How Far Above It Can Not Being Of It Be? Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

After many decades spent,
Living lives on dwindling cash...
And value placed on cards,
Made of plastic...
Senses seem to be coming back,
To minds lost...
In luxurized strife and hustle.

People are finding,
That a basic life can be lived happily.
And detached from rusting things,
Overtaxed!
To come back to oneself,
With renewed understanding...
Is a gift!

People are finding,
A walk through nature...
Can be relaxing.
A quiet park visited...
Can be more welcomed,
Than the constant sounds of flapping lips.
And people arguing over redundant nonsense.
As if attached to habits no one wishes to break.

People are finding themselves.
Realizing crack addicts,
Dope fiends...
And other reflections of their environments,
Had only been an elevator ride away.
As they tried to rise above it.

But...
How far above it,
Can not being of it be?
And...
How far into the woods,
Can one breathe without a tree?

How far away...
How far above...
How deep below...
Can one go,
To be in this 'experience'...
And not of it be?