Friday, November 10, 2017

Persistent honesty

Persistent honesty            

The monk’s cell is spare, bare
except for solitude.  Plenty of that

which I have shouldered
outside these walls my whole life –

marked by it, encapsulated, enisled.
Is it everyone, I wonder, or just me?

Much like I wonder if there is not,
at the heart of everyone,

where the self stands naked
before its own illegitimacy,

an inherent antipathy,
yoked with a desperate longing

for That which is True;
That which is Whole –

the solitude of the monk’s cell
and our impenetrable selves

merely the lonely, persistent honesty
of every beating human heart.    

O child of God, the self is built
of fallacy, reclusion and alarm.

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