I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the grey beret and the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace.
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul.

I feel your eyes traveling, and the autumn is far off:
Grey beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house
Towards which my deep longings migrated
And my kisses fell, happy as embers.

Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!
Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing.
Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul.

poem by Pablo Neruda

"The truth knocks on the door and you say, "Go away, I'm looking for the truth," and so it goes away. Puzzling.”  Robert M. Pirsig.

This tends to be a theme in my life.  I am wondering if I will ever become truly cognizant of living in the present and acknowledging my truths.

Truth knocks often and I tell it to go away.  I know it is there, but I am not capable of accepting it.

Puzzling for sure