The Art of Knowing Yourself by Adriano Llosa

Lamenting across the porridge, torrentialed bridge.
Cobblestone. Pre-industrial cartoony arch like no other, in Paris.

The world is a world of merit driven by fear.
I don’t want that reigning currency
of “giving to receive,” to be my dominion.
A PBS programming since childhood
attached with smiles and allowance.

But I’m tired of going first. Saying hello first...

“I’m sad because every time I see her she should be happy to see me
I want a girl I like
to be excited to see me when I catch up to her.
Who stops, pivots hips 45 degrees,
face turns back by reverb magnetic pull
hair locks in tow.
And beams a smile
That says I’m the light of her day”

Something gets me to stop wanting
and I become flash aware
of the droplets falling on stones bigger than modern sneakers
Senses hitherto clogged by “wants”:

The only refueling station that will keep me going
And understand unrequited cheer, performance and affection is not
begotten not by parents.
But a well that’s not out there not even on the Seine.
Except inside.

That’s when awareness lights.
A conscious light up that you are
A light up
that you are being.
That you are an existence

And the next thing you ask,
“who am I?, what is this?
What is going on?”

And that ‘want’
is the most unsuffering, unpainful
most mysterious, still constancy ‘want’
you could ever have

Alone, beneath a streetlight
Looking into the Seine.