Before you come down
from the mountain,
write it down fast, clearly, quickly,
before it fades, before it’s too late.
Line up the words
Carve them in stone.
Number them in your journal.
Show them in your face, in your eyes.
Make them last,
these results of your inner mumblings,
these commandments you’ve heard
during long bus rides,
these commandments you’ve discovered
from lonely mistakes, or
from being misquoted, or
from being misunderstood.
Tell everyone that after
all these years of not knowing,
you finally know
that your real goals so far were:
1) to be loved,
2) to be accepted,
3) to know you know you have something to offer,
4) to know they know you have something to offer
5) to know they know you know,
6) to know you’re still learning,
7) to know that each fall teaches if you rise,
8) to know you’re beginning to realize there are others,
9) to know you’re beginning to know there is a God,
10) to know there’s more to know.
But remember,
these ten will be broken,
will be forgotten,
will some day seem adolescent,
but at least you’ve written them down,
you’ve chiseled them in stone.
Remember,
new commandments,
new insights,
will begin to appear
after they have rumbled around in your mind
for a while as you move across the desert.
Remember,
in your next exodus,
on your next mountain,
you might begin to carve,
slowly and quietly
the word ”love”,
but this time on a tree.
© Andrew Costello,
Cries .... But Silent, 1981
