Text: Jan Richardson

Perhaps it does not begin.
Perhaps it is always. 

Perhaps it takes
a lifetime
to open our eyes,
to learn to see — 

the luminous line
of the map
in the dark

the vigil flame
in the house
of the heart

the love
so searing
we cannot keep
from singing,
from crying out.

Perhaps this day
the light begins in us.
We are where the light begins.
Perhaps it does not begin.
Perhaps it is always.