Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Forestalling the Knowing

On a cold night when there are
No hands reaching to hold me tightly,
There is a warmth spread from the trees
To my soul, to me being.
When the wind ceased blowing
And the rain dropped slightly followed by
The gallantly marvelous sun,
There was feeling in the little shelter from the rain,
Under the tree that harbored bad days
From bad storms, it kept me warm and dry
In its shadow, in its shade.
At night when I sleep on the waves of Tulalip,
I am resting assuredly that my dreams
Will have depth like the bay.
I am knowing of all things, but I am knowing.
And that is what others have tried to prevent me from seeing.

September 20, 2004

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Forestalling the Knowing

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