the house with the open window

I could not hear or understand the voice which  guided me.

But  at eight years old I went to the rabbi and asked what is God. 

I was taken Into a small library lined with books

I was told by a Rabbi

that I was too young to understand.

Now some 60 years later,again  I ask. 

What is  God.?

For me  I see  him as a man

Waiting at  an open window

Before I enter

My fears call me back.

The house is  now hidden

I am lost my mind's fields of denials

There is the overgrowth

with stalks of maise higher then my head.

that keep me from seeing where to go

or how i got where I am

The voice which guided the eight year old still speaks

But with age i am losing my hearing

I am sure the house with its open window

 still stands unchanged

He is standing  watching, waiting.

In the stillness of the early morning

before I am fully woken

I might  hear but a single note of his song

 we will meet again.