pointing toward their own bolded type.
The always clear and true remains,
mindfully perceived or not.
How many,
flowers, fingers, sticks and shouts,
must bloom, point, hit and spout,
before their mystical secrets,
are plainly revealed.
All things as they are,
ever fishing for awakened smiles,
in the ocean of suffering,
and the sea of great doubt.
Rev. Joshua Wanji Paszkiewicz
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