The silence from this corner is not because I’m bored, or depressed, or too busy. Things tumbleĀ about in my head, but they don’t need to see daylight yet.
This is a period where
It feels like
everything I
say
or write
must not end
with a
.
but with a
,
or
?
The words I have declared now feel
less sure.
The sacred and beautiful things
are still all of that,
but I feel I can say nothing,
write nothing,
except to end it with a
question or disclaimer or comma.
A few things I know.
They are great, glad statements that arch over the questions. These things I know and they have no question marks.
I think everything else is sand.
Shifting.
Ending in a comma because each new thing adds to the
sequence.
Each orbit of the sun reveals a new
aspect to acknowledge.
Each bit of truth adds
understanding
so that I can
never
be wholly sure of what I’ve seen.
I can’t see myself completely ,
never mind someone else
or my surroundings.
It means living with an open hand,
not clenching anything in my fist,
not refusing new things.
Being sure only of my God
in whose hand I am,
and only His words are
final.