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I wonder why you are here, really – – why?

why do you seem to appear out of nowhere,

and distract me from my current actions,

and those things you  force me to think about?


Better yet, why do you make me think?

I would just as well sit here and read my book,

but you interject pictures into my mind,

as I try to just read and enjoy the story.


Are you trying to tell me something?

are you saying that there is something else,

besides the words in the book? Come now – –

both of us know that the book is just a book.


How about the gentleman that I just met?

He was a fairly normal looking man,

yet I wondered why he had that strange haircut,

and that leather briefcase; what was in that?


Probably legal or academic papers,

but with that strange haircut – – –

did he have his stash in there?

or possibly some ‘hero’ comic books?


Then suddenly you call my attention,

to a murder of screaming crows.

What are they so excited about?

Probably a nearby owl or hawk.


And I continue on, walking and pondering,

my past, current and future lives.

Are they really that compartmentalized?

Or are they all one single string of days?


Yet, they could be divided by day and night.

Where do you go at night Dear Consciousness?

Are you with me or have you abandoned me?

You are like a shadow on a cloudy day; inconsistent.


But possibly I misjudge you, maybe you are always there,

and I just don’t recognize you as I concentrate,

at other times you break my concentration – – don’t you?

So you must be there, lurking in the shadows.


Do you wish to pounce upon me when I am unaware?

Do you attempt to confuse me when I lie to myself?

That is exactly when you seem to muddle my mind.

I think you do Dear Consciousness, I think you do.


What is it that you do to me when I am blue,

or have a hole in my heart as big as the universe?

It is then that you always seem to abandon me,

it is then when I cannot think; it is when I fail to exist?


And then you return, Dear Consciousness – – you do,

you make me see the new spring leaves and flowers,

you call my attention to a fawn or morning dew,

you return me to this earth who has been so good to me.


And somehow you fill my heart again – – mysteriously.

How do you do that Dear Consciousness – – how?

And then you sneak up again on me while I am busy,

and fill my mind with things that I am not pondering.


Especially when, on the other hand, I am not busy,

when I am in solitude, sitting on an old log,

in a forest, simply enjoying the day and the birds,

It is then when you pounce upon me.


Unexpectedly, you appear, and present thoughts,

not about the forest or the birds or the trees,

but thoughts about anything else, thoughts unattached,

to my current circumstances, my mood or surroundings.


Sometimes it is the imagined fragrance of Balsam trees,

other times it is the churning water of silvery rapids,

or that old fisherman with tanned weather-beaten face,

and his thick glasses required for tying hook to line.


Just as suddenly you remind me of the mortgage payment,

the juggling of expenses to get me through another month,

those are things, Dear Consciousness, that I could do without,

but, prudently, you remind me about the necessary.


You are an enigma Dear Consciousness – – you are,

you appear when least expected,

and disappear just as mysteriously,

or possibly you are playing hide and seek with me.


I don’t know what I would do if you ever left me.

I know, at times, that I have been hard to live with,

but you mean so much to me – – please forgive me,

for those times when I ignored you, and when;

I doubted that you really exist.