‘What is it like
to meet me
without your
ideas about me?’,
you ask.

The question hangs
between us,
two strangers,
curiously suspended
in not knowing.

I don’t even
know your name
yet we meet
and share this
moment,
eyes locked
in tender gaze.

I had no ideas
about you till
you asked,
now they flood in
tripping over
each other with
habitual ease.

‘I have no ideas
about you,’
I think…
But why then
am I surprised
by the softness
of your voice,
the Irish lilt,
delighted by
your insights,
your honesty,
and open clarity?

Enchanted by
this moment,
this opportunity
to meet you,
to dwell in
the mystery
without fear,
no name,
no history,
no map to
show the way.
I cannot fix
you, pin
you down,
fit you in a
box and stick
a label on
your tongue.

And, I have
no mask to
hide from your
unblinking stare.

A Zen master
once said
‘Not knowing
is most intimate.’

Now, knowing
this to be so true,
a smile grows
in my heart
where fear
had once
taken root.