knowledge is neither the water
we essentially need to drink
or the oxygen
we breath in order to live on.
knowing is but the sand
we acknowledge
as we stand on it in passing.
the mountain of unknown truth
passes beneath us
as grand yet granular.
we almost unknowingly
stand on that truth,
feature the riddle of existence,
ponder it about,
as if being here
and then there,
as knowing never becomes,
but only comes to understand.
so how does understanding
ever become the mountain,
as existence ever posses the question?
and does the truth of a mind
ever become the living of isness (?) . . .
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