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Not knowing, not
pretending to know and not
content not
to know, knowing is always
dancing in front of us,
making faces,
mocking us,
leading us on, slipping
out of our grasp and yet
grasping, wrapping us round,
like the wind, the darkness, light,
the untouchable powers, it is
what we are, we are
what drives us, the water
that turns us round, like Edgar Allen Poe's
maelstrom, we go
deeper. This is no
accumulation of the spoils,
hoarding of the loot,
collections of that which
is not us - for nothing
is not us, at least
nothing we can know, and so
knowing is only
putting forth leaves,
leaves like the fig tree Jesus
might have blessed if only
it had put forth fruit.