Body Hollow

Someone said, "You are not this body." But was there joy in his voice?

Look into the hollow between the galaxies, the vortex at the center of the spiral. Look at tiny sparks on the rim of whirling. Are you one or all? 

Then look into this human form: be grateful. The emptiness that hosts a dance of stars is the hollow in your breathing throat.

The hollow in the ear, the mouth, the nose, the hollow in the eye; the bellows in your chest, your belly, your womb.

Each vein a pulse and pull of emptiness, and every bone-full of sweetness a hollow: where do you think Spring goes in Winter? Your body's hollow roots.

Where do weary saviors like Jesus retreat to pray? The cavern inside your chest, the secret chamber of your beating heart.

Twin hollow tunnels of light, the helix of your spine, where the juices of the dance arise.
 
And in the core of your brain, an almond hollow; hanging in clustered sweetness, your pituitary drips wine. Angels come to fill their cups.

Every pore is hollow, every cell of your skin, every atom swollen with light years of imploding distance.

From fractal sub-nuclear vastness protons burst and spin the thinnest rainbow quark-threads on gusts of silence, thistledown threaded to the stars.
 
Friend, there is nothing in the universe that is not the laughter of your flesh. Even your pain is a knotted hollow, a bliss too thick to name.

Let distant worlds condense into a tear drop. That is the way to be in this human form.

Yoga Art by B. H. Zachary: LINK