Aug 292011

In any universal force
     or unifying vision
An emptiness of intent inhabits,
     a blank of indecision.
To try and grasp the whole of Man 
     must blur individuation
And see all wide variation One,
     innocent of division.

Who can blame them for their blankness,
     or feel themselves assured
That they have flossed Reality
     from the asterisked Obscure?

Wherever truth lies
     it lies becalmed,
Unmoved in its sutures
     by winter storms or squalls.
We come into our knowing
     neither too early nor too late
But just in a moment's glowing
     and take what we may take.

If you don't, as I don't,
     know just what a thing is
Sit silent, or politely ask
     the thing itself its business.

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