With thanks to Kelli and George Washington
Last night, I read, and
I learned.
I made an effort
to lessen my ignorance, but
it only grows
as I learn…
a constantly moving line,
accelerating away from me
faster than I can chase it
like some red-shifted galaxy at
the edge of perception.
There is too much to know…
too much to ever possibly know.
It feels
overwhelming.
It feels
too big.
too much.
Time and time again
my mind rushes past a word, a phrase,
a disembodied idea from someone else’s brain:
someone else,
somewhere else,
somewhen else.
There is so much.
A paragraph later, it sinks into
the soft sands of my awareness.
“What?”
Something like intuition whispers
I should go back, that there
is a thought, a way of understanding there
that has never been tended in me,
has never grown.
It’s otherness is in my head:
elusive,
invasive,
disruptive,
alluring.
“Why does this not grow natively here?”
And then,
I have a choice.
Tend it…give it
my time,
my attention, and
help it grow into…
I do not yet know what.
Or, pluck a seed and store it, perhaps for another day when
necessity, or
desire, or
empathy
brings me back to it.
Or, discard it and move on.
Pressing matters of the here and now erode
my compassion,
my energy,
my time,
my ability to process new things.
I admit, I make all three of these choices and sometimes,
I feel bad about it, but
that idea…
It’s precious medicine to someone.
It’s just, I can’t always because it’s
Too much.
So, sometimes I move down the path,
futilely chasing
my own ignorance.
But I read every night;
I read.