at my fingertips

-at my fingertips

what is this wall of arbitration
what is this distancing
I am following your scent
your light

in utter ignorance I claim I’m walking to you
when all the time you’re running to me
it makes my offering seem so miserly
but what’s a beggar to do

perhaps why
you truly are the King
never repaying us in equal measure
but beyond

your generosity
annihilating our comprehension
of what it is to give
what it is to receive

we write, we dance
we paint and chant
we cry, we laugh
we heal
only on your path

what am I except a trace of you
an imprint on a rosary
oil on a bead
a finger longing to stand as a minaret

all this time
i’m calling you
and you’re at the tips
of my fingers

-W.E.

I needed this walk so badly. A beautiful morning. I woke at five am,  drove down  to the local prayer hall, offered morning prayers and drove home and then went on an eight km walk in my neighbourhood….. filled with traces of Him in every step, impossible to deny Him with every breath.

Panting, inhaling,
Choking, exhaling,
Fleeing, impaling,
Knowing, obtaining.

The purge was also a refill,
The duality of unbeing and being
Of being blind of sight
And awake inside
Significance and insignificance
Are one.