Within the womb of MYSTERY, we wait.
Gestating in darkness, we fear the ending we cannot see.
Surrounded by unknown dangers, we wait.
Gestating in darkness, we dread the anticipated demise of treasured ways of being.
Longing for the light, we imagine daemons lurking in the dim recesses of life’s challenges.
Gestating in darkness, we cling to feeble notions of salvation.
Grasping at old and tired prophecies, we are quick to abandon WISDOM.
Gestating in darkness, we forget the SOURCE of our fragile being.
Gulping breathes too shallow to heal us, we settle for the trivial, calming, numbness of mundane pleasures.
Within the womb of MYSTERY, the darkness embraces, nourishes, challenges, refusing to severe the cord which sustains us, until we are ready to see the ending, we could not see beyond our fear.
Gestating in MYSTERY, we wait, for the ending which gives birth to hope.
In our waiting, the darkness tenderly enfolds us until the breaking of the waters of life.
Within this womb of MYSTERY, we wait. Amen.