Show Me. . . you are the more. . .

Show Me. . . you are the more. . .

When I see you in your prayers,
you pull from me
something akin to obeisance
of the highest kind.

I drop to my knees
and want to pray with you,
to the mighty of All That Is
who garnished upon us all
the sweetness that would
turn the hearts of stone
awash with tears.

Tell me,  how do you enter
that holy place so quickly
when your thoughts begin
with the heart of the child
and take them to the
highest altar of the mind?

You almost take
the highest and best into yourself
by some turn of mind
and close out the rest of us
like the door closing against
the onrush of minor thought . . .

How to get there?
Who lets you in?
Somewhere you go that
closes us out but, yet. . .
your love includes us.

You step over what is invisible
and takes you to the promised land,
which is not a place but a condition.
You know of what I speak
and so do I.
I want it for me.

Because you are the more because of it.   Show me.

                                                                    the Teacher. . .

 

(Scribed.  Journal entry August 27, 2017)
art by Claudia Hallissey

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