Canvas of Self

~ a poem about individuation

We are painting
On the canvas
Of self
With steps
And stories

Each flourish
A day 
Every splotch
A desire

Casting our brush 
Back and forth
Betwixt ambiguous infinities 
And dawning mortality 
We are easily mused

In the foreground, 
Conscious movements create enticing experientia 
At the background, 
Unconscious streams flow into unseen ravines 

This parchment beckons us to its ends
Of meetings and departures long longed for

But with each two
There is only one One
And it is dreadful
In all the ways a singularity might be

These distressingly delightful bends
Upon the paper
Are spheres of aesthetic religiosity 
And they are rotating about us 
Ever so subjectively 

On this vista
One works ever alone
Locked behind an easel
Sighting no other

Not one single traveler. 

The sketch of individuation 
Full of a fearsome madness made manifest
Dawns a lonesome path

Befalling these damnable eyes are shadows
They play unto wakes and dreams alike
With no heed to our horizons
And no focal to fall to 

To doff the pencil
Is to reject the responsibility 
Abandon the art 
Destroy the design 

Yet so often it occurs 
So many succumb

By our hand
The painting burns

An unearned escape

One we pay for 
At the end of the composition

We justly watch
We lose the All 
Without a murmur
Excepting a sigh 

And we don no replacement
The steps stop
And the Self sits
Awaiting the end. 

It is no eventuality. 

Here is one’s quarry: 
i) Pick up your chosen instrument 
ii) Put it to the page
iii) Turn it illustrious. 

That is all there is to it. ~