How do you know

How do you know, they ask us,
so certain of their doubt.

We don’t. We are simply beckoned.
We are open, which is our knowing,
in wonder more than certainty,
a way of not knowing
with deep faith.
We lean toward a darkness
shining with a mysterious presence.

We merely know
with a knowing greater than our minds
that there is more.
We don’t have a name for that More,
just a longing, which is our knowing.
We know our food by our hunger,
our wonder a way forward.

A bond beyond our knowing
grows in us, a belonging
without a bottom, without end.
The darkness answers our question
with a question,
and we listen.
The Mystery beckons,
and we draw near.


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