Between your breath and mine,
the sacred forms,
not sky-father,
not stone-mother,
but in the mystery of emergence.

In spaces where eyes meet
without flinching,
where bodies entangle joyously,
where fingers trace wounds
without claiming them,
here right here,
where
the divine spills sideways through
crevices in our certainty,
in the vector of horizontal holiness
embedded in touch.

There is no bowing,
no posturing,
for we become it and
make it in
membrane-thin moments
when judgment dissolves
as the two-way current runs between
god-making and being-made.

Not in cloud-throne, nor burning-bush,
but the delicate tension of fully seeing,
being fully seen,
living beyond mere language
in this awe-filled thing we make together
that transcends its makers.

In the silence between heartbeats,
where presence outweighs doctrine,
where love becomes intention without motive,
divinity pools in waiting spaces,
not only ones designated holy,
but precisely where we dare to meet
in our trembling humanity.

 

23/4/2025