Hands Full of Dirt

Scoop up soil
fertile
dark
thirsty for life
with weary hands

Sun beams
plant seeds
into darkened earth
held
watered with
moist
life-giving hands

Life in darkness
grows
breaking free
rising into luminance
kissing my eyes
caressing my being
as joy’s dance we sing

Spring flowers
erupting in
splendiferous
unbridled colors
exploding
penetrating deepest
furthest reaches
of earth
and sky.

Silently
floating to
earth
where we
lie.

Which Came First?

So what came first?
The question or the answer?
Was there an answer
simply there waiting
for the right question to be asked?

Or perhaps there aren’t
and never were any answers
perhaps that’s why each question
only leads to more and more questions
endlessly.

Perhaps it is only questioning
wonderment that is real.

Perhaps that which is searched for
can never be found
and it is really only
the searching that has purpose.

Perhaps it is all pointless
and that IS the point.

And the point is to get
the pointlessness of it all.

But, how do I get pointlessness?

Perhaps I can’t get pointlessness
I can only be pointless.

To be the silence
be the emptiness
be the void

to be nothing
which IS
to be it all.