Penthouse [and other conversations]

Penthouse and other conversations

 

This is not a house / but what pretends.

                      I am here nonetheless living / and life and my life fill this space 

Life unfolds through different orders

                      There is tenderness amongst these words,

and I might wonder in the in-between

                      I just was not able to crowd out the thoughts 

where holding, housing seems real.

                      that gruffness in the face of subterfuge, mine or ours.

Building has made things lie lifeless

                      I’ve been a builder of many things

and what has come to know these?

                      split myself –polarity of material plane

Something feigns to dwell and comes

                      as if one thing is better than another                        

nonetheless as if dwelling here abides.

                      confined within the designs of things.

Oh, the mis-take of it all. We borrow

                      No mistakes really whenever I see

and borrow such blurring until

                      resting is what is such that

little edge or distinction remains.

                      resting and restless find their joining.

I rest in the in-dwelling,

                      Yet I cannot be in without out

the in-dwelling needing no arrival.

                      coming and going are the same.

It is the departing, which lays waste

                      This one who departs and does not see –this

and waste again, as unsettling ensues.

                      song is for her to remind and restore her.

I dream of simpler forays

                      In the dream there is this dream too

the meeting in directness

                      one cannot be without the other –yet

where the purest movement speaks stillness,

                      their divide is what is not real –breathing

unlike the manipulation of reality taken on

                      now –All is beyond question welcoming

as second nature and even first.

                      the manifest as the poetry of it All.

I pause, considering ~ the in-dwelling remains

                      Still point / zero point

needing no artifice, climbs without effort

                      welcoming the manifest

and also falls with no aversion.

                      as the poetry of it All.

Please add your comment, thoughts, or reflections. Would you like to? Thanks! --Janice

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