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Under this Umbrella
I used to live
Fabricated, and sometimes pre- by another
Right into its very manufacture
Thread woven to a life
I was led to believe the family way.
Just as the rain I could not hear,
Well maybe I could
But maybe it was others that did not
Or could not?
And even when it did pour
These drops
Encapsulated by attention
Of thy lesser self
Deeper than surface
Tension thought aloud, or silent
Encroached, staid through whatever means.

Yes ­ this meniscus felt
Far and wide in distortion of a single drop
As whose life was this? I would ask
And in silence
Yes! Always it would be in silence
For otherwise, I would be thought so foolish
This self conscious, as it was brought, or pre-installed,
Life overshadowed by, or in doubt of, as so shy
And afraid, it came this way so early on.
And for such knowledge now exposed,
Maybe it was always intended perhaps to shine

As I had the courage one day to observe this Umbrella
And it could have been so long ago
I did not know (of what I do now)
But I did see in an instant,
As this Umbrella became so very transparent,
And funnily enough the rain fell through,
So thoroughly soaked in dream I was, I was right here
But I could still see this shadow
This silhouette
Of the one that had been there
I could still see the drops, not upon my face
But the ones that run down off the tips of the steel shiny points.

For years, it seemed I was segmented -
In this silence in-between
A space, of little understood
Not of a world where others would walk
But more like the dark night
If only in wait of the light,
As in dissolution of this Umbrella
Maybe considered rightly, so to be like

While even as clear, this view
What should I believe?
Of this life unlearnt
Felt so different to upbringing, or indoctrination
Deception uncovered to be only that which has been truly given
In naked-ness, just as a baby born
I must've felt so vulnerable when whole alone
What is real? Or I should think to enquire upon.

Then one day, I saw this umbrella to completely disappear
To realise this I alone, in the rain, unsheltered, free
Not as if to leave home, with home still there
But Umbrella-less, to weather any storm, anywhere
And in the sun soaked light, it became so precious
With this 'I' no longer held fixed; no longer held fast to fads or trends
Or like carnivorous Dinosaurs continually on the competitive hunt.
I see, no longer, of Peer boats or Generational ships
Which anchor in this same continuous harbour?
Where the frequent tide is of no matter,
As in mind nothing neither docks nor embarks.

No longer do I see this 'I' concerned of loss,
Or any desire to belong. As now, is only of well
Being and inspirational concern.
Umbrella-less I see, to be, in this presence alone;
As the flax is to the wind on a sea worn headland
Only its shiny waxy cuticle can send the message
Deeper, far deeper, into the flow of imagination
Toward the inner speculation, in prospect of hope

As I look out across over this vast expanse of this planet,
Across Man's unsteadiness, I find it hard to see other Umbrella-less,
Or in actual fact I see all other Umbrellas that appear to force,
Impose and evaluate, umbrellas that appear to justify, conjure or misjudge,
If only, in realisation, that it is the very reason for all unhappiness,
This Umbrella overhead that misguides, the one that underpins,
The one that undermines, the one that is always in struggle of,
A tug of war's continual battle.

And for what! For the fear of fear itself!
To be Life as it is; Life as it is read,
Life as it should be, toiled body into dream soul
So freely absorbed and so aptly bestowed,
Tribal be tribal where spiritual waters flow
Where the Experience of, is so engagingly rewarded
Just by the put of a smile on someone else's face,
The second look back in glance,
In destitution, a twinkle to give deserved grace to all.

But Man's new pyramid will lead into another -
This material that denies this spirit alive,
That is, to be left totally silent,
To remain undiscovered,
Into Vaults of greed and selfishness
To rush and enter where the gold never is

And to find, I guess, one has to lose one's self
One has to dissolve this Umbrella,
And that may be as tough to make out
The difference between a mirage and an oasis,
It may be so to distinguish mind from soul
Or just to live with this Umbrella well stuck, soldered,
Attached permanently as this place
Where food governs appetite,

Or as long to be as loud as the youngest classroom children
Before the ring of the first bell
Right to the one that sounds to the final school reunion,
To the pitch of mental linear confusion,
Just for the old pat on the back,
As from whose Umbrella is that?

But for me now, there is no futility.
As above, Umbrella-less
All is as well, as well as it shall be.
Without burden, without regret
This Umbrella-less where life
Is never bereft of death
As been and gone,
It has.


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