when you arrive at your truth,
is there no authentic language for expressing it?
sure, there is the myth of commentating about it
but that is eventually dismissed and replenished daily.
your inner dialogue about it
now resides in the background
as an I-version of yourself in a false-sky.
yes, living in it has a steadfast prominence
yet no position of understanding
comes into genuinely justify.
every notice inwardly put forth to oneself
yields awareness of this interior presence
that is not definable
but subtly-edgy as self evident.
a keystone of self,
is ever in the most inner glow.
that is not reducible to naming or promoting.
it is just a soft zing
that stretches beyond time,
that does not render or respond to account,
that has a sense of resolve without effort,
and only exists in livingness as ongoing.
don’t ask this part of you to be the speak of you.
it hardly comes to understand you of itself.
it is not even render-able as a position of reliance
but definitely the wick of being
its flame features self-love as lit and lit up.
it casts enough inner light to have life richly so.
it is up to others to grasp and reflect on theirs.
for they in theirs, is much the same.
between all of us,
there is this link of oneness,
but only when this truth
becomes so silently,
so delicately,
so non-eventfully,
commonly expressed . . .
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