At the beginning of every word
comes a choice: do I
believe this, or do I not?

If I choose to believe it
then I move blissfully onward
into living, into life

as I understand it.
Had I chosen to strike against it
I would bet against myself;

ever truly understanding it
would have meant being stuck
in fear or longing or a sense of

loss…inside.
But you wouldn’t know.
My eyes and ears would open

so vast and wide that
this would all move past
my impressions, crowding

them out, blinding me
to their meaning. I’d be
compelled to deference,

would end up saying, “You!
“Look…listen!” and little else.
So I tell myself, anyway. But —

a secret? I don’t believe
in anything either way, really.
I just practice like mad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T