This is the Ray
By Hala Shrouf

This is the ray that has kept me alive until now.
I gaze upon the scene from the highest branch of a tree
as I cannot extend that to memory:
The grass is free in the wind’s embrace,
The wind is free sweeping over the river’s water,
The river is free on its way to land,
The road is free on its own.

I see nature’s artistry in its storytelling:
The wind emerges from the wind, leaving behind the echo,
The river emerges from the river, leaving behind pebbles in its bed.

The night emerges from the night, and darkness remains unchanged.
Light emerges from light, and the road stands still.
This is a destination I have never reached:
The starting point of anything.

In the desired places, I said:
I bless you, O distance!
O great creation of the Lord and wisdom,
O temple for the spirit,
O beacon of clarity,
O strength, a corner stone facing the storm’s fury,
O solace of a heavy heart.

In the darkest hour of the eternal moments, I said:
I bless you, O darkness,
You veil of angels and their protection.
You, my ladder to the depths of my being.
You, my master of faith.
You, my strength in the raging storm.
You, my lightness in the arm of the fire.

In the moment of killing, of death, I said:
I bless you, O death,
You destination of all beings,
You, barrier in all roads,
You, the release of all souls,
You, a lever for humans to the ultimate Cedar in heavens,
You, a star’s way to extinction,
You, the master of all parables.

This is the question that resurrected me in the mountains,
in the form of a majestic woman,
crowning me with a new awareness, a light:
What can I bless you with, O pain, except with harvest?