Lest you suggest I’m crazy,
I’ll have you know
you possess as many you(s)
as I do me(s)…
Dreamer, thinker, lover, leader, robot me
all operate simultaneously
’til I’m the one wonderin’ about
my own sanity.
First let’s discuss
the lines that define
the who of me and you.
The most blurry of these lines happens to be the one we call consciousness. It implies we think and that we’re awake – two entirely different, even diametrically opposed entities.
I don’t know about you,
but I can and do think in my sleep.
It’s called lucid dreaming
where I think (therefore I know?)
I’m dreaming suggesting I’m awake
until I actually do wake up
as when I rise (or descend?)
out of that mysterious state
and open my eyes.
Come on! Please keep up. This train of thought won’t wait, which is a whole other point entirely, or do I speak of the same? Train that is – the one that runs nonstop, out of control, seemingly linear, most likely random, running amok through the unobserved mind.
There it is.
My runaway mind
that doesn’t halt
’til my head hits the pillow.
I’ll call it anything
Then I own the overtones and undercurrents.
The ones medieval and modern mystics master.
Conscious is best defined as the overtone
soaring above, observing the train of thought.
Sub-conscious would be the undercurrents
flowing below, greasing the tracks.
Back to the realm of thought if I may
and when an I think becomes an I know
– not as in intellectually, but intuitively.
Yet another layer, level of intelligence entirely.
You’d think that higher (or would it be deeper) level implies a conscious eye as it’s fully capable of seeing ahead, foreboding beyond the hill, or around the corner, but the more I think about it, I or third eye can find two levels of otherworldly knowing – higher and deeper – otherwise known as intuition and instinct.
Intuition is the third eye
oft blurred by the mind’s
thoughts that get in the way
and obscure the perfect view.
Instinct doesn’t see.
It’s in the gut –
when my belly tells me
I’m in the presence of
friend or enemy.
Tells me. Imagine that. Bellybutton as metaphorical mouth, mystical umbilical to metaphysical Mother who would not have you cavorting, consorting with such riff-raff. Ever protecting you from places or people who would do you harm.
So if bellybutton is mouth, where’s my ear to hear the warning of danger near? Surely that ear is the inner curve of my gut that clenches and twists in the midst of uneasiness. The queasiness that tells me when something is just not right.
Speaking of mouths,
let’s go down to the Holy Yoni
lest you think the penis
is the only appendage below
with a mind of its own.
Clearly a man in heat makes a point, but just as sure, a woman’s yoni knows when she yens. She’ll swell, she’ll flow, the other may never know.
My point is
that’s merely another
part of me with as much
a mind of its own as a man’s.
Just when you thought I might be done, I’m only ready to take count…
Two minds, one above, one below,
plus conscious & subconscious
Add up intuition & instinct
I’m going for seven.
The last and most assuredly not least
are my feelings.
prone to swell or break,
ache, fake an affection
so as not to insult yours.
My feelings factor into every decision I make, setting me apart from my inner animal…uh-oh, have I found an eighth? Wild side? No. I think that fits in nicely with instinctual me. Sorry to digress – a perfect example of the many times my mind talks over my feelings. The mind being yet another mouth, always running, making meditation the metaphorical sock. Ha!
Back to heart
It really is so hard
to feel these days.
Is our current state any surprise? What am I to expect until I elevate the value I place on my feminine feeling to the level of my mental masculine…a part of me that surely knows the value of equanimity.