What is a Miracle?

Greater Burdock, Arctium lappa, (4)

What is a miracle?
Something impossible,
But our view of what is possible
is as a speck in an ocean,
a droplet evaporating,
a moment forgotten.

What is a miracle?
Something that amazes,
But wonder is constantly resolving
into having, holding
and letting go.

What is a miracle?
It’s grace, the softening
that finds a way through
the hardest realities where violence
can do nothing but ricochet.

What is a miracle?
It’s everything, everywhere,
molecules just waiting to coalesce
under the watchful eye of a lover and dreamer,
the careful ministering of skilled hands and wise ears.

It is the seeing that brings it into focus–
The listening itself–
It can be spoken into being–

What is a miracle
if not all of that?
But what of the intractable situation
that blooms like burdock
with roots that resist the sharpest shovel,
so deep they have no beginning?
We chop it down
but it springs up again
when the ground softens
during the time when everything returns,
the good, the green, the sustaining–

The painful and hard places that,
like iron wrapped handkerchiefs,
drop from our pockets
and crack the ground we are trying to build on–
What of these places seemingly immune from wonder,
never content, never resolved,
always causing unrest,
begging for attention–
the hungry, squirmy, miserable children
we wish we had left home
so that we could shop and eat and laugh–

Look!  Look here!
Here is where our wondrous world view
needs to be turned loose.
Here is where our miracle needs to take hold.
But what shall we listen for?
Where shall we focus?
How shall we caress?
What song shall we sing?

If gravity holds together electrons in a wild jig
that makes the molecules that form the thing,
what is it that holds together the circumstance
that will not yield to wonder?
What is the dance of belief
that makes us think it cannot change
when everything we have
we have created because we thought we could?

What are we willing to be, to give up being,
What are we willing to have, to let go of,
In order to give this reality
we are piping and fiddling madly away at
a chance to stop, to pause, to hang up in its orbit,
for just a moment, less than a breath,
And then resume as something changed,
The essential elements rearranged?

We do it all the time in life,
if we’re lucky.
We wake right up and say, “No. This.” or
“Yes. Yes.”

What is a miracle
if not the improbable
and the impossible
meeting the intractable
in the field of being
called “I am?”

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