A poem …

 Nicodemus 

There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews: the same came to Jesus by night, and said unto him, Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him. 

Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.

I heard what he said about the law

Being made for man, not the other way

Around. And unrest laid hold of me. Sleep came

Only in snatches, leaving my nights swathed

In barren awareness, my mind a chamber

Black and empty, the darkness within echoing

The darkness without. The law, you see, had shaped 

My life, or so I dreamed. His words clutched

My heart,  brought it to life, making me

See how it was I had shaped the law to shield

Myself from mystery, reducing everything

To mere occasions, opportunities for sin

Or salvation. The law intends to codify

The good. Except the good is boundless as night

And sky, star glow and darkness, immeasurable

As the heart, that necessary instrument for navigating life.

Reason can sketch and guess and calculate,

Uncannily, from time to time, but always

Leaves out what counts, identifying things, as it does,

Only by accidents they have in common. For me,

The law was just a pin to stab a butterfly.

For him, it was a seed opening into stem

And branch, leaf and blossom, bearing fruit

For nourishing. Where I saw rogues and wantons,

He beheld eternal offspring. The law craves

Certainty. Only there is none. We see that

From the start, and run away, thinking to hide

And putter about in some attic of dissection

And surmise, devising artifacts demanding faith

As great as any simple taboo or command.

I went to see him. We met in secret, late at night,

Amid shadow and moonlight. One must be born

Again, he said, of water and the spirit. I did not

Understand. Nor was meant to. His was not a notion

To think upon and figure. His words made gestures,

Conjuring a feeling for being, the breathing in

And out of life, its buoyancy and flow, from trickle

To torrent, stillness and depth, wind and wave conjoined

In fragrance, flavor, and caress, vision and sound and sense.

We parted in silence. I had inquired. He had answered.

Nothing was left to say, nothing being all was left. Of me

At least. Bearing a lantern home near dawn — clouds 

Crowding the moon away  — I felt myself turn

Into a knowing absence, awareness and sensation

Intact, but no identity attached or needed. All was

Wordless, each flower wearing its own perfume,

The birds a chorus of arias, every color's every shade

Its very own light-burst, each and all breathing and flowing,

And what remained of me present only to serve as witness.

Come daylight, the common world faded back

And beckoned. But I was not quite there. Time,

Embracing space embracing me, had dwindled

To a point expanding outward in every direction.

Bereft of duration and position, I felt I needed

To assent to something, but could not think what, then

Sensed a stirring, like a drop of mist, or puff of wind,

Were wind softest whisper and mist merest sigh, 

Breathing an invitation to agree to be, consent

To happen, bear witness to being made. I watched 

Myself take place, as, when a child, my father sat me

Across his lap upon his horse, and galloped across

The meadow. I saw at once how I could live like that.

And I wanted to. The wanting proved an act of will.

I became complicit in my making, moving in time

With wind and wave, light and shade, the wayward tide.

And immediately the common world became again

My habitat, although it did not look the same, perhaps

Was not. For now I saw it from the angle of the breath

And flow of all besides.  I was riding a current I knew not

Whither. Life had become  a wonder and a terror. I cared not

Who it was I would become, or what would happen.

Intruding was the world of men, somehow askew,

Graceless and grotesque, each and all striving

For distinction, entangled in maneuvers of their own

Devising, ruffians at  play. I was in attendance,

Made free in my obedience. As it happens, everything is

Perfectly in order. Only the performers are mostly

Out of step. The few who aren't stand in peril

From the rest. That is where the law comes in:

It catalogues the missteps. Those are all it knows.

His end was preordained. At his trial I spoke on his behalf,

Citing, naturally,  a point of law, only to be countered

With a quote from Scripture. Such a dying, what it does

To flesh and tells of life, bears little thinking on. 

I and the Arimithean arranged his burial. Two mornings

Later the tomb was empty and many swore thereafter

They had seen and spoken with him. I was not

Among those, needing no assurance. He imparted

To me myself that night. I felt loved simply

For being. Felt ashamed as well, at so often thwarting

My creation. I assented to obey his prompts. 

So have I done, and shall continue to.

Come what may, I will act as he directs.