VII. The Blind Man (8:22-26)

Touch me, someone,
That I might know you’re there!

Greet me, anyone,
So I am not alone
In this dark, dark, darkness.

I am begging,
Begging for more than food
Or loose coins.

It is light that I am starving for—
The light of a presence
A light to show me out
Of this eternal, internal

My heart yearns
Each morning and evening—
Both are the same to me.

The chill of winter
And pang of hunger
Are nothing
To this ceaseless imprisonment
Within myself
And myself alone.

I cry out again, my constant lament:
“Oh, stranger friend,
Whoever among you
Has any pity
I entreat you
To touch me,
Hear me,
See me
Though I can never
See you.

I start suddenly
As a hand descends
And guides me.

My pleading fades.
I follow in silence,
Forced to trust,
Though I know not
Who leads me.

I feel a pressure
Against my empty eyes,
Those shuttered windows
To my lonely soul.

Next a voice asks,
“Do you see?”

I am no longer blinded by darkness,
But by a dazzling and radiant light.

I answer,
“I see, people?
Or are those trees?”

No, that’s not right.
I blink and try again.
Unsteady in my bleary sight.

The man’s hands
Descend once more,
Unfogging the glass,
Clearing the panes.

I see and am seen.
I am freed,
Released from my prison
Where I lately grieved.

Morning separate from evening once more,
The Son is shining,
The true light I adore.
This I know, for this I see—

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