To look inside
Examine and decide
What might have value
And what can be set aside
Is a process, to arrive,
Not at an end,
But a beginning.
This is, of course,
A personal report.
An effort to resort
To survey with success
That swirling inside mess
Where I must fish and catch
Infestations of personal peculiarities
That question accepted regularities
To disassemble infidelities of rationalities.
But mind is no simplistic compilation,
A compound open clear to easy observation.
Like a forest replete with life that interweaves,
Fear and hunger, desires and loves which stalk its leaves,
The mind flows and bulks in the oddest ways,
Connects or breaks, streams freely or delays.
How to grasp and what to hold amidst the fluctuations
Is just the start on this adventure into contemplations.
This plunge into one’s self requires some attention
To the interface that protoplasm devises
To offer a moist fingertip to the winds of intervention.
We are, at best, a pseudopod of life’s surmises
Built to exist, persist, replicate and not much more.
Thereby lay our limits to confront random surprises,
To anticipate destructions or what else might be in store.
The brain, the mind, the nucleus of thought
Sits inside its shell to snag what the universe has wrought.
It does not see, is deaf and dumb, knows not of any scents.
It gathers only inputs from its nerves, constructing intelligence.
It can, of course, apprise the source where impulse does arise.
It respects, selects, directs notices from touch and ears and eyes
And engages, gauges many stages in this compilation enterprise.
From these bits and hints and other elements
That integrate into a guess, what might be termed reality.
The massive complicated interactions of totality
Remain a mystery, certainly a challenge to common sense.
Thus, the eye of I must accept, be content, to reside
Like a rabbit in its burrow or a Socratic prisoner encaved
Inside the artificial structure of the mind with which I am enslaved.
A status of great limitations wherein sanity may abide.
There are no claims to be made of universal congruence.
This stab at inherent sensible integration is individual.
We each hold unique in time and place and influence,
Not to be deterred but things change, nothing is perpetual.
So, it appears the active mind cannot be impaled, fixed, nailed
Where the universe itself eludes frozen fixation.
A good mind is wild, must be free to roam or die when jailed
If thought is caged it is justly enraged to scream in furious frustration.