May this be a morning of innocent beginning,

When the gift within you slips clear

Of the sticky web of the personal

With its hurt and its hauntings,

And fixed fortress corners,

 

A morning when you become a pure vessel

For what wants to ascend from silence,

 

May your imagination know

The grace of perfect danger,

 

To reach beyond imitation,

And the wheel of repetition,

 

Deep into the call of all

The unfinished and unsolved

 

Until the veil of the unknown yields

And something original begins

To stir toward your senses

And grow stronger in your heart

​

 

John O'Donohue