It’s not a door –there is no lock or threshold.
Neither is it a gate.
It’s the kind of thing that happens gradually
and you notice it suddenly.
It feels like an accident
and the noticing is disorienting
because I’ve been focused on the getting-there,
not the where-I-am.
I want to lay myself down on the earth,
waiting for my creator to awaken.
There are trees here;
the gloaming light forms them
into an orchard that sings softly to the encroaching night.
I pray to God to let me enter and listen.
Will I be one of the three that
went mad from the listening?
Or will I be like the fourth
that entered and came out unharmed?
I pray to God that this hollowness
is actually the beginnings of wisdom.
I beg for a friend,
for a name to lift this sadness that suffocates
the breath of my soul.
I pray to God to remember me.