I’ve heard people talk about miracles –
about Jesus healing the sick or feeding the five thousand
about yogis who can levitate or survive without food
or monks who can dry wet sheets with their body heat.
But I’ve witnessed the greatest miracles of all.
I was there at the birth of my son.
I watched a fully formed human being
emerge from the body of another.
Still attached to his mother, he looked around,
confused, wondering where on earth he was.
I was as stunned as one of Jesus’s disciples.
Where had he come from? Where had he been?
How could such a perfect being
materialise out of nothing, like a phoenix?
And I was there at the death of my father.
I sat by his bed, watching and listening to every breath.
Then he paused, and the next breath didn’t come.
I looked into his eyes and realised he was gone.
His body was just an object, cold and hard as stone.
His consciousness had fled, like a bird out of a cage.
Where had he gone? How could he just vanish?
It was the ultimate disappearing act
worthy of Houdini himself.
And I sensed that birth and death aren’t opposites
that life has no beginning nor end
that death is not extinction but transition
to the next mysterious phase
of an endless, miraculous journey.
All best wishes and blessings for the festive season, Steve
