Tuesday, 20 September 2016

If there is a perfection
of the hidden self

then self hidden is perfect
and that it is hidden must be part of this perfection.

For self to be self
which is to come to its perfection 
self must yet be turned out into the world.

Wide Wanderer they call self, Wide-Traveller. 
It is said that the self will re-shod your horse. 

Leave it by the smithy overnight
no payment
just an appropriate gift.



Self to self giving. 
Self to self given over

the wandering, turning self out
from the hidden to the open 

road travelled to seek the activity of the perfect
tattered paths of the simply sought.

The perfection of the hidden self
which is hidden therefore perfect
cannot yet attain perfection anywhere but in the open.



The wreckage of destabilised tribes.
Stones in the dell.
These stubborn dreams still trip us up.

The self in the world is ever an imperfection;
the scruffy re-run
the back and forth vulnerable
made available, made safe, made and unmade.



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