ExploreTruth

I caught a bag of spirit once

And lost her in a desert…a stretch so dry and long..all the music ran for fear of too much sky…

And memories began to fade beneath the sand…where doubt and wandering lie….Yet promises of certain oasis could not hold the tides of ache

The questions pruned and quaked…and moved my feet beyond the gate…but here…(now) I sit with you.

And have chosen silence…as you speak…my shoes from of my feet.  For here all the air feels holy…and what was just beauty seems now divine.

Yet…You ask me… can I see it still, amidst your pain?

Do the stars still shine despite the stain?…Of darkness, our canopy?

…it is because of… and despite it…that wills this praise…

…it is my mantra for the saints…and true virtue of the sage…

For it is not only in perfection, that the cage bird sings, it is in the scars against her wing.

For how can perfection strip away the name of pain?

…they can keep that just the same…

For stained glass light will never pace the diamond rock…that shines because of what is not…

and there…as she spoke…I saw…from the crucible it rose…a flash…a moment of something familiar…

that causes me to try again,

to catch it with nets and traps…and strings of words, formed, and boxed.  To bag up knowing, and mystery…

to sit them on a windowsill, where all the light can toy…and expose again the contents of my joy…

that now is felt,

but no longer seen…This dream that must be done, in order to be known…

a hah…I said…and thought of sunsets dripping from nomad backpacks.

The spirit was in the poem…