To life we are called, abundance our destiny, yet often in inner poverty trapped,
rigid stances, Thanatos’s grip strong, it’s chains wrapping the soul in a cold embrace,
freezing out hope and the warmth it gives, the tree of life dormant within.
Wintery grey taken for the whole of reality, with only nothingness expected, yet
a seed of truth in that reversed expectation to perhaps one day take root, going deep
to slowly bring forth the fruit of spring allowing life to blossom.
Paths twist and encircle, curl back and coil, yet they are ways nonetheless,
labyrinth like they lead us if we but follow through the chaos and confusion,
to one day arrive at hidden graces agenda.
Stasis achieved then it falls apart, the center seems to shatter, pieces of our lives
strewn in unorganized patterns where no assonance or reason discerned,
yet we trudge forward often not understanding why, as if led it seems,
though in a quiet way with deafening silence,
until the day comes when we become something or someone
we never thought possible, again the chaotic path leading home.
So maze like we seem to ourselves when we travel our path slowly over the years,
unperceived we slowly experience, unfelt, yet it is there, growth in trust in the process of our lives, hidden grace being led; yes we stumble, yet we move, limp or crawl forward,
some even run, or perhaps one day we will all run to our destiny, for is growth
in trust for fools, or is it reality hidden in plain view?
The logos is always at work.
Br. Mark Dohle, OCSO
Holy Spirit Monastery
