Twelve Inhalations of Light

Take twelve inhalations of Light. Then see.
After days of rain the sky melts into pools of cobalt, rivers of gold. The air caresses and stings at 60 degrees.

I stand nowhere special, everywhere sacred, barefoot on wet moss, leaning back to drink long body-breaths of gold.

In through my forehead, down through my ribs, out through my belly: I am the sun’s hollow path.

Because this fire inspires my skin, seeds tremble with nectar. Every cell in my loam is an ocean. I am the fifth element.

Infinitesimal benevolent bacteria wriggle in the body of the earth, moving me to meditation. They glisten, therefor I Am.

Beneath the deathless stones, larvae uncurl, awakening my prayer, as my prayer awakens them. Transcendence is causation.

I dance in the space between thoughts, where atoms of forsythia once were yellow waves of yearning in the zeal of a seed.

A bursting bud of peony proves that God is nothing less than the ultra-violet pollen of desire.

Enter your bridal bower, Lady. I am the garden, you are the Spring.

After a long Winter’s journey, let us become the one we are. My heart has two chambers, pouring the wine back and forth.

Like chalices of wanting, like flowers of blood, we are both empty and full.

I worship Shakti, the primeval dancer, in the form of soil, my own body, and the good worm.

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