Here's a secret: friction of breath on flesh
ignites the grace of the Beloved in your body.
You were meant to be born.
A Goddess of inconceivable beauty
yearns to nurse you with streams of wild joy.
There has never been a more perfect time
When grace overflows your soul,
it takes the form of gristle and bone.
Why not savor the salty taste?
There’s a reason why pain shapes you
into a dark chalice; why you have such
hollow roots and empty places inside you;
why a green syllable spirals up your stem,
forming a cry of two petals;
why mother coyote sighs, birthing her pups
among ferns, and a chant of fire
bursts from the lungs of the dying soldier.
Now fall into the grail of pollen between
outgoing and incoming prayers.
Repose in the silent kiss of breath on breath,
the touch of 'So’ham' against your chest.
Ashtavakra says, 'Layam vraja: dissolve now!'
When the inner sky of love
annihilates this dream of clouds,
your skin will contain both heaven and earth.
Sheathe a warrior’s blade in your softest inhalation,
a blue flame of dispassion inside
the golden flame of yearning.
God is the aura within the aura: this wickless blaze.
Feel the nerve of lightning in your spine's hollow
where the earth dangles from the sun.
Exhale and slay ten thousand fears.
Your surrender heals oceans and forests.
With the breath of the moon in your gaze,
turn every stranger's wounded eye
into a cave of diamonds.
Photo by Aile Shebar