Sahaj Meditation

To the one I meet
in the garden of Sahaj
at the end and beginning
of every breath,
a song...

Let this exhalation transport me
down from the palace of the heart
to the lakeside, the swan
of your Presence.

With the speed of light we gaze
yet never quite annihilate
each others faces.

This is how, in the abyss,
we make wine out of stars.
Two stillnesses, one dawn.
I take your hand.

Bees stir the pollen
in tiny potent cups of moonlight
mingled with the morning rain.
You teach me the secret name
for “Overflowing.”

Now let white wings
of the breath of Ham’sa
carry us back
to the palace again.
What happens there
in the Bridal Chamber
cannot be confided in words,
only by pressing these lips
to the hollow flute...


Jesus spoke (I lie, it was the open mouth
of a morning glory uttering one last
breath of starlight):
"I did not come here to forgive you."

The bloodthirsty panther of the new moon
whispered, "Then why are you here?"
(I lie, it was the eyes of trillium in a hemlock kunj)

Jesus answered (I lie, it was this very tongue,
entering my chest like a paring knife,
flooding my body with strawberry wine)
"So that you could forgive yourself.
Now love the brokenhearted killer."

I heard the up-spiraling thrush’s song
in disappearing mist above the wetlands.
Swamped corpses of fallen angels
unveiled themselves.

I do not lie when I tell you that I am awake now.
This morning I breathe through the soles of my feet.
Mud gushes up through my toes.
The bones of the earth are the bones of heaven.
I kneel Godlike to green.