“Of that which we cannot speak, thereof we must be silent.”
— Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
God does not manifest in the world
Because s/he does not exist in it
The mystical fact is that creation abides
Beyond the realm of words, beyond saying
Theology is an impotent attempt
To blur our vision with bones
Sans flesh, odes to the ineffable
That can only lead to misinterpretation
The ethical, the metaphysical, the aesthetic
The existence of the real and indescribable
Truths that my words can only compromise
Or misrepresent or falsify the meaning of
Darwin my beagle inhales squirrel musk
Spots the beast on a branch and howls, leaps
Against the tree truck and snorts like a pig
And I can describe it but not what he feels
Not the truth within his experience
Which is equally real to him as his dream
Of a forest filled with rabbit deer coyote fox
And all the joys that force his tail to wag
Oh, do not ask me to be silent
I must write my words until they approach
The edge of truth, not the truth itself
For that is where God dwells
— Charles Watts
