Spirit insurrects so quietly, but does not “enter” us. It is we who come from Spirit, light from sun.
A great wind heaves and breathes and sings in us, Chinook of light, a hurricane of grace. A great breathing breathes within, giving and taking in, surrendering, receiving, the in and out the same. The world enters and becomes us and we empty ourselves into the air, becoming air, in rhythm dancing: inspiration, respiration, expiration, a tango of oxygenation, combining, rusting, combusting, burning, living into death, exhaling, dying into life. We burn so hot, but fan ourselves a thousand ways instead of simply becoming light.
Tongues of fire leap up in us and give us tongues to speak, to bridge our differences, for languages are foreign, but not hearts. A yearning leans in us and conquers the abyss, a leaping up, a drumming dance, a compass reaches out toward what we love, a gravity that draws us toward each other, a passion for communion, holiness that seeks its whole, shining in every other soul.
The light is there inside us, the flame inside the wood. Throw yourself into the fire, the dance of God loving the world from inside the world. Go ahead and speak this love to strangers.
At the very least, draw near and see how it is that we are burning and not consumed.