[Poem – As Reading the Bible]

– “This is the song of my soul. This is my way of being with God — as a tenelach, walking where the Word breathes.”

In the beginning,

before clocks, before breath, before the first trembling thought, there was only God— a vast, listening presence holding the silence like a cupped hand.

And into that silence God whispered: Begin.

Light rose like a shy visitor entering a dark room. It did not shout. It simply appeared— soft, obedient, as if it had been waiting for centuries to be called by name.

God saw the light and smiled, for even the smallest brightness is enough to start a world.

Then God separated the quiet waters— lifting one into the sky, letting the other rest upon the earth. A gentle dividing, not a violent tearing. Creation, even then, was an act of tenderness.

And God whispered again: Begin.

The land rose from the deep, slowly, like an old man standing from prayer. Mountains stretched, valleys bowed, rivers found their paths as if guided by an unseen hand.

Trees appeared— first as thoughts, then as seeds, then as green breath reaching upward. Grass unfolded like a soft hymn. Flowers opened like small prayers.

And God saw that the world was learning to breathe.

Then came the lights— the great lantern of day, the gentle lamp of night, and the scattered sparks that keep lonely travelers company. God placed them with the care of a craftsman tightening two stubborn screws, making sure the sky would hold.

And God whispered: Begin.

The waters stirred with living things— silver flashes, quiet swimmers, creatures who knew how to praise God without words.

The air filled with wings— some beating wildly, some gliding like prayers carried on wind.

And God saw that movement was a kind of worship.

Then the earth brought forth animals— gentle ones, fierce ones, small ones who hide in the grass, and great ones who walk like mountains.

And finally— in the cool of the day— God shaped a human being from the dust and from His own breath. A creature of earth and eternity. A worker. A maker. A soul capable of love, regret, gratitude, and wonder.

A tenelach— a friend of God.

And God said: Begin.

Not once, but every morning. Every breath. Every trembling attempt to repair something broken. Every poem written in the quiet hours. Every act of kindness offered without applause.

Creation was not finished in seven days. It is still happening— in gardens, in workshops, in kitchens, in hearts that rise again after saying, “I cannot,” and then, after one long breath, “Perhaps I can.”

This is Genesis in the language of my soul: God begins the world, and then invites us to continue it.

To repair. To plant. To write. To love. To become.

This is the song of my soul. This is my way of being with God— as a tenelach, a quiet companion walking beside the Eternal with aging hands and an open heart.

• Tenelach (Irish) — a state of deep and mysterious communion with wind, water, trees, and the whole earth, in which a person can truly hear the song of the land. [Literal meaning] “A profound spiritual connection with nature.”