It comes freely,

nothing done

to earn its coming,

prepared as a gift

by the womb home

            then emerging forth

            into a new world

            with no soft cushion

            to ease the struggle,

            no sure guides

                        to show the way

                        as the passage begins

                        and flows like a current

                        through joy and despair,

                        rising and falling

            exploring the crevices

            in shadows and light

            sometimes alone

            sometimes in crowds

            always searching

for moments of meaning,

hoping for lasting

songs of the soul

as it passes so quickly

a fleeting glimpse

            a brief breath of air

            the winds of time

            may hardly notice,

            yet this profound gift

            is all we have

                        and finding

                        the Center

                        requires that I

                        have the courage

                             to dance

                                   in the

                                         fire

                                             of the

                                                 edges.

(Included in  Through the Mist, Copyright Dudley Weeks, 2002]