That Which Is

The voice spoke thus,

"Curious fool-- Be still!

    You pry for answers

    Wrought from definition!

    You are the source of your own ill!"

From vicious circle I pulled my queries,

    saw once again the path I laid.

And through both joys and obstacles

    found my own self displayed.

"You see," the voice resumed,

    "You see now that which you have made.

    And question now,

    I ask of thee,

    from whence have I been bade?"

And once again the loop returned

    to point reached long before.

I perceived again that which was known,

    that the voice sounded from my core.

To search is to declare an end,

    when only means exist.

And through the constancy of change

    we find no peace in it.

For what is future but projection

    of a present scene?

And what is past but forgone senses,

    kept lustrous and keen?

"Remember," the voice asked 'fore returning

    quietly to soul,

"That I am you, and you are I,

    and there is nothing else to know."