No one can see the Realm of God
without being born again from above.
Womb-nestled, bathed in God,
wrapped in heart-throb, heart-warmed
in umbilical darkness.
Waiting without knowing for the unknown,
unaware of boundarylessness,
Then, unwilled, thrust and kneaded,
potter-thrown and pushed by pulsing music,
through a grave-thin valley shriven.
Drawn by darkness into light,
uttered out into the world,
choiceless, falling into the air.
So much ceased or left behind, or cut,
the warm and safe, contained,
the unknown known of who you were.
Borne, bare and blinking into brightness,
into arms, into hope, into a life
reaching out in all directions.
Needy, nursed, and crying, held,
a stranger, named, a pain and a delight,
set free and still belonging.
New and tender, weak, at risk,
unknowing, small, and wondering,
the only wisdom learning.
Beginning, now, and now again,
each breath, a birth of love,
and God alone your mother,
each of you the center of the other's life,
both changed, both rapt, and bound,
your calling now to be, and hers to love.
Held in her arms through every wind.
Borne on her back,
and carried where she wills.
—May 23, 2018