An egret lifted from its ditch and flew in front of me,
seconds avoiding death on my grill,
and swooping out and up only to circle
and settle again in the same spot in the ditch -
Ignorant of the jolting 'wakening it gave me
And ignorant that I was nearly asleep behind the wheel.
Don't ask the Burning Bush for knowledge,
It knows only the flame that licks its leaves.
The flying crow, the guiding occluded star,
even the mysterious stranger,
Each follows their own path, not knowing
that a motion or stillness on their part
Has been observed by you to be a sign
Of God's finger pointing the way.
The path to knowledge must be felt inside:
search your being for the resonance,
The unsolicited knowing that occurred
At the instant the sign was manifest.
This intuitive kenning is often lost in the clatter,
The excitement of experiencing the sign itself.
There's no such thing as coincidence,
But you can rationalize anything.