Tuesday, November 20, 2012


Long around age fifty I had a dream.  I entered a big stone courthouse filled with long tables.  I was given a large sheet of newsprint and a box of markers of many colors.  I was told to list my accomplishments, and when I was done, turn it in on my way out one of the doors in the back.  I filled out half the sheet, looked at it carefully, and decided I was not done yet.  I left my sheet on the table, and went out the way I came in.  I do not remember what was on my list... only that I was not done yet.  The question remains:  When will I know I am done?  When will any of us know?

When do we know
We*re done?
Done speaking?
Done listening?
Done waiting?
Done doing?
When do we know
We*re done?
When has
Enough water flowed
Under the bridge,
Over the dam;
Enough rain fallen
On the just,
The unjust;
Even enough grace
Sprinkled like fairy dust.
When do we know
We*re done?
When do we know
We have accomplished
What we came here
To do;
There is simply
No more room
On the page
To list
One more thing?
When do we know?

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