It's funny how at times I feel empty,
like purpose & life’s meaning’s drained away
and left a shell, an empty garden. Me.
With no life in me, Growing don’t display,
or register in passions, or feelings,
but ‘tsnot as though my feelings on this thing
are very tuned, or accurate or rings
true as a basis for a good judging.
But it seems to bear relating that
this is a true phenomenon occurred
within this world, and in this body sat
right on my bed-side now. Things do get blurred.
But I have now received 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 a
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”.
Second, is a story, not some “fact”.
And story is what let's right hemispheres,
see context for interpretting each act
and “seeing” what significance appears…
So I’ll rehearse my story in this world,
to get involved in my self-authoring.
Identify the purpose I've been hurled
here for, get straight my own reason for being!
Then doing it, in chunks, is my next step
to bring me to experience, not just
the theory. Sometimes I need to have wept
with someone-else, to not grow full ‘n bust.
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