Reality
Resplendent
Yet veiled in the plainness of my finitude
Glorious
A web of more echoing wavelets than I can attend to
Beauty
You are both the song and each note inside each note
One
What is, simply is, in all its complexities
Oh, Reality, you simple are before me
I speak to you? Because you speak to me.
Though you have no voice, no limbs,
no complicity in my humanity.
I speak in thoughts, in actions
like a fish drowning in the wide ocean,
thrashing about, forgetting simply to breathe.
My thoughts give no testimony that I see you
But only ramble babbling forth from my restlessness.
I thought I heard something…
I hear but do not comprehend, I see but no image enters me
I feel and shudder as a shiver races down my spine.
Who are you?
Your symmetric order betrays the fact of your intelligence
What is your name?
Though I have never met you, I’ve known you my whole life.
The others speak of you in legends,
in words that bear your life.
The thing about legends and language and stories
from long ago is they have always fallen short.
Who do I say that you are?
How shall I say? when my answer is a thousand memories bubbling up
from within me, face after face echoing emotions, joys and pains, lies
and revelations of truth.
Even if I could enunciate the sum of my experience,
synthesizing so many disparate echoings into a simple matrix, even if
my mind could hold such a perfect ordering (which would surely be
beyond my mental ability), I would be speechless.
Such a conception would be like a ship built within a glass bottle
whose neck allows but a penny through.
But there is a way to get the ship out…if not by language, then by a
projection of its image, carefully focused by our will into action.
Thus all the experiences that crafted that fragile matrix need not
speak, but rather lend the sparkle to one’s eye that tells another you
understand and it is good. When the river of one’s actions runs pure,
it paints a more colorful image of what’s in one’s heart than any words
or canvas can convey.
When one finds…