Uradiance

      Rest ever so gently now guided by a scent of myrrh from the tower of voluptuous silence inside you. I speak of the Magdalene, that stairway of spiraling night in the frailest bones of your spine. No, do not ascend, but go down into the sacred underworld of your body. Penetrate the dark energy of absence and find a mysterious sepulcher in every pebble, every stone hollow as your own throat, a cup of Christ's blood in the first Spring flower. Taste the bread of the highest world in a plum bud. Her Spirit flows not from above but out of the sod into your naked feet, consuming your marrow in a green flame that undulated in your hollows before there was light. Now gaze through your vertebrae into a trillion stars. Or are they reflections in a deep well? Stillness knows no distance, no above or below. Let this breath be a kiss like the kiss of your father on your mother’s belly before...

 "I" channel the vast wisdom of "Am." There is no higher source to be  channeled than your own radiance. Reclaim your sovereignty.  This is the teaching of the Christ.

Advaita flowers in the play of lover and beloved. Every perception is a deeper kiss. Just to be awake is a wedding. Why not really listen to a vireo at dawn? Why not scent a wild hyacinth and fall into original wonder? There was another world before this one. It is still at your fingertips. We don't have enough words to say "love," so we have hands. We don't have enough hands to do love, so we have tears. We don't have enough tears to feel love, but we taste silence. Not even silence is vast enough to contain love, so we surrender. The soft morning rain has ended. The broken sun trembles at every fern tip like a morsel of bread, a memory of manna for wanderers. Now the vireo through its own voice returns from that world to this one healing your body with a song.

  In the very unity of Awareness, the Other is present as Self-awareness.  The embrace of the Friend is already here. You are never alone.  (Image: Rumi and his Friend, Shams of Tabriz)