4/16/2018

A Short But Infinite Journey

Breathe through your forehead. Smell the stars. You have an eye in your chest that sees shadows as golden beams of surrender, an ear in your belly that hears the ocean of moonlight.

Now fall into your cavernous ancient brain. Light the dangling pituitary chandelier in the empty ballroom where the part of you who never sleeps is always whirling.

Don't linger. Descend to the wine cellar. Taste the burgundy that Jesus ages into blood from your amygdala cask, then plummet even deeper toward awakening.

Find the musty pump-house spring where all the lightless day and luminous night, newts, salamanders, and bullfrogs ponder, reposing in mindful reptilian brilliance, the wisdom your body wants more than a soul.

Look for the almond-flavored doorway covered in serpent skins. Gently push it open, muttering this spell: "Ameen, Ameen, and so it is." Now walk into whatever world you wish.


Amygdala-shaped mandala by Hildegarde of Bingen

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