There is time you spent looking
somewhere in the course
of the day
or days
or weeks and months
maybe even years

for that certainty of presence.

This is where you are no longer any sort
of impostor
of fearful
of lacking
of emotional
or dramatic

when the only thing there is, is that you, yourself, are.

those noises in your head are you
however not you

the illumination from introspection is many thousands of years old
from the masters it is possible to experience
the presence of who you are being
there is a grayness before the shining bright white
the smell of this work is the odor of freshly cut grass
and the sense of it, is that what you are looking for, is no longer missing.

That what was missing was always there, even so.

Poem copyrighted 01/2023, Ray Whitaker
Photo Copyrighted, 01/2023, Ray Whitaker. “Snowstorm over The Garden Of The Gods”