He was unlike any other man I’ve met.
When I did speak to him,
he began to unclothe my spoken thought
and in its nakedness he probed.
Engulfed in humility I submitted to his voice
He spoke of this world
with a wisdom that even the laws
on which all objects obey
were pounded relentlessly.
Their deformity so appalling
I failed to recognize what once was
only to believe it to be another.
Yet he states that the deformity
is the true reality unveiling its mask.
He constantly reminds me
not to be mistaken or fooled,
this tortured victim is not the face of ugliness
but is a being of purity and truth.
Though I know not of this realm
which he has come to call the true reality,
I understand that our ideas of this world
stem from that very source
but through us filtered until its lost
due to our own internal editor.
He tells me we live in a thick fog
which clogs the pores of our mind
and deludes our vision.
To escape is a secret few know
but have sworn to never share.
Only when a silence passes between us
do I take the chance to question.
How can he claim to know such truth?
How can he argue that my reality is falsely perceived?
Yet a thought interfered amid my confrontation
that snapped me into a state of reflection.
I realized he had not once laid claim
to know the truth about anything
and not once when I was growing up
has he ever told me I was wrong.
He only dared me to see the truth buried
beneath the falsity of that which we’ve grown to believe.
A truth he himself struggles to understand
but wishes that perhaps I will.
I see now the purpose of his words.
Not to silence my curiosity with answers
but instead he has given me a premise
on which to build my life.
The blueprint of a world constructed with questions,
with walls made of the purest wisdom,
and built only by those whose hands are absent of ignorance.