Presence

It begins with some event.
Some event that overcomes us
with awe
or terror
or helplessness.
Something that tells us we are not alone.
Or something that makes us feel so alone
and helpless
that we cry out into its darkness.
It begins with some event.

It never ends.
It is a step into something
eternal
that keeps calling.
Even as we may shun it,
ignore it,
run from it,
try to control
it is itself.
Wholly other
yet somehow wholly us.
Holy.

It questions.
Answers.
Consoles.
Lifts us to unimaginable heights.
Throws us into unimaginable depths.
It fills us with words.
Calls itself the Word.
And then takes all the words away.

It gives form to all being.
Then takes the form away.

Only love endures.
Even in hate.

It makes us stay still.
It makes us quiet
as it invites its presence.
We can use a sacred word
but it has no power
and it cannot hear it.
It senses only our intent
and desire for our relationship.
For our love.
For our communion.

It asks for everything.
It will not let any part be left out.
Our most glorious
and our most horrible self
come before it
In praise and remorse.

Soon it is not it.
It is beloved.
It is the air we breathe.
The sea we swim in.
The ground we walk on.

Ever present
Ever loved.

Presence.