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.
