The work has been no different since the beginning,
the thin golden thread through the chaos,
the dimly lit path through the valley,
the hand in the night:
to trust the Giver of Life in the darkness,
to trust the goodness buried in the terrible moment,
in every awful passage, every ending,
to receive the love that is given.
The test is only clearer in dark times,
to see the hollow illusion of princes
and forego their poisoned promises,
to come into this day in the name of the Holy One,
not in the thrall of our fears.
When the two shall become one
the one is still the two:
sound and silence together thrill the flute —
Each heart must have its mind or the circle is not true.
When the One has seen the Other —
a voice not his, a passion not hers —
together in God they are now, as such,
written on a single page in lines not made to touch.