FIRST THERE WAS
a breaking of waters
like every other birth,
and pain, before the first cry.
There was a star, perhaps a supernova
spilling radiant gases into the void,
perhaps a confluence of planets.
His first words may have been Egyptian,
but the schoolboys, he among them,
circled at the Rabbi's feet, learned Torah,
knew sacrifice, and love, and loss.
He drew us in by blood, by suffering;
every one of us balancing in air, all newly blossomed and
Reborn.
2 comments:
I often think of that--how the glory of the Christmas story overshadows the terror that followed. The fleeing and fear. The grief and the losses. Being strangers in a strange land. Expats. How did that shape the boy, the man, the prophet, the parents? Being born or born again is never easy.
I read this over and over again. The vortex that is this circle of creation is powerful.
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