Sometimes the wind that strips everything
is the strong breathing of a yes.
The river of life wears away your little island
and bears you somewhere fertile.
Receive the gift only departing can bestow,
the holy not in what is anointed
but in what is next,
the beginning beyond the silence beyond the end.
In thickest darkness is a door felt, not seen.
It gives.
Beside you in confidence
God is uncompleting the journey for you.
Lay your hand on the dark door. A voice
says, “Come, join my becoming.”