The Rapture is this breath.
The Judgment Day is the day
I drop my judgments.
The Second Coming, a thrush song
just before dawn.
The Holy Land, wherever
I take off my shoes
and feel the dust between my toes.
When the peony bursts open
in the morning sun
this mind is so astonished
it drops the concepts
of "one" and "two,"
"empty" and "full."
What does it mean to transcend?
It means not to go anywhere else.
Slip between two thoughts
and you are the sky.
Fall between the cracks
in your perfection
and drown in the original wound.
How did we receive this deep
healing laceration?
We were born here, on earth.
All names of God melt away 
like threads of last night's dew

in the golden chaos of silence.
The clarity of my mind is Buddha.
The wine that pours from
one cup of my heart into the other
is the sound of Krishna's flute.
If I were not already
a brilliant particle of Christ's body
I could not sing this.