Learning to Read

Between the lines there can be found
Some measure of real truth.
The type that is hard to perceive
When I am consumed with telling
My own story.
In seeking to be understood and
Seeking to understand even,
There can be too much interference,
Too much otherness.
Too much wanting things to be different.

The best remedy for this seems to be
Silence.
Despite other impulses,
Removal from outer stimuli creates a
Still point.
A place where I can see
Without looking.
Breathe
Without thinking.
Perceive all the scriptures in a
Moment,
Without slowly drawing my finger beneath
Each word
Too distracted by
Form and structure
To feel their sacredness.

I have shifted,
Away from the dervish's that
Swirl in dramatic dusty circles.
Removing myself slowly,
Deliberately,
Willing myself not to look back.
Able to perceive
This spaciousness
As it is slowly unfolding and
Illuminating the path
Directly in front of my next
Footfall.

I perch here,
Leaning slightly forward,
Still breathing,
Still living,
Understanding nothing.
But somehow
Sensing it all.