070322 – Poem


I have suspended disbelief before a thousand scriptures
   as I've eased myself into knowing this world.
I have asked, watched, listened and I have read
   but the secrets have alway been inside.
And everything outside has always been
   just smoke in the morning trees.

Neither action or intention, nor word or form are there
   and all science and reason lie without.
It is no  servant of words or names, this
   where, the clocks are dumb and time has gone still.

You speak of Krishna or Vishnu, of Buddha and Jesus
   but these are just shadows on the wall
of the candle that burns within
   that center of being that wells from within itself.

Scripture is the trim that adorns the door
   outside the place that contains the beloved.

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