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Digging beneath
the ideas
not one can truly understand
who I am.
Human. Woman. Aging.
Raging to understand,
wild to love.
Imploding with the world.
Exploding with expression.
Trapped in the fast car
of wanting.
Resisting the pull
of predictable loss.
Strung up by hope,
trampled by fear.
Swollen with desire,
but ignoring it
as required.
Twitching without
control, and waiting
to let go. Oh,
Holy Guru,
help me let go.
The pickax ritual of life
is always trying
to climb out
of the mind
that will never rest.
And under the raw earth
and the old bones and fossils,
beneath history and philosophy,
rumor and prophesy,
beyond thought,
what is left?