Wrestling Knowing

Wrestling Knowing


How do you tell beloved friends who are rarely in town
(and so are you), who wanted to stop by with their
children, that I was wrestling with my knowing?
You don't. And though such a wrestling match is futile
I went at it for hours. How ironic, I argued with myself.
I had been growing my knowing, or rather,
it has been growing me, since before this breath into
this earth realm. And here I was, hours at the edge of
night and into morning and afternoon I fought
and wrestled until I was exhausted.
My knowing was refreshed and clear,
as usual. It has no need to fight, and won't.
I exhausted myself against it.
What a futility. All this time I have lured my knowing,
fed it, given it reflection, roaming space, and have
allowed it to naturally step ahead of my wiry, analytic
and impatient mind. It loves poetry and music.
It loves to sing.

When Knowing leads the way it has no use for games
or subterfuge. The way is clear. This doesn't mean
the way is easy, however. The way might be clear up
to Mt. Everest. And that might be the only way
you can go to get to where you know your spirit has
to go. Knowing is vision of your spirit. You have to
pay for everything, give honor to what honors you.

If I see what I see, why fight it? All the troubles
of my past come from ignoring the clarity.
I know I’m not the only one.
I jumped into impossible relationships,
I didn't listen. Everyone one of us has stories
of what happened when we didn't listen.
Hard-headedness runs in both sides of the family.
Knowing is patient. It is eternal.
It's voice is beyond secular lingo.

Joy Harjo September 2008