The deeper I live into this world,
With watercolored layers, my Beloved reveals Herself to me:
Her mountainous shoulders washed with rain,
Her hills softly covered with green pastures and amber wheatfields,
Her gently arcing rainbows and glimmering blue skies,
Her river valleys hushed and white with snow,
Her unfathomable oceans and scorching deserts and lush forests
All tempt me ever closer to Her;
Though I know I will never see everything, I crave the one thing more that I can see.
The more Her stories blossom beneath my wandering heart,
The bigger I find my Self becoming.
My heart has broken and shattered on the shoals of the dreams I have chased,
All in pursuit of Her, my beguiling Polaris,
And while I know I will continue to dream, to chase, to shatter,
I sense that in the universal picture, my heart has only begun to crack.
Yet still I call—can I do otherwise?—I cry my entreaty:
Spirit of Life! Come unto me!
Sing in my heart all the stirrings of Compassion!
Move in my hands, giving Life the shape of Justice!
A terrifying plea, and to imagine it coming true.
What would that mean?
Meanwhile, the Beloved beckons, and I follow
In my own finite, broken, and human way.
She comes unto me and shows me Her world;
She sings Her song of birth and destruction in my heart, and I weep Her tears,
Of sorrow, yes, but also of sheer, overwhelming joy at the beauty of perfection.
I offer my hands—they seem so pitifully small—and I ask:
What cause would You have me serve, to give Life the shape of Justice?
And She answers:
There is only one Cause.
And She covers my hands with Hers.