The Bog

The Source

The undulating wood slopes down To the rhythm of mountain streams... If you want to find the source, You have to go up, against the current. Break through, search, don't yield, You know it must be here somewhere. Where are you? Source where are you?!

Silence... Stream, woodland stream, Tell me the secret Of your origin! (Silence- why are you silent? With what care you have hidden the mystery Of your origin!)

Let me wet my lips In spring water, To feel its freshness, Its life-giving freshness.

The Source is from The Poetry of John Paul II, Roman Triptych Meditations. We tend to look for our Source in one particular place. That place is a bog filled with deeply engraved beliefs. But the Source of that bog is not in the mud of those beliefs, so we try to dance our way out of this bottomless bog. As the dance progresses, the spirit and the flesh mingle like mating water drops in a loving current. The innate music in our genes mimics the sound of that current.

As the bog disappears in this encapsulating current, we disappear with it. But we're not lost. We are in every drop of the invisible bog and in every musical note of the recurring current.