Who am I to think that I'm the One?
Am I?

Subtle feelers probe 
like a psychic seeking
lost keys.

I poke the past like a body 
with my mind 
at where I've been 
for something I thought I left behind.

It's an experiment.
Am I dead?

Fire first seen looks interesting to touch
like a world first imagined appears
inviting enough to live in...

I see a city where the houses are built 
on fault lines and blame. 
The sky is filled with simulated light and darkness.
Infants cry like they're moving though 
some ritualistic transformation 
towards elusive wholeness...

Another ego child birthed from unwillingness,
nothing more.

Karmic tape recorder plays back memory
on tape, etched in magnetic body fields 
that record and store pain, swirled with pleasure,
replaying emotional reruns on circuit paths
embedded in brain and astral body.

It's like watching a rerun on the meditative channel.
I was watching a rerun on the meditative channel.

A mutant gene splits and passes on it's error
and I learn to be abusive by being abused.
Psychic DNA. 

But one day I tripped 
on the plug to the holoworld
and like parlor trick magic dispelled 
when viewed from behind
there's a wizard that pulls sticks
and manipulates scenes
the way puppeteers animate marionettes,
      ...they wiggle but they're dead.

That's not us...

Nailed to the matrix
where flesh and spirit fuse, 
servants to an alien construct
injecting coded strands 
of information and experience
into auric eggs to reproduce 
and evolve neural circuitry 
wired to sea horse spine 
treading in fluid. 

Ever faithful to it's master's intent
it carries it's rider
through an ocean of magnetic cosmic glue
charged with sub-atomic particles 
and molecular blocks of imagination.

They twirl like galaxies on virtual axles
before they split apart and return back to nothing,
   ...virtually nothing matters.

The closer you look without or within, 
either way...

You can see that cohesion is a spirit 
that evaporates like desert mist.