Uradiance

  God spoke to me, or maybe it was a hummingbird. This is what invisible wings inscribed on air: I don't want your Oneness, I want your Nearness. The world is not saved by your political opinion, your argument for or against. The world is saved by your blessing. And how do you bless the world? You smile, not from your lips, but from your chest. You breathe, knowing that everyone on earth is breathing this breath. The way you walk, the way you sit, the way you recline then rise to stand again before the faithful sun, the way you wield your grandfather's hoe, your grandmother's cup, you demonstrate to friend and foe alike the mere majesty of Being. Photo: Penn State University News

     Become irrelevant. Then you can dance. Become useless. Then you can observe, unobserved. Threatening no one, you are a secret agent of the Most High. Not understanding what in hell is going on, you gather the intelligence of the unknown and reveal the prophecy of silence. People don't notice your body, its pebbles and chinks where spiders nest, its deer trails spiraling nowhere, the dandelions growing from your cracks. Your mansion crumbles and you become a field of grass too low and green for storms to knock down. You wither to wisps of brown. A forest mother weaves you into a mat for her baby. You are so finely woven, you hold water for shepherds who watch under the stars. And when you have truly become nobody, the Goddess breathes you. You are filled with light even while your flesh is sleeping. Photo: Shepherd in the Dolomites, from The Guardian

Breathe out, sink into your heart, enter the Bindhu of eternity where worlds are born.  Breathe in, be filled with starlight from your belly to your crown.  Where did you think creation happened? Up above? Out there?  No, dear friends, it happens in your chest.  I would suggest, rather than looking at my silly face,  you close your eyes and let this happen as a meditation inside you.