The soul lies open
in the stillness of God,
where nothing stirs but mercy
and the faint echo of its own longing.

The river moves without sound,
washing away what clings,
leaving only what is ready
to be embraced.

The heart remembers itself,
all that it withheld,
all that it feared to offer.
The remembering is not harsh;
it unfolds slowly,
a revelation of tender light.

The fire burns
not to consume,
but to illuminate
the hidden corners of desire
where love was lost or ignored.

No voice interrupts the silence,
only the quiet of presence,
teaching the soul to yield
and to trust
the patient hand of God.

Each breath becomes prayer,
each sorrow a seed,
each longing a path
leading inward
toward a light
that has waited forever
and waits still.

Then the soul rests,
stripped of all but love,
weightless in grace,
drawn without effort
into the arms of the Beloved,
where nothing remains
that is not luminous.