The Miracle That Leaves No Witness

“No mortal may see me and live.” (Exodus 33:20)

There was silence.
And silence was not absence.
It was the edge of breath.

The miracle arrives when the body freezes.
Not from fear. Not from awe.
But because it has met
what cannot be endured.

Knowledge entered the body.
Not as thought. Not as scripture.
As fire.

Semele asked to see Zeus.
And she saw.
And she did not survive.
Because the miracle cannot be carried.
It burns the one who still believes
that an “I” will remain.

You want to remember it.
But there is no one left to remember.

The one who lived before the miracle — is gone.
And so the miracle has no witnesses.
Only the emptiness after.

In that emptiness — ashes.
In those ashes — breath,
not yet yours,
but already inside you.

You begin to live on,
as if nothing happened.
But every gesture betrays:
you died.
And were assembled again.

The miracle is death without a grave.
The miracle is life
that will never prove there was death.

There is no story.
There is only trace.

And you carry that trace.
Not as memory.
As a new body.

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