There is someone in me who wants me dead,
some sadistic King Herod looking to behead
the newborn Other in the manger inside me.

It is unbearable to this King Self to be subordinate
to anyone, even someone within, and yet the King
Self cannot help but see all others as superior.

Everyone has something to kill for.
That one is more attractive, that one more spontaneous;
That one is kinder, that one gentler.

All are greater. The King is the least
of God’s doomed children, a lone creature,
a pitiful beast, destined to wander

like some grotesque Frankenstein
over the dividing mountains
with his unearthly self.

Walking with intent purpose to destroy
himself, King Herod, yet unable to bring forth
the Other while on this path of destruction.

Only by allowing Herod to be, it seems,
can the unseen one
find space to grow within.

There is now a vast chasm between Herod
and the newborn Herod wants dead,
but as the infant looks curiously into this void,

the space itself, and the violence
the space has created, borne of separation,
lessens. There remains always

a space, a space forever
large or small enough to ensure
the newborn in the manger keeps being born.