Mountaineers find it high amongst the clouds;

Surfers find it amongst the turbulent blue waters of the deepest oceans;

Divers find it amongst the deepest if the blue, where unheard of creatures can be found;

 

Writers find it in their scrawl. In words, maybe thoughtfully placed;

Lovers find it in a touch, or in the heat of a moment;

Lawyers in a conviction, or in the quashing of such;

 

Preachers find it reading between the lines of their bibles;

Cyclists find it in their calf muscles, or at the top of a steep hill, just recently conquered;

Artists find it in the movements of their brushes;

 

Musicians find it in gatherings where they can muse and ruminate together;

Prisoners spend most of their time searching for it, when it is right in front of them;

Something which they struggle to find, but the moment they stop looking, it is there to be found.

 

A sense of purity, of unconditioned self,

A sense of God, with absolutely

No strings attached.

Found from within

the confines of the prison walls.

 

A sense of meaning;

A conviction of a different type,

 

With

A pen in hand, and music in my ears,

I suddenly provoke a sense of who I am.

 

Seamas MacFhearchair 03-10-16