When
I was very young I was always writing ‘books.’ The fact that they never exceeded
three or four pages, or got past the first chapter never deterred me. I didn’t give
up beginning, only finishing: for a message was in me, only I didn’t know what it
was. (Or, truly, it was more like I was the message and didn’t know who I was; and
that thought was scary: it seemed very vain to me. And I knew I didn’t know anything and was pretty dumb in this world.) But sometimes flashes of it, whatever ‘it’ was
would shoot all through me. Always it evaded me: for it wasn’t knowledge which could
fit in your head. And it wasn’t anything you could put your finger on, and say,
that’s it! ...if you did, it changed. It was something that came despite you: being
as it wasn’t understandable it wasn’t of this world, it was from God who is too
big to fit in your brain, and too small for you to find him.
The
Pearl
When I am old I will write a pearl.
The
pearl will be 25,000 miles wide,
Because
it will circle the world
In
one second.
It
will be the smallest thing
Which
can do that –
Small
as a pea under 20 mattresses,
That
is why it will be a pearl.
Then
the world will know what it has
Forgotten,
And
I will be gone.
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