Into the world madly

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Sometimes I feel
the questions ready
to spill over,
a mess of things
that have no answer.
Times like this
my thoughts paint over
the world around me,
and the trees are not trees,
and even the sun
is not what it is.
Where is our bearing
from here?
So I work backwards,
not in anger or with
any great resistance,
and leave the questions
where they are,
and with a gentle heart,
go out into the world
to find it again.
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