How do you know, they ask us,
so certain of their doubt.
We don't. We are merely beckoned.
We are open, which is our knowing,
in wonder more than certainty,
a way of not knowing
with deep faith.
We lean toward a darkness
shining with a mysterious presence.
We merely know
with a knowing greater than our minds
that there is more.
We don't have a name for that More,
just a longing, which is our knowing.
We know our food by our hunger,
our wonder a way forward.
A bond beyond our knowing
grows in us, a belonging without a bottom,
The darkness answers our question
with a question,
and we listen.
The Mystery beckons,
and we draw near.