Every being that lives
is a whisper of revelation.
Every whisper is the truth
and Truth is more than the whole.

Every being who is alive to,
who is present to, life,
is present to Life.

And the Earth shall rise,
shall rise out of darkness,
shall shine in the one light of Love.

 Revelation is a softly yearning whisper,
and to shout it makes it untrue.
And the deepest heart of revelation,
the hardest to share, is:

You Know as much as I do.

 But the human ear is tuned
to a different direction.
Is straining to hear
the sky cracked with thunder,
is waiting to hear
a shout borne by millions.

 No wonder it misses, then,
the frail soft whisper of truth.

 Yet shall the Earth rise,
rise out of the darkness,
to shine in the one light of Love.

How can we hear
the halting whispers
of one another?

We whisper, I Know,
while our voices ring loud
   with not knowing,
and our minds run in circles
to while away the confusion.

Here we are
is all we really need to know,
but we don't really know it at all.

If all the humans there are, could know,
in the same moment:
here we are,
then the eye of the world
would waken from sleep,
from the deep sleep of time,
and the Earth would think its first thought.

Then shall the Earth rise,
rise out of the darkness,
to shine in the one light of Love

....two thoughts.

First: the jolting ecstasy of first-being,
the first blazing flash of being alive.

And then, a nanosecond after Joy,
a scream.

 A scream of mortal choking horror
as Earth beholds herself,
and perceives that she is eating herself alive,
has been clawing her own vitals for oh,
so many weeping centuries.

And there will be a third thought
only if that shock can be borne.

Shall, then, the Earth rise,
rise out of the darkness,
to shine in the one light of Love?

We are thinking the first thought of Earth.         
We are the first thought of Earth.

 We are the Earth, and we are killing ourself.

We will one day (but still in this Moment)
know what we are doing,
and if by that moment
we have not stopped the killing,
then the first sight we see
when our eye flutters open
may end us.

The question can't even be posed.
It has shattered into eight billion pieces,
eight billion questions,
and every one must be answered.

And your love is the Rising,
rising out of the darkness,
to shine in the one light of Love.

The question.
Every person receives one.
And when she comes to the answer
she shall whisper,   "I Know"

only whisper and hope –
for a shout would make it untrue.

 Some cry out for The Answer,
and demand a statement of light.
They’re drowning the whisper in noise:
the whisper that carries no meaning,
only asks for your answer:
          "I Know."

The Sayer of Silence
now builds with her hands
and her life-giving touch
speaks the Knowing she is.

Touch her hand as you stand up to see
and whisper your name
to the listening sky.

For We are almost home,
and we shall not miss the gate.
And we must not miss the gate,
for We are almost home.

by Ernie Tamminga