Take some time for uncertainty.If the caterpillar knew what to becomeshe would die of yearning.Seeds penetrated by the moonburst open in blackness;their perfect bewildermentis the mind of nature.Bees feast on pollen with no concept of honey.Two lovers swim in sparkling juice,entangling your chromosomes, shapingyour body from their chaos of desire,but they've never seen your face.Flesh cannot conceive how manyfamilies of worms your death will feed.Fisted in pain, a lily's bud foretells
no fragrance, no Easter.Wait.Don't numb your heart with conclusions.Let shadows lie fallow untilan unanticipated radianceripens your grief like a poppy field.Be thistle rioting through cracks in asphaltreleasing silver slivers of seed-down.Choose for the corpse a lipstick color
like Audacious Plum, Petel Rebel,
Licorice Sin on the mouth of God.Wait for the kiss.Be a charred oak cask fermenting
your doubts into burgundy resurrection.
Best not to know yet.Take some time for uncertainty,that jeweler's blade, that shattered mirror,breast, and wickless flame.
If we only knew the soft light of the heart
we wouldn't call ourselves the Party
of the Left or the Right.
If we tasted the nectar in the chest
we wouldn't be natives or foreigners,
but guests in one wild honey field.
If we felt the warmth that
melts armor from within
we wouldn't be "for" or "against,"
Christian or Pagan, Muslim or Jew.
There would be no name for this
If we dropped down from the head
into the fragrant blossom
whose vine entangles all human ribs
in a single trellis,
we wouldn't say, I am "white" or "black."
We would say, "I am pollen."
And if we followed the stem of this breath
back to the seed of silence where
rainbows are born from royal darkness,
we wouldn't cry about the rich and poor.
We would all be hollow
and whisper to each other,
"It feels so good to hold you inside me."
Art by Ananda Vdovic
Dear one, you can dream
countless worlds without
falling into them.
Don't cling to stories,
and don't cling to the story
about not having one.
Then you can play in
the bubbling sea of silence,
where the vacuum sings
with virtual photons
that might or might not
the earth is born
from your gaze,
and intimate bodies dance
Not that there isn't an I,
but that trillions of selves
dissolve in each ripple
of the Void, all crying,
"Beloved!"Artwork by Ananda Vdovic