This Portion Is The Observation of Imagination

 

See what you’ve constructed

Be what you’re within

A portal from without

To take you therein

 

You’ll come to discover some verbose image

An aura that’s gained a mind to speak

Through the breath

With the hands

And gesture,

Allow it.

 

See what you’ve realized

Step out of yourself and within your self

Appreciating that which makes your environment around you

And the environment within you

 

Why so readily differentiate between you and “the outside?”

The air around us may be clear

but to me it’s clear- it’s tangible

You and I are indirectly touched

Bridged by the air and compounds within

 

Ecology deems that interaction be realized for understandings

Yet metaphysics is let to wander astray, and wonder within?

As if the imagination we witness within is something far from without.

Is without correlation to without

Is without connection

Is without

Isn’t

 

Surely by now the spacious place we are able to create

we understand to load with burdens we produce

from a form of some historical weight

 

Unfortunate as that may be, it’s remarkable, too

For it shows we aren’t left behind by what we see

We aren’t only grasped by what’s without

We are grasped, profoundly too, by what’s within

What if we were to simply imagine a smile, when feeling down?

Would we observe it?

Isn’t it true that seeing others smile diffuses warmth throughout?

Isn’t it true, you’ve felt it too-

It readily begins to radiate

And like a gaseous species in air- takes up space

The partial pressure of happiness. What’s the weight?

 

Perhaps heavy and light

Struggle and peace

Provided a comfort, when needed most

Comfort manifests- in goodness and anger

The real flux of good and evil, or so it might seem

Alas, we can only imagine so much

An incomplete image is a lie to observers

To the empathetic, or to the cruel

Envisioning what we will

Completing the story- unknowns are damned

 

What is more real is that we feel

Onward towards something manufactured

One often won’t admit the fears of the unknown

Until of course they’re irrefutably informed so

And held aback by a surprise their truth hadn’t told

 

What is within inflicts its story on what’s without

How cruel to it all, really

Objection!

There must be something based in some certainty

Is it a dark forboding alley, or comfort to a canine?

The container seeing images, preparing notions,

or the subject without?

Is it the air, or you and I that were touched?

By what’s without

Or was it within?

And within us, reactions

Reactions upon reactions and then an image sowed?

That’s a placemat at the door

Welcome, outside, welcome in.

Home sweet home

Where truth may chill one to the bone

Where others are allowed a say in what we feel

 

Perhaps we’re all quite insane,

And specks, or strings or dots- or globs, of energy

Most likely globs.

Truly having had tricked our self into thinking

We’ve grasped some form of objective sanity.

I suppose, all in all,

It’s really not one’s own judgement call

The line between within and without are far too cloudy

To say we objectively understand

As you might recall- There is air between us all

And indirectly we all touch.

If my without is created from within,

And my within is created from my without, as do yours, too-

Then we all share each other’s withouts and withins

Simply put- We’re all one.

All sharing one another.

And I must conclude

This portion is sure

These ideals realize that we only mostly exist

For what is realizing being extant if everything is one

It seems almost cruel, but do not fret

Inherently by this thought

Never, are we alone

 

That portion was The Imagination of Observation