“Wisdom cannot be imparted.
Wisdom that a wise man attempts to impart
always sounds like foolishness to someone else.
Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom.
One can find it, live it, do wonders through it,
but one cannot communicate and teach it.”
Hermann Hesse

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Tripping On Mountains

When I looked upon your
crags and cliffs, their sheer faces,
granite and lacy lined in clouds
and light reflected in the facets
created in the interplay
between ephemeral and substantial…

When my heart rose, unbidden even
and reached for stars those ramparts high
pointed at in joyous and triumphant
anthems of liberty and struggle
to cross the gulfs of space so dark
and find the threshold of that light…tumblr_nr047ah7Bz1qat5pio1_500

When my feet flew, up trails brand new
and yet paths that felt so warm familiar
that I could run with my eyes closed
and have no fear that my mind’s eye
saw clearly every twist and turn
but I failed to see the burn…

When I stumbled, over root and rock
and tumbled right back down the scree
and the scattered talus slope…of me…
in the way again
caught up in delight again
carried in short sight again
feeling foolish and too fast…
again…

When I looked upon your cliffs and crags
so beautiful, so austere,
so far above meVicto-Ngai

Wisdom

Oh Wisdom, who partners You?
Age?  Experience? Who dances with You true?

In youth I blundered into loss and felt it sharp and keen,
knew the meaning of a promise in its status shattered, broken,
in its secret name left mute, loudly unspoken
except by shadows cast in pain and lonely loss.
And Wisdom came to me, to walk amidst my ruins.

Experience resulted in a somewhat measured gain
mixed freely in the world’s follies, and pleasures and pain
and while I received understanding tasting bittersweet
the bitter chased and nipped and bit my fleeing bloody feet
and Wisdom ran with me amidst those ruddy copper stains.

As time has passed my bones grow thin and brittle, so washed out,
bleached white beneath a blazing sun gone tharn and super-nova,
my heart has been ripped out and tossed into the fragrant clover
and that hole gasps and gapes like some ridiculous lost fool
and Wisdom came to fill it with Her Resurrection Jewel.

It is not age that counts, it’s not white hair or callow youth,
all must pass beneath Her Sceptre stretched, bright Golden Truth
and tarry in Her purifying white hot crucibles
and suffer all consuming losses cruel and terrible
to gain Her Presence constant, deep and rich and sweet and full.tumblr_nk02dlIsSv1r3fkjno1_1280