An Invocation
There are times
when we pray for release
from the prison of suffering--
the confused mind
trying in vain to complete its fractured history,
the anxious body
rehearsing its losses--
and what God grants, eventually
is emptiness.
A questionable grace.
They say that grief, for some,
comes as a sensation of swallowing sand.
But try, for today,
to imagine that unwelcome space
as holy desert:
where life is forged under duress;
where every drop of water
is a visible prism of mercy;
where strange creatures
adapt their bodies fiercely to hardship,
thick skins and heightened senses,
and stop in their slow progress to watch you,
looking far in as children do,
to seek the truth of your constitution--
fear or tenacity;
where sweat-drenched visions
and the voices of the cold desert night
bring ancient stories
that will echo in your risen heart.
This, too, is a place of flourishing,
and of visitation.
