have not ascended to my Father yet.’
Was this a censure from her Rabboni
that took the edge of joy from her bruised heart?
Or was it said affectionately: did
he smile, and gently show her how to face
the aching sorrows of the days ahead,
to journey onward without his embrace?
It can be hard to let go of the now,
to trust that, like the lilies of the field
our naked spirits will be clothed anew;
that like the birds, we will be fed, and filled
with fire and spirit from the Holy Dove,
today’s safe comforts dwarfed by future love.
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