Breaking Open the Seed of Love

Breaking open the seed of love, 

watching that seed die and transform, 

into a shower of love, 

of commitment, 

of meaning, 

of Spirit. 

Walking with that transformed seed 

into the darkness of night, 

into the desert of hopelessness, 

into the sea of despair. 

Each step heavier, 

each breath a weight 

upon my chest. 

But there, in the silence, 

in the heart of the desert, 

a whisper begins— 

soft, insistent, 

stirring like the wind 

that shifts the sand. 

Coming up from that desert, 

that sea of despair, 

with new life pulsing 

through veins once dry. 

My hand in Jesus’s hand, 

steady, unwavering, 

guiding me to a threshold, 

to a door carved 

in the fabric of night. 

He opens it, 

and light rushes forth, 

a golden torrent 

of promise and peace. 

A new existence, 

a new presence, 

a revelation that shows me 

I too am that dying seed, 

breaking, 

changing, 

becoming. 

A seed of hope, 

a seed of meaning, 

rooted deep in unseen soil. 

In the breaking, 

in the shedding, 

in the quiet fall to the ground— 

life bursts forth. 

And I know now 

that each moment of surrender, 

each moment of darkness, 

is not an end 

but a beginning, 

a sacred transformation. 

The seed becomes the tree, 

the despair becomes the song, 

the hand of Christ 

the bridge 

over every shadowed valley. 

I am that seed, 

cracked and split, 

yet destined 

for bloom.

(c) R. Gordon Zyne