Just Below The Heart
Just below the heart and just above the solar plexus, to be precise, is a temple in the valley of grace. And here, two fingers' width in front of your chest, to be precise, is a flame that does not burn but gives sweetness. It is like cotton spun from fibers of starlight. All triangles point here. All equations are balanced by the breath this space holds. The constellations, those beasts of silence, gather to drink from this spring which Jesus called the well of everlasting life. Milarepa called it the jewel at the center of the lotus, this flower of the Self that falls in love with its own bee-drowning fragrance, this jewel whose ineffable proportions drive mathematicians mad in search of beauty. Perhaps the name of "Krishna" will draw you here, perhaps the name of "Jesus," or the secret name of the Goddess born on vapors of surrender. All such names are just the sound of your heartbeat...