Uradiance

   This must be the answer. The milky way is your breath. You are made of  starlight from so far away, it only now arrives in your body. Barefoot  in wet moss,     you gaze into the glitter of midnight  unnaming  the creatures. Full moons float on an ocean  in every cell of your bones. This wild and holy silence is your only religion. It is called, "Bewilderment."  Having been veiled, you  unveil,  and having  dreamt, you  undream  the past and future. Opening your palms,  you hold  the sky, all its worlds so  weightlessly delightfully  uncertain and possible.  At last you have something  to give. Photo: Wally Pacholka

  God spoke to me, or maybe it was a hummingbird. This is what her invisible wings inscribed on the air... I don't want your Union, I want your Nearness. Love is Two melting into Zero,  so much more than One. No philosophy but play. The world isn't saved by your political opinion, arguing 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 golden breath. By 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  the majesty of merely  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