the miracle we are seeking

Go to the edges. As with anything, the edges define, but we are not looking for any definitions. The edges hold the entry point – within. Start there: at the periphery of your longing; a small village of your desires has made a home in spite of the scarcity you harboured. Start there.

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You cannot feed yourself unless you begin at seed.
A seed so meagre and dry and ancient, its origins no longer known.

And even then, there will be a long-dark following the seeding,
there will be waiting.
The quiet dark elongating each day, endless, you become almost hopeless, convinced there will be no green shoot.
You doubt the fertility of your own soil.

You cannot feed yourself until you reach the end of hope and dreaming.
Learn to wait patiently on the thresholds, bring water to your seed daily
from the well of your mind, your waters are prayers you’ve learnt by heart.

You know to keep it shaded for too much light too soon is detrimental.
Darkness necessary to its germination,
like you, coming from the black womb of Mother, the black bogs of the amniotic fluid brewing your bones until you were ready for light.

Light demands preparation.
Her dark lover must meet you first,
he’s the first thing you’ve ever loved.

Your small seed is learning the story beneath soil,
it’s finding the ways that nourish, how deep and dark to root for most strength.
It’s finding the mother of mycelium to latch on and love.

You don’t see this with your bare eye
but you cannot feed yourself
until you are dried of waiting, until you are starved and empty
and almost giving up.

And then –
the earth births, a mother in slow motion
hips widen like the mouth of god
and the head sliding towards light
the very tip of your skull is where you meet the world and the world enters you.
Just like that, your first green shoot has appeared
with miraculous fragility
saturated with life force
simmering with potential.

From planting – to this
there is the waiting that feeds your seed-dreams.
Don’t be fooled into thinking nothing is happening
any rushing will kill; bringing light before its readiness
too much water and poking will drown it.

It’s the waiting
the waiting
the waiting
that will one day bring the knock on the door
the feast is ready
and may you never eat alone again.