Schematic

An arrangement of arms and legs, positions, in a series of graphical forms. That's schematic.

It seems as though I looked back - or down - at myself. When that happens, a crucial part of me is not engaged, even if all the other puzzle parts are looking for, and finding their mates. The emotional core, the hara, is separated. It's all in the head, that head, and that head too.

Too much awareness. Perfunctory functions.

It's not a bad thing. Not at all.

But it eliminates the need to question, to delve, to open up.

In that after moment, there is immediate separation. A literal distance. A barrier, a physical divide.

And that keeps me apart. No attachments. No strings.

I may not want to know more, to know why.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies (fibs, lily pads, Pentecostals, double-wides, or lobsters).

Some things, left unspoken and unexamined, will force the lightness, the lightest of touches.

Air kisses.

Then why the little black-and-blues? Why the marks?

Comments

[HH]

Off-blog, I received comments about this post, from two men I know. Wise men, I have to admit. They got it. Oh my, yes, they did.