Telling A Mirage How To Be

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It all happens spontaneously

There's simply no making a right or wrong out of it

Or that it should have looked like one thing as opposed to concepts of how the appearance ... coulda... shoulda... appear

Like telling a languidly rambling brook

Or a frolicking wave

How to be water

Even sadly funnier

Telling a mirage

How to be the perfect image of the sea

Leaving nothing undone

Even as nothing gets done

Like as if... this being-ness... simply being... needs any kinda of qualification requirements... to be

Even the feeling... as I did too for a while... that it happened to a "me"... arose all of a piece

And collapsed

Inseparably

I never watched a timeline... so have no recollection how long that lasted

Yet it slipped away

Just as quietly as it appeared

The clenching... unclenching

All seamlessly

Of a piece

There was never considering it all as even any sort of special event

Different... maybe... and ungraspable... un-understandable... or like a curve ball... from the day to day range of experience that one considers as ... for a lack of a better word ... normal... only because it's has a familiar repetitive tonality

And yet it was all strangely familiar

An instant recognition

With no doubt

And no more questions

Like an old remembrance of a forgotten song... which I wasn't even aware that I'd ever known

Even as I knew that this very un-graspability... this quizzing puzzling un-understandability... was what had propelled and put into motion... the seeking and the search

Yet

It was simply

Life just lifing

All along

Doing it's thang

I was pretty much left dumbstruck

With wonder at what I then called grace

The gracefulness... of a swan

At how life did itself

Impeccably

It is only in the describing that it appears as being isolated... and gets spoken of these as separate events

When there's no edge
Betwixt me and you
And here and there