The more I come closer

to understanding

the depth inside

I realize that I am

looking into the mist

of something that has

no beginning or ending.

It’s a fog that dreams it away

with impressions,

sensations,

assurance,

all reaping what has been sown.

The rarities are engraved in

idyllic representations

of what I see and what I don’t  —

all abstractions of my persona.

These ideas, notions of sorts,

get distracted in the distance.

As I get closer to reaching them

I see a vacancy —

an empty meadow

awaiting my arrival.

My spirit is voided,

held by Divinity,

and in the mist

I witness

the full capacity of love,

compassion,

truth,

and all that seems ignored

through the haze

of belief…

into the arms of God.