(inspired by the gift)
The poets of past knew something worth knowing.
To value that which is invisible to the eye and to listen
with the open throats of baby birds.
There are secrets written
That hold truths unwritten
That live already inside.
We have unlearned listening
Because our minds are borrowed by
Free your mind to what is already here,
What you already sense.
The smallest voice
your smallest ears.
These secrets feel like dead language at first.
Foreign to the point of obsolete. But look again.
Take some time to open slowly,
like a morning flower.
Hold all calls.
Suspend all will.
It will do you no good here.
Let the words revolve around the brain spiral
getting closer and closer
the central heart
that beats in rhythm with the poets and the saints,
the givers of gifts,
that spoke of a kind of knowing.
We think religion is bad.
Religion is not bad
And it’s not good either.
It is time to design your own--
To value nothing is to be ungrateful.
Find your value. Your values. Unearth them from rocks.
Dig them out from ant hills.
Look for them in the sky. Touch them on your skin.
Create them out of the compost of the living.
Use what you have and then go make more.
Give what you have and you will be empty/full.
Knowledge of God does not help you here.
What helps is
what your toes are already touching. Let the floor’s voice speak to you
And in this tiny listening
A revolution will occur
In the part you least expect.