At the Last

At wave's last caress on warm sand
the asymptote where breath ebbs
breath begins, t'shuvah, the turning
at the vacuous birth of the photon
the ayin soph, that trembling darkness
in the fractal dew of meeting lips
at the undulation of rose on the edge of the moon
at the lingering pulse, a free-fall in the chest
a lover's glyph in the poem of the body
at the meld and melting of our gaze
two and not two
cerulean dilations of uncreated light
at the wedding in the Presence of the master
our mouths to the cup
never to thirst again.


O anxious one, your world is
your mirror.
O peaceful heart, your world is
your mirror.
O mad with love, naked and dancing,
the world shatters
with your light!

Sunday Morning Meditation


I cannot stop the noise
But I can become the Silence.

I cannot end the spinning madness
of the world, but I can witness it.
The witness is eternal peace.

Why try to keep a little flame burning?
Just let it go out, embrace the night.
This embrace ignites your breast
with darker sweeter fire.

Some say that meditation is control:
"resist the wandering of attention!"
I say that meditation is not controlling anything.
Be a wanderer, abandon your mind!

We all fell in love
billions of years ago.
Why resist our falling now?

The soul flows where it adores.
Just whisper the name of your sweetheart
and watch things dissolve into nothing.

The flute of surrender,
the silence of bewilderment...

None of this takes any work
if you're willing to sell everything you have
for wonder.

The seed does not resist,
the egg does not resist,
the bud does not resist
this terribly soft explosion
of beauty -
the wine, the blood, the rose.

(Photo: Remnant of a supernova explosion called 'Puppis A' 

seen as a red dusty cloud in this image from NASA Hubble.)