Uradiance

Moons, planets! Don't tell me how to whirl. You have your dance, I have mine. If everyone would just stop  trying so hard to live in harmony  and not offend each other  we could stumble like drunken pilgrims, laughing and lifting up  these broken hearted children, ourselves,  every friend a fallen stranger. I'm not you, you're not me. Love laughs at non-duality. Its because we have nothing in common that we taste some erotic fiery juice pressed from wingless bodies clinging like magnets bosom to bosom. Now can you hear the two-syllable name in your heartbeat? Jesus, Allah, Shiva, Ya'hov. Don't get too multicultural: they all have the same Mother. This breath, fragrance of emptiness, who dallied with the Almighty, conceiving the world in her belly of darkness, God's untainted harlot. Here's a riddle from the kingdom of Loss: The Father is silence,  the Spirit ululation. Wave and stillness give birth  to the Child. You dripped from the wounded anvil...

In these days of self-exhausted ideology, when outrage rattles our bones, and voices of separateness drown out voices of reconciliation, it seems a bit old fashioned to tend a little altar in your room. Doesn't need to be much, just an icon of the divine Mother, a small photo of your beloved Teacher, a few last roses from the Autumn garden, sharing a table with your favorite old books. Yet a little altar can ignite the flame of prayer in your heart, illuminate the silence of meditation, and fill your room, your home, your whole day, with the fragrance of gratitude. A little altar can be a fulcrum where the sun, moon and stars balance their vast turning wheels, moved by one breath. Your breath. All parts of one body. Your body. All gathered in one presence. Your presence. You don't need to live in a mansion. A little room is enough, when you have an altar where your sacred solitude expands to include all sentient creatures. It is like a humble chink in a dark wa...