A pane breaks into water as we enter deathand burial to imitate Christ. Faith is measuredthis way, by one’s willingness to submitto what one cannot comprehend. We rise upas new creatures, but in what sense have weshifted? In those seconds under water’ssmooth door, do our bodies lap overthis world’s edge to the next? Do the angelswho see us rejoiceto bear witness before we rise up, closingthe door between us? Our lives’ balanceon the wing of what we give up, yet desire.A bird imitates, but is said to have noperception. Yet some believe it was a birdwho plunged the primordial sea,bringing mud to the surface to form the earthwe’re made from; their wings opening in the shapeof a cross, our fondest dreams of flight.
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