Who's That Talking Out That Mouth?

— body language by Weddie Thiên  —

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Oh, listen up, there's news today,

A funny thing you've got to weigh!

There's something running in your head

That picks your words, that makes your bed,

That says, 'I should,' that says, 'I must,' 

And stakes your whole life on that trust.

It calls itself the one and only you,

The whole of your "I," straight through and through.

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So when that mouth swings open wide

And out comes that "I," go check inside!

Is that the "I" that you really are,

That claims no power, knows it’s no czar?

Or is it just those gears that spin,

And claim they’re all that is within?

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You said you had no choice at all.

You said that other people call.

You said, "I'm easy to persuade,

I know the mess before it's made,

and yet I go and do it anyway,

I cannot change, and that is my way."

Three lies right there! Now count them out.

That's machinery talking, without a doubt.

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And "should"? Now whose word could that be?

It's from the shop, the machinery!

It purrs, "You should," it hums, "You must,"

And calls that noise a sacred trust.

And "listen" doesn't mean to hear,

It means “obey,” my careful dear.

Be careful, gears, with what you say.

Those little words will steal your day.

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So here's a rule to try this week.

Before you let that word "I" speak,

Be pretty sure it's really you,

The you that's real, the you that's true.

And if it's not, then say it plain:

"The machinery is saying, 'I,' again."

The gears can talk! They are not banned.

They only have to own their hand.

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The machinery won't like this game.

It hates to hear its proper name.

It wants to be the whole of all,

It wants no room outside its walls.

It fights, it squirms, it fakes a choice,

It claims your face, it claims your voice,

Because it's run, and here's the rub,

By praise and blame, that Good-Bad club.

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So when that mouth swings open wide

And out comes that "I," go check inside!

Is that the "I" that you really are,

That claims no power, knows it’s no czar?

Or is it just those gears that spin,

And claim they’re all that is within?

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Now where does the real "I" begin?

In powerlessness. Let that sink in.

Not force, not push, not grab, not steer,

Just standing still and seeing clear,

With curiosity to see,

With kindness for machinery,

With gratitude for what is true,

That clanking thing does much for you.

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You said it's “hard.” Well, think of that!

Now sit a minute where you sat.

That "I" that claims no power at all,

What load could ever on it fall?

So if it's “hard,” then look once more.

Those gears were talking through the door.

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You're like a boss who cannot fire,

Who cannot hire, cannot require,

Who leans down from the office chair

And asks the floor, "What's happening there?

Would you be willing, gears, to play?

Would you try 'Holy Moly' today?

And is that 'should' you hold so tight

Both helpful, accurate, and right?"

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This is the Watcher, Non-Doing kind,

Who only looks with curious mind.

Just watch. But do not watch to win! 

Don't watch to make the gears give in!

For if you watch to take control,

You're gears again, you're not the whole.

So watch. Be curious. Be still.

And things may shift without your will.

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And this is where your freedom lives,

Not in the grip, but in the give.

Not in the war you thought you'd win,

But in the quiet look within.

The gears go on, they clank, they roll,

And still you're free, and still you're whole.

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So when that mouth swings open wide

And out comes that "I," go check inside!

Is that the "I" that you really are,

That claims no power, knows it’s no czar?

Or is it just those gears that spin,

And claim they’re all that is within?