Certain wild places sing to us
in the middle of the night,
appear in our dreams, speak our name
in between tasks, so that finally we listen.
It is then we remember how to make a pathway
to meet what calls us. Coming with only
our faith; arriving, to find we are noticed—
the fiddleheads unfurl in sunlight,
the heartbeat of mycelial networks quicken
with our footfall, tiny butterflies sip
from the mud where we press our palms to feel
the warmth moving under the earth again.
This is an ordinary transfiguration.
A simple alchemy. A miracle.
We have whispered a thousand prayers to get here.
We have traveled a long way in body or soul,
to come with hands outstretched in offering, in longing.
When the wave rushes over the rock drenching us,
when the tidal pull whips the silverlight waters
into a froth at our feet, we know…
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