in chunks), is my next step

to bring me to experience, not just

"in theory". ’Times I need to have just wept

with someone-else, else I  grow full - ‘n bust.

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