The impedimenta of desire
Lessons in the course of a lifetime are not
(it seems) so much consciousness expanding
as they are encumbrances shed, yet so few
and paltry that little more light shines through
than in the beginning; each lifetime
threatened by smudges of vice,
the impedimenta of desire
to overwhelm the journey’s
natural divestiture and unveiling.
Aeons it seems, requires the process,
the gathering up, the breaking off,
littering the landscape, a-tisket, a-tasket,
every broken, mortal, humble basket,
until each core of light triumphs
over the entombed, encrusted alias
of Who, by faith, we really are.
O child of God, hide not your lamp
beneath the bushel but let it shine.