It is not enough to know.
It is not enough to follow
the inward road conversing in secret.
It is not enough to see straight ahead,
to gaze at the unborn
thinking the silence belongs to you.
It is not enough to hear
even the tiniest edge of rain.
You must go to the place
where everything waits
there, when you finally rest
even one word will do,
one word or the palm of your hand
turning outward
in the gesture of gift.
And now we are truly afraid
to find the great silence
asking so little.
One word, one word only.
Enough
Enough, these few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to the life
we have refused
Again and Again
Until now.
Until now.
—–D WHYTE
