You feel them rise from the depth of guts
Creeping slowly through the heart
You lose a beat, to reach a mind unaware
Of what it is about to receive. An intention.
You think they are the fruit of intuitions
Long ponderations and that they manifest
Your resolution, confounding them
With thought-through decisions.
But no, they are far more artful than products
Of the mind, their crafts obey an elusive guile
For they know we are inclined to trust
Solely the brain, the tangible, faithful servants
Of its suggestions. Believing we know
What we are doing, and yet are dismayed
Afore our failings, uncomprehending
The clash between, our purpose
And the outcome of reality.
In truth I came to understand
That outcomes indeed reflect
The true secret intentions of our spirit
In disguise, waiting patiently for us to heed
Our true selves forfeiting self-deception.
[Featured painting: The third dimension of time by Rafał Olbiński]