On the Mystery of the Incarnation

It’s when we face for a moment
The worst our kind can do, and shudder to know
The taint in our own selves,
That awe
Cracks the mind’s shell and enters the heart:
Not to a flower, not to a dolphin,
To no innocent form
But to this creature vainly sure
It and no other is god-like, God
(out of compassion for our ugly
Failure to evolve) entrusts,
As guest, as brother,
The Word.

-by Denise Levertov

Levertov follows nicely after yesterday’s poem, which ends with this line: “let me go there” while looking at the world and all its chaos. In this world, the state it is in, we are not necessarily ready for company to come. But the guest comes anyway.

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