It is difficult to see it from here, I know,
but trust me when I say
this blessing is inscribed on the horizon.
Is written on that far point you can hardly see.
Is etched into a landscape whose contours
you cannot know from here.
All you know is that it calls you,
draws you, pulls you toward
what you have perceived only in pieces,
in fragments that came to you
in dreaming or in prayer.
I cannot account for how, as you draw near,
the blessing embedded in the horizon
begins to blossom
upon the soles of your feet,
shimmers in your two hands.
It is one of the mysteries of the road,
how the blessing you have traveled toward,
waited for, ached for suddenly appears,
as if it had been with you all this time,
as if it simply needed to know
how far you were willing to walk
to find the lines that were traced upon you
before the day you were born.
© Jan Richardson (from Circle of Grace)