A Prayer of Intent 2010
As a writer, my feet are ankle
deep in the muck of memory,
toes rooted in waters of truth flowing
somewhere beneath, also unknowable.
The account is told
in many voices, discordant,
first person, second, and third,
as if outside of self, while self remains
unknown fully, seen from within;
while the core of others remains hidden,
in spite of all my effort to comprehend
some truth disguised behind events.
The pursuit of this quest
becomes a journey, while the journal
recording it never overtakes the pursued,
because the holy grail of truth
can never be fully known, like God’s
visage, whose unattainable name must be
Some family stories I hold in memory
are from a common legacy;
stories that may not be known.
I seek to preserve elements of lives,
that might otherwise be lost altogether.
I believe that all these ancestors
deserve to be remembered.
Some of the stories of our
intermingled lives may provide a small
piece of information about those already
forgotten. I offer another perspective
regarding those who have passed,
and about their part in our common heritage.
I follow tracks left in primeval
mud, petrified matrices, castings
of feet that once walked this riverbed.
Only the remaining forms suggest
what creatures they really were;
though I attempt to track what instincts,
what internal drives caused us to share
a portion of a path for this little time.
Truth cannot exclude that which seems
ugly, nor may anyone proclaim
that only beauty is valid.
Honesty demands naming what is,
what was, not from one side only,
but from many perspectives if ever
I am to be able, or others are to attain
the vision to change the patterns
embedded in our human family DNA.
For me, the earnest attempt to find truth
may not be abandoned, no matter
how painful; no matter how chastening.
It requires us to see ourselves,
our vulnerabilities, our failings, and
examine our own motives toward others.
The search is compelled if one is to
have understanding; is ever to learn
to act with wisdom, and yet,
this collection of reflections,
poems, stories and images
reflects a compilation of dissonant views,
expressed from perspectives too
inconsistent to conclude that I have
found truth, in spite of my sincere intent.
The result is fiction.
by Ruth Zachary© Jan. 2010