Stay, Pilgrim
F eel sorry for one who declares, “I am not this body.” Gently ask, "Dear one, who is I? An undigested morsel of pork from last night's begging bowl?" Then point to the heart and say, this beat of two syllables is the name of the Friend. This breath is the Goddess, rising like frankincense from sacrum to crown. Hidden under seven flowers, Jesus and Magdalene kiss in the vineyard of this flesh. Every initiation, every mystery revealed beneath the dome of my fontanel, open to the night, neurons entangled with trompe l'œil stars. This fetus pierced with doorways, wounded with portals to other worlds before I was born. Ah, this cathedral of bones: what Bride, what Groom ascend the nave of my vertebrae, to be united in the sanctuary of a single Eye? My father and Mother perhaps? My first ancestors? Or those two mournful exiles returning to the garden, to walk ...