Monday, September 3, 2012

Being Carved Out

The blinking cursor
waiting waiting waiting

The nearly blank screen
field of white snow paper

Your words remain there
something blocks from view

Something more essential
(if there is such a thing)
begs my full attention 

It's as if I must close all
other doors pages voices

And let this One work me
however terrifying it may seem

Floating in the pristine sea
the vast body underneath


Awaiting where voices
are Silence Itself

1 comment:

  1. I am right there with you. This is to live for, the spaces in between. How sometimes it's enough to be. Being opens up to galaxies. That's why we write anyway, about not-writing, about presencing, pure presence. Yes: "Awaiting where voices / are Silence Itself"