Stay Pilgrim
I can only feel sorry for anyone who says, “You are not this body.” My heartbeat is the name of the Friend. My breath is the Goddess, her very form of beauty rising from sacrum to crown. Hidden behind seven flowers, Jesus and Magdalene kiss in the vineyard of my flesh. Every initiation, every mystery, has been revealed beneath the open dome of my fontanel, where neurons are entangled with the trompe l'œil stars. My fetus was pierced with doorways, wounded with portals to higher worlds before I was born. In this cathedral of bones, what Bride and Groom ascend the nave of my vertebrae to be united in the sanctuary of a single Eye? My own Father and Mother? My first ancestors perhaps? Or those two mournful exiles returning to the garden to walk with me in the cool of the evening while trillions of tiny ocean globes sing the sun t...