When I Was One

When I was One, it was just as complex
and bumpy as now,

I simply hadn't learned to label the differences,

to see this and that as two,

or estrange the diamond world from who I Am.
It was the Wonder Continuum, lumpy

but graceful as Om-made bread pudding.
The scarlet rose of September would
whisper to the February plum bud,

"We are so lucky to be confused!

Let's feel each other's barefoot roots down 
where the mushrooms grow!"
Each moment was a blessed Fall

into delectable imperfections.

I could taste smell touch squeeze
the juicy viridescent stem of my Self,

whose tiniest flowers are the stars.

My bones were marrowed with molten gold.

The vastness between heaven and earth

dissolved in the hollow of my backbone.

My optic nerve was twigged to a moon of Jupiter.

Single syllable sighs erupted like

Tibetan bijas from my reptilian brain.

Burps and farts were starry spirals of bliss 

that blossomed from chinks between my vertebrae.

I undulated skyward, arched and twisting 

in pudgy asanas, the dimpled Cobra, the soft

pink Plough frolicking through furrows of baby fat.

I blew bubble mantras and sucked the moon

through my bellybutton, breathed thistledown, 

made honey from angel pollen in my cells.

There was no horizon but my own emerald eye,

which saw God particles sparkling in the Void

beyond Andromeda.

O dear ones, let us remember ourselves!

For all of us were Masters then.

Who among you wouldn't surrender it all

just to bow at the marshmallow toes

of the one you were when you were One,

and briefly, ever so briefly dispel 

this weary mind?