Well, we're all looking, aren't we, for something?
Sweeping the house with every broom of indulgence,
every whisk of duty, poking under every chair leg
with the roaring vacuum of desire. Finding nothing yet.
Or studiously avoiding what we're seeking, desperately
averting our eyes, staring at a piece of trash glinting...
How silly, or sad, the way we trade our hungers for ones
we're more comfortable complaining about.
No one told us, or did they?, that the sweeping sound
is music of the greatest genius, but only if we go slow
and listen to it, the tune of our longing without finding,
because what you would find is always what you don't have,
and what you most need you already have. It's here,
and never left the house of your heart, given to you
like your skeleton, your gravity. Your whole life, precious
one, is the sound of God sweeping the world for you.
October 4, 2019