To That Which is Not I

You have to start somewhere.
Depending on what you’re doing,
it is best to start before the ending.
I must admit, though,
it is not mandatory.
Stories can begin with the ending
and end with the beginning.
However, life as we know it cannot,
at least, not until we learn how quantum aspects
govern the concepts of consciousness and perception.
Until we forget that we don’t know,
our window to the World will
maintain its tiny self and hold our
imaginations tight within the boundaries
to which we have become accustomed.
That longing we feel,
does it come from leaving our mothers?
We are momentary amphibians and then
our skin must learn to listen without
fluid connecting everything.
It falls to our brains to create a
way to connect where there is
no tide, no heartbeat, no motive wash of life.
We learn light.
We learn night.
We learn to ignore who we were.
Our little window grows ever so slowly.
We want to go home.
We concoct ways to reconnect to that which is not I,
to that which is Us.
We become our own myth.
We stop trusting our skin.
We misinterpret what it tells us.
We invent endless recipes,
trying to create a broth that will nourish
what we cannot see.

baby-massageMolecular Thoughtsuniverse, window, ladder 159155

About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
This entry was posted in Aging, Consciousness, family, memory, parents, Poem and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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