Aside: Keep Knocking on Truth’s Door


Keep knocking on truth’s door,

And eventually the door will open.

 

This reminder of Faith, among others,

Keeps my fist upright,

And provides my knuckles the strength,

To continue rapping on

The often hard and painful surface

Of a door which seems so intent on remaining in its closed position.

 

I am always both amused and in wonder,

Of how I am able to knock and knock and knock,

Even when my knuckles are bleeding,

Sore,

And black and blue.

 

Still, sometimes I cry out in vain

In this mysterious, enveloping silence:

Why must my efforts seem so futile?

And why must the truth of my being feel like

A forgotten word

Which is on the tip of my tongue

But for the life of me, I cannot seem to recall it?

 

The earnest desire

For Freedom from myself,

Keeps pulling me back into this

Mad, invisible game of hide and seek-

Of hoping to catch even a glimpse of

What I already Am!

 

At times I almost burst out laughing

At this ridiculous occupation.

How could I take myself to be something I so clearly am not?

But nevertheless,

The charade continues

And I continue to believe I am merely a

Limited, quantifiable coin

When deep down, it is suspected

That I really am the Gold

Of which

The whole damn thing

Was formed!

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