11/19/2017

By His Grace

Without the Master's grace, it is only a word, a sound. By the Master's grace, it is an ocean of fire.

Without the Master's grace, it is effort, control, concentration. By the Master's grace, it is whirling, expanding, falling, being held.

Without the Master's grace, it is only the mind trapped in thoughts about "God." By the Master's grace, there is no thought; there is only the physiology of starlight, every neuron immersed in the nectar of the sun.

Without the Master's grace, an atom of this body is a particle, weary with density and mass. By the Master's grace, this body is a wilderness of love-waves.

It is that very sea of fire, dancing. It is that oceanic Name of Her who sings us into being.

Therefor I bow down,  bow down, bow down. Yet even bowing happens by the Master's grace.


And what is this bow? A true bow, a complete bow, only happens when we surrender to the mystery of not knowing why. The moment your forehead touches the earth, your head shatters into trillions of galaxies.

The spiral of your dumbfoundedness en-wombs all god and goddess forms with immaculate motherhood. But only for an instant, which you forget forever.

And that is why true mystics become fools who feel inexplicably drawn to bowing for no reason.



Passionflower

Devotion has many flavors: sweet, bitter, spicy, or tasteless and clear as sky. Sometimes it's the bouquet of divine love with passionate hints of the soul's pain; sometimes the dissolving of the two in one trembling scentless silence. We lose so much when our palate insists on one flavor only.

Photo: passiflora incarnata, or passion flower

11/18/2017

Weary

World-weary?
Perhaps what wearies you
is not the world
but your own mind.
It's time to make
a pilgrimage
from the furrow
in your brow
to the temple
in your chest.
The distance isn't far,
merely an exhalation,
yet many lose their way
and turn back.
No voice will lead you.
Voices come from the past.
You're not going there.
You're moving
into the ancient now.
Just follow the song
of the next bird.
Travel light.
Abandon names.
Always choose the path
that leads downward
into deeper green,
the valley, not the mountain.
Rooted in loss,
find the place
where there is no ground.
return to your first breath.
Take it again
and again.