Sunday, November 28, 2004


With no ground beneath to set the feet
No mantle to cloak the shoulders
To hide nor warm the body

Naked with nothing to touch in any direction
For there are no directions
Nor any direction
No where to go as I am already here

Afloat in space beyond measure
No where to turn
For all turnings are the same
Rebellion loosens its bonds
The noise inside subsides

Steady amid the quiet of no thought
Feelings, yes; intuition, yes
Yet, nothing to register them with
No things to scribe them with

A knowing
A knowing of the unknowable
Not, knowing the unknowable
But, in the presence of it
And, content to be here

Not alone
At peace

Ron Eklof (c) 2003

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