There are only a few lunatics,
who through no choice of their own,
have minds consumed with Wonder,
Hearts Aching with Longing,
who are, in a unique way...
It's a Blessing, not a curse,
to be thus consumed, thus distracted,
so that even amidst life's joys and sorrows
one cannot escape the ever present Question
spoken wordlessly, in the Heart of Being...
What is this...
This... being alive...
This experience of existing...
And... What am I?
A kind of Madness,
there in each breath, and heartbeat,
filling us, in the same instant,
with Unbearable Longing,
and Longing's Fulfillment.
A Longing born of that which is Longed for.
Containing, like a seed nurtured in the Heart,
the Fulfillment of the Heart's Desire.
Longing and Fulfillment, impossibly...
Present, both at once.
I find these fellow lunatics, occasionally.
And over tea we chat of the Great Mystery,
of Her inexpressible Beauty.
Words spoken in Love and Wonder,
of that which cannot be spoken.
Excerpt from the poem: "Troubled"
Chuck's poems can be found on