How can I know wisdom? You who are the all-knowing one. 

How can I discern rightly? You who weigh the thoughts and intentions of every heart. 

How can I see clearly? You from whom nothing is hidden. 

I am a child, and my understanding is that of a child. 

You created and sustain the whole cosmos, from each atom to each galaxy. 

What can I know? Only the tiniest fraction, and that uncertainly. 

And therefore dangerously. 

Yet you invite a change to my question: Not what, but who. 

You insist, yes insist on disclosing yourself, and inviting me alongside, whisper close. 

There I find just the wisdom, the discernment, the sight that I need for the moment. 

For now. And now. And once again now. 

Or sometimes merely the peace to submit to not yet knowing. 

Let me never forget the primeval temptation; 

The craving to know in isolation, divorced from you, the knower.