a poem for Christmas eve
Glorious, how the sun touched the waves,
how just this morning the clouds shifted
and mountains peeked over tree tops
their faces flaring with golden light.
Glorious, the warm hug,
old hands on a small head,
tea poured out,
framing smiles with sweet aroma and steam.
And glorious this hand resting on the Tan Tein,
the Seat of Heaven,
just below my belly button,
where breath rises and falls like the restless ocean.
The very center of balance,
where my two sons grew,
and a novel
and yes, even the glance of God
How we dance this circle!
The birthing and the dying,
the breathing in and breathing out,
beginnings and endings touching fingertips
year after year.
And all we really can cry into that center,
Into the living Name and Word,
Return to Christmas Eve
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