A Blessing on Not-Knowing

It must be some sort of spiritual practice…

to be here

and not-know all the names of things.

~

That-Which-Knows could tell me.

It is all at my fingertips…

how igneous this pebble,

how ancient this sound.

~

But maybe it is a spiritual practice…

this not-knowing I am doing.

~

The waves come and go

whether brachanoid or bifurcating.

The birds shout and feed

whether osprey or owl.

Flying things still bite

whether gnats or no-see-ums.

And God is still found

when oysters are shells,

a pignut’s a tree,

and kombu is weed.

~

So I am here to bless my ignorance…

to thank God I don’t have a clue.

To be present to the sacred in mundanity…minutiae,

and to hold it all not-tightly.

To open my fist and

evade the labels that make

fetish of God’s body and

relic of God’s heart.

~

Amen.