A ceaseless interrogation

A ceaseless interrogation
 
How could I ever hope to know the truth of God
when I don’t know the truth of myself?
 
My autobiography is an authentic account 
of a hapless poseur and a pretender.
 
From where do these thoughts of mine arise?
Who peers out from these eyes?
 
Years of study and I have learned nothing.
Years of search and I am unable to locate myself.
 
I have naught to show but a lifetime of questions.
All I’m sure of is that the identity assigned to me
 
is not who I am.  So who is asking the questions
and who is seeking the answers?
 
O child of God, your life, or what’s left of it,
has become a ceaseless interrogation.