“your life is hidden with Christ”

Wrapped in your own appendages

Fetally bowed:

Warm, blind, elastic

Gently burrowed



By the soft skin of

Your mother’s fluid


Under brown earth

Under dragging feet, under

The whimpers and

Shouts and snarls

Of Toil.

Your heart beats loud

With the hum of

Happy Solitude.

Awaking then to

Endless, White, Blankness

(here, finally, content)

Of the hiddeness of Christ.



I heard a homily lately that indicated that times of crisis or severe anxiety occur when our carefully curated identities – our senses of confidence – are broken down by life circumstances, by inescapable change. Sometimes the things that shape who we are can become all we consider ourselves to be. We’re more than that, and I think it helps to remember at the end of the day that we can let go of our advertised selves or supposed identities and still be alive and capable of enjoying the things that make our lives so rich.