There are so many doors in your body!
Portals hewn out by your ancestors
leading to the cavern of the drum

where you learn your great grandmother's dream,
the dream you always forget
at the moment of awakening
when you taste the clear blue nectar of the sky,
which is her plan for you each morning.

There are doorways for your wandering breath,
like holes in a flute, like pastel oases
in a brown desert.
O and the mouth of the well
filled with sounds of emptiness
you lean dangerously over,
awaiting some frog plop in deep final waters.

This is the moment of death.
And the next moment too.
Love has no story.
Listen, listen… ripples of silence.
Don't close this door!

The vestibule is formless space
but once you step inside you comprehend
the seven shapes of the broken swords
of blessed helplessness, splayed like flowers,
the wounds and healings you used to call

Now you're in a chamber where
they all happen at once.
Don't name this, just listen.

I'm not denying that the earth
is an emerald softness shimmering
beneath your ribs,
and you're already there.

I'm not saying there aren't other gateways
carving themselves into your flesh,
one inside another, using jeweler's tools,
littler and littler blades, each with its twinge
of unspeakable happiness.

I'm just telling you
that wherever you are right now,
you may enter...


You can indulge
in the high risk behavior
of an extreme sport
to get your momentary
adadrenrenalalinin rush...
Or you can take the risk
of being Present
right here
in a green gold meadow
dancing with poppies
not far from your own
back yard.
Why not take

the ultimate risk
right now?
Hang over the edge 
of infinity
by this breath.
Cultivate deep gratitude
for the grace of the ordinary.
Make each gentle footstep
an experience
of extreme Being.