Garden of Knowing

I was born old.

In the Garden of Knowing

I grow younger by the hour.

Vaulting through birth

I lunge my ancient wings

Eager to impart, to absorb, to reveal

To be part


I struggle to recover what once I knew

To penetrate the veils of mystery that enshroud us

To peel away the illusions that swaddle us.

Hungry for truth, I must face the futility

Of certainty.

I stumble over

The wannabe's

The ginormous Me's

The isms, the slogans, the verities.

Verily they freeze

Then melt into scabies, scurvies, palsies

Scars of the soul's disease.

I terrify

I tremble

Until I warm to the words of Kabir:

"Some worship the formless God

Some worship (her) various forms

In what way (She) is beyond these attributes

Only the Knower knows".

I would taste the breath of Know

Even for the blink of a fluttering eye


I did


Is that hubris



I don't know.

Knowing eludes, escapes, evaporates.

I am bereft,


With a ravenous soul

Knowing, however,

Rapturing, forever,

Treasuring, altogether,

That you,

Heart in hand,

Hand in mine,

Journey with me

Through the divine

Garden of Knowing.

c. Corinne Whitaker 2019

Note: Jannat al'-Arif or the gardens of Paradise came from the old Arabic and has been variously translated as "The Gardens of Knowing".

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