Space is not empty.
Space is pregnant, with possibility.
The space we give each other,
the more expansive it is,
the more we are committed to preserving it,
the more the space gives room for flourishing,
the more a space gives a place for truth.
The more we allow each other a place
to grieve, to doubt;
to question, lament, and rant;
release and confess.
The more the space becomes a womb
from which new life is nurtured and birthed.
Space is not absence.
Space is not washing our hands of care.
Space is presence at its most attentive.
Space is love in response to need.
And this space we give each other,
out of preference and grace,
this space is made to grow its contents,
to bring to life what is yet being conceived.
No space is never empty.
Whether blessed or devoid of empathy
it is a permeating presence.
A holy incubator
of germinating seeds.
And space that’s pregnant with possibility,
sown with good intents
becomes the means for life to be multiplied,
and for truth to shed its protective sheath.
To stand naked and counted,
a voice in the wilderness growing in strength.
That life might bloom,
and potential be reached
and the Body birth
its sacred gifts.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry