Drop the reins
and let the camel lead you.
Drop thinking and follow
the rising falling animal
in your chest.
Cross the desert of wordless prayer
to the birthplace in the valley
of your missing rib,
where the Unspeakable answers you
with a body, the odor of fur
in the half-light of amazement,
and a lady gazes down into the straw.
Impossible sunbeams ascend
to her face, her countenance enchanted
not so much with wonder
as with certainty
that nothing could ever surprise her again.
She is immaculate silence,
the fecundity of the dark.
She gives birth to light before conception.
Her void is moist with stars,
yet She who cradles them all
has become your breath.
There is wine between thoughts,
joy and sorrow mingled in one cup.
and be the mother
of your own heart.