I speak, till you cry out
“Partial! Only Partial!”
Then I go silent.
I paint, until you say
“One, only one of the limitless possible,”
and so I cease to paint.
I wish to publish, yet you whisper,
“Ah, but you’ll be penned to one perspective
and who will know you know there is
another side,” so I sit, impotent,
Shackled by knowledge of Shiva’s dance
of endless shifting forms
in which an any one is all,
but also none,
Until I promise you this preface
to fly, a flag of concession,
in the forefront of all my work,
Honoring the off-setting, never encompassed,
equally sacred, counterbalancing,
other side. Tao.