Uradiance

Full grok in wondrous suchness sole to soul and sol of solitude the sun my bare feet mouths that hunger for a lunar pulse the Ourobóros of my serpent spine with wounded skull devouring dust in Hebrew "adamah" the breath and spirit one in ancient languages of flesh that tell us how to feel not how to think the Qi the Ruuh the Pneuma Shakti pun of shock electric Goddess bellowing Adámic sod into a living person "nephesh" from the verb "nephash" to breathe and yes ye soles unshod be free to wander in my garden now beneath the new moon of first planting and inhale from earthworm-toes to loamy fontanel through furrows of my cortex musky fountains alchemic of dark ‘shroom juice transmuting clod to consciousness a larva full of stars. Image: Walking meditation, from Buddha Weekly     

     "Judge not lest ye be judged." ~Mat 7:1 What we put our attention on grows in our life: first in our mind, then in our energy field, then in the world around us. This is how we manifest our "reality." We feed the leaves and petals as surely as the sun. And it's also how many of us unwittingly nurture precisely what we do not want. To worry is to feed and manifest our fear. To blame is to feed and empower the one's we call our "enemies." Yet none of us actually needs to cling to our negative judgments and feelings. Though this may sound like a colossal revelation, the world can survive without our opinions. We cling to them only because they make us feel "right" - even when our righteousness destroys the world. Yet we can drop our mental monologue of perpetual blame, because it is not who we really are. It is only mind, not awareness. We can breathe out judgment, relinquish the feel of being "right," and sink down ...

My religion is  walking barefoot  in wet moss unnaming the stars. Every religion got started this way, invented by a five-year-old at the edge of a meadow. On the first warm day of Spring, after days of late Winter rain, when the sky melts into pools of cobalt, rivers of amber  you could wade up to your knees in, I follow the Rx of doctor robin: “Take seven sunbeams, then see how you feel.” Standing nowhere special (anywhere is sacred)  I inhale the fallen grace of April, mud squished through my toes,  the holiest  anointing, a loam-gush from below, lean back, guzzling body beams of star-breath through my forehead, down the perineum, out my naked soles: I Am  the sun’s hollow path. My skin exudes the fire, therefore sprouts tremble with nectar,  braiding birth and death,  green-umber in thirsty pastures. Every cell of dust inhales the golden sea. I Am the fifth element. Infinitesimal benevolent bacteria...