Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach;
but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus.
Jesus said to them, “Dear children, you have no fish, have you?”
They answered him, “No.”
He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat,
and you will find some.”
The surface is always blank.
The real, submerged.
Look down into that sky,
where beneath a vague cloud flashes,
—is it above or below?—
created, given, waiting.
There is another way,
another side of your little boat.
Beneath your dreary, fruitless nights
something graced awaits,
abundance exceeding your capacity, blessing
at which you laugh in wonder and fright,
a gift that bears you to the breaking point,
a net swelled with light and glory,
and not by luck, but given in love: a presence,
a companionship you hadn't recognized.
Heaven is offered, hearts are restored
in something as simple as a broiled fish, shared.
But first you learn a new way,
another side, the unrecognized friend.
And then, after the gift, the revelation,
you learn a new way, another side.
The Mystery doesn't leave you.