Classic Poem

Smaller than the small
I am that still centre
within you
that needle's eye
through which all the threads
of the universe are drawn.

Perhaps you think you know me
but you do not know me.

Of everything that is,
of every word that is spoken
on the lips
or in the heart,
of every thought and hope and wish,
I am the silent witness.

Nearer to you than ecstasy
in the blood
yet more mysterious far

I am the guardian of every colour
that catches the eye,
of every taste
that pleases the tongue,
of every word
that speaks to the heart.

Perhaps you think you know me
but you do not know me.

Mine is the voice
that sings out of the voiceless
night, that rises
like music out of the root
of the dark thorn, out of the lucid
throat of the fountain.

Smaller than the small

I am the seed
of all that is known
and unknown.

I am the root
and stem of meaning,
the ground

of wonder. Through me,
each leading
tendril of desire
is drawn,
and breathes in
consciousness of Being.

And yet when you open
your ears to my voice
and listen with all your hearing
and listen again,
no subtle joining of notes and words,
no vertical song is heard

but silence is singing.

And when you open your eyes
to my appearance
but cannot see me,
or when you close your eyes
and close your ears in concentration
and look with your hands
and turn back again the pages
of sleep's dark scripture,
no great or terrible sign awakes,
no vision burns

but absence is shining.

Mine is the secret
that lies hidden
like the lustrous pearl

gleaming
within its oyster

the deepest secret
the secret
hidden within the secret.