There is something in spontaneous being
that defies analysis.
That analysis, set apart from spontaneous being,
searches for cheating rules
when, without rules, being one’s self
is not the rule, but simply the way.
One sells one’s self short
attempting to package one’s self
into something that fits
when fitting is supposed to be the substance.
The broad expanse of the self,
the contemporality of the self
is that most precious elixir of the self
we fain would capture if we could
without denying its essence.