Thursday, October 21, 2010

The Mystery

Always beyond the gates.

Outside the city.

To the desert. The wilderness.

Beyond the limits of my control.

For that which I seek does not dwell

in temples of stone made with hands,

or sanctuaries of words made with pen or mouth.

Just because I write a fence for the Mystery

doesn’t mean I’ve captured it,

for my fences are always full of holes,

and the Mystery has already moved

while I turned to construct the compound.

The Mystery is wild and will not be owned,

but has condescended to freely dwell

in the smallest of vessels.

I dove into a cup and found

an ocean without shores.
-David Hayward

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