Understanding nothing,
we believe we hold all things.
Crying out in helplessness
we utter our greatest truths, only to fall back
confounded by our own endeavours.

Prisoners of our own perceptions,
we cannot see beyond the mirror
where reality,
in far greater dimensions than we can comprehend,
successfully eludes us.

And so, with certain stealth,
the heart's song calls us on.
Despite our shuttered minds
these listening ears acknowledge its summons,
while tears and laughter hang in the air
in glittering arpeggios.

Shattering the glassy illusions of our lives
it leads where we, who are too brave,
fear to follow
in the siren's way.

She sings
and the gates of our souls are opened wide,
daring us to walk through into the garden
and to know that we are home.
The unborn spirit, the child, the woman are one.

What is it?
This emptiness we dread to find,
which is our deepest belonging?
This place of yearning
where nothing is everything
and our vulnerability becomes our true protection?

Here is HE
who has known us from the beginning
and will hold us to the end.
Here is SHE
who has waited with arms stretched out to hold our pain
and has rocked us to sleep.

Here are THEY
who have loved us,
with whom we laugh and play and leap for joy.

HERE:
where she can show us anything that is or is not;
where all we thought we knew has been transformed;
where all things have gone
beyond our present understanding.

Listen!
can you hear the wailing
and the birdsong?
Calling........calling.
The green bank hides bright flowers
which burst upon us
before they die.

Open yourselves
and shout out what must come
up, up from the deep;
from the fecund darkness.
Roll in it,
naked and abandoned.
Let it echo, rebound and fade,
to resurge another time.
For to disappear is to arrive.

And now she too is still,
Knowing, as if anew,
that voice so far within.
Remembering,
as whispering reaches into silence,
that it too needs to belong.

Oh, singer of the heart's song,
be light-filled.
Trust.
Once again, know nothing.

A breath - and all is done.