kiss upon the threshold

Mystery has come knocking, and I have opened up the door. She wants to know if I’ll come out to play. Standing in the threshold now, the vastness beckons me, and I find that I can scarcely keep my heart from leaping. Though these sturdy walls that stand behind me have been shelter from the storm… the hearth has been warm, the larder full…. I can clearly see that winter has long passed, and sometimes late at night, I have heard Love crying, pounding, pressing, and pleading with these walls to be set free. I realize I have been standing in this doorway for some time, inviting all that came knocking here to enter. Always making room for more, squeezing, fitting everything somehow, because I trusted that these walls could hold it all and that in here, contained and embraced by Love we would be safe.

But now Mystery arrives, at first gentle as a breeze to slip across the sill, then insistent as a gust to press upon the door, finally flinging it wide open, seeking, nay demanding entrances…. Yet refusing to linger, and I know that this One will not be captured nor contained, not even in a palace grand as this. Her fingers life my skirt, may hear, and swirl about my body, passing easily through my boundary to peek invitingly inside, offering to exchange surprising freshens for the sudden staleness of this space… She flows and blows and rushes … until at last I turn to notice that these walls have crumbled, like sand beneath her waves, as if this once-solid structure was somehow nothing but a temporary tent.

And I am, with the sand, drawn out into Her wildness, into Her untamable, unnamable, vastly uncontainable expanse, into depths unknowable, uncharitable, unfathomable. Yet, incomprehensible to me, I am embraced by Her spaciousness in a way such as I have never known within Love’s shack. And somehow it is I who have been opened; it is I who have somehow embraced what cannot be embraced except by this letting go. As if I am no longer a grain of sand at all, but a drop of water inseparable and undividable from this wave that carries me…..

Still even in this moment I know that I stand merely y on the edges of Her shore, for always she retreats beyond my grasp, even as She lures me deeper with Her song, and Her wildness beckons me to slip again, o’er the edge, into Her waters, not as an observer of Her grandeur, but as a swimmer in Her depths.

The hourglass tips and the flow of sand rushes once again through the opening in me …. Yes, sometimes it is like this, this feeling of the threshold between Love and Mystery, as if a narrow gateway has been blown into my contours, and I stand in the slender space that connects bowl to bowl. The grains of sand slip past, one by one, each experience, each memory, each moment, at once contained by Love, now flipped to be received by Mystery as my awareness shifts.

Perhaps then Love and Mystery are merely mirrors of each other… Word and Flesh, Spirit-Body, Presence-Form, Infinite-Finite…. On either side of the fulcrum that is Life, except the bowl that beckons me feels entirely uncontained, so much more vast than this crumbling form of Love. This One who draws me out is bottomless and shapeless, infinite, unending….

And so perhaps this space in which I stand is instead the place into which the funnel was inserted, to channel the immeasurable into this blessed container, allowing me to becomes so utterly intoxicated on Love….

Oh, perhaps we are tossed upon the beach for a time in order to be grounded in the nourishment of Love, holed up in Loves’ shelter in order to be wholed. Until the day when the door is flung wide open and we are gathered by the power of the tide to be swept away, and then we see that those very walls that sheltered us within Her precious bosom prevented us from opening to Her. and on that day we are amazed at how the vastness of her once seemingly elusive presence explodes into our awareness , at how the One that we have so ruthlessly called upon, unexpectedly appears when we cease imprisoning her by calling her by name. And our own nurture hearts of Love are carried across the threshold y Mystery to explode into he wild unruly spaciousness of that which we are invited now to see.

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