"And your very flesh shall be a great poem." --Walt Whitman
Each sensation is a portal to eternity.
Our eyes, ears, nostrils and tongue are ancient spiritual practices bestowed at the Great Initiation, the moment of our birth.
Virescent wisp of just-unfolded fern dissolving on the retina; thrush song fading into forest silence of the inner ear; scent of bee-filled golden-chain laburnum; touch of rain-fragrant breeze; this very breath returning to caverns of blood; and the subtlest sacrament of all: a passing thought witnessed, un-grasped, vanishing into silent awareness.
In no other world are such profound practices entrusted to the spiritual seeker. The Great Initiation of human birth bestows on us the priestly garment of flesh, anoints us with the oil of pleasure and pain, and opens to us the temple of holy sensation, where we offer every perception back to its original radiance.
How many celestial princedoms, arch-angelic hosts and inter-galactic powers await their moment of human blessing, when they too will take birth on this planet of roses and thorns, this vale of milk and tears, awakening awareness through the experience of opposites? We shall gain liberation from the flesh by the very flavor of it, "Taste and see that the Lord is good!" (Psalm 34)
Awareness cannot awaken in paradise, where poppy fields pour forth their bliss in one somnambulant continuum. Awareness is birthed in bewilderment, amid earthly contrasts, every moment a startle, a paradox, a contradiction of matter and spirit, breaking chains of judgment and expectation.
Therefor, at the sound of the mourning dove in a bell-glade of mist, I fall down and cry, "Sanctus!"