I have always lived for love of getting lost.
Hiding in plain sight, I’ve crafted as my art.
Forests and backyards, no matter cost,
never should be far apart.
You will someday live for love of being found,
biding time at night, unmoved by silent dark,
tenuous till sun kisses the ground.
Then adventure, sudden, stark
Starts. Not noisy rush toward a goal; it is
hidden in the raw pursuit of silent place;
Buried under crowd, beneath quick buzz.
“Hear, not Speak.” And “Wait, not Race.”
I will beg you: join me, journey more remote.
I will ask you: tell me where your silence lives.
If you’re anything like me, then know
Vast and open thrill He gives.
In between the stars is void to human eye:
Don’t be fooled, for even Empty once was built.
To the call, the gall, of questions, make reply:
I am proof that Here is filled.
Make all space your playground - Lost your Art -
Take all clearings in your arms, and introduce
Lightning, contact from two points apart.
Forests bow to proper use.
Son, you level earth with names, with what you make.
This is joy I offer you, as it was offered me:
Take words to nameless pain, convert the ache
In the man;
step in
and be
Present. When - as we all do - comes doubt dark-hued,
Walk the questions back to forests, where no words
Can invade, no sounds intrude,
except:
the loudest silence
you have ever heard.
He is
the loudest silence
I have ever heard.
