DUST ON MY PALM
I went into the desert like some crazed man
Out of Ezekiel
Seeking God
Yearning to know the mysteries.
And I came away with dust on my palm
As sacred to me
As any scripture or burning bush.
I had climbed a sandstone mountain
As is the task, it seems,
Of draughty souls,
And after wild dancing and chanting
Beneath the shimmering vault
My hand grasped a crumbling stone
And I was pulled like a streaking meteor
Into a vision of galaxies,
Into a dream of all things.
I am just a fool
I claim no thesis or title
But I know this one thing:
There is a pulse of Pure Intelligence,
Of Pure Genius,
That is within all things in all of creation,
It is within me, and
And was in the dust
On my palm.