Midwifing the Mystery

How We Tend What Has Not Yet Taken Form

There are moments when the words don’t come.

Not because there is nothing to say, but because what lives inside a person has not yet found a language. It moves like mist through the interior—tangible, but ungraspable. A presence more than a thought. A knowing that resists narration.

They sat across from each other, silent, eyes drifting toward the steam r…