Prose Poem: The Hidden World

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In the past I liked heavy snowfalls, but now I yearn for the sun. Even noonday heat wouldn’t feel unpleasant to me. How amazing it is, that there’s pleasure hiding behind the negation in the word «unpleasant».

Isn’t this the light born in the darkness, the light that the darkness cannot overcome? Isn’t longing for joy hidden in suffering, freedom in restraint, health in sickness? Hasn’t it been said: «I am come to heal the sick and deliver the captives»? So summer is hiding in winter, sunshine in a gray sky, miracle in everyday life.

The question: why is the miraculous invisible, truth unobvious, God hiding himself?

Perhaps, this world is not the final point of evolution yet, but is a still moment of another world emerging, one where miracles and truth will no longer be hidden from our eyes? What we see with our inner vision and feel with our heart becomes visible, and this transition to the new world takes place here and now, in every single moment, between inhale and exhale, between life, death, and new life shining through it again. Shadow, suffering, and pain are only mother’s dark void the new world is born from to become pure light.

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