If there is a perfection
of the hidden self
then self hidden is perfect
and that it is hidden must be part of this perfection.
For self to be self
which is to come to its perfection
self must yet be turned out into the world.
Wide Wanderer they call self, Wide-Traveller.
It is said that the self will re-shod your horse.
Leave it by the smithy overnight
just an appropriate gift.
Self to self giving.
Self to self given over
the wandering, turning self out
from the hidden to the open
road travelled to seek the activity of the perfect,
tattered paths of the simply sought.
The perfection of the hidden self
which is hidden therefore perfect
cannot yet attain perfection anywhere but in the open.
The wreckage of destabilised tribes.
Stones in the dell.
These stubborn dreams still trip us up.
The self in the world is ever an imperfection;
the back and forth vulnerable