We are newborn kittens,
Eyes glued shut, stumbling, bumping,
Looking for the comfort of mother’s body.
Straight ahead expectations at the expense
Of anything that lies within
The other 359 degrees.
Universe through a key hole,
As if the entire story,
Molds into values.
We are the blind men gathered around
The elephant, each trusting his own truth,
Woefully partial, yet deceptively consistent.
Preachers and scholars alike, Buddha said,
Suffer this failure of imagination.
What do we really know?
Arrogant in ignorance,
Humble in enlightenment,
This truth before any other.