Lovers

May the part of you that never gets married wed every lover on earth. The ceremony is bewilderment. Wed the honeysuckle and wild rose, marry the sound of a bumblebee in a late afternoon sunbeam. All through the black hours, be wooed by the incoming tide; then consummate your silence with sunrise.

Though One and Two were never betrothed, marry the confusion. Your engagement ring is the uncut diamond hidden in a vein of sorrow. Polish it in your chest, tumbling in tears, until the water is quiet. Neither give nor receive that brilliance in marriage. Stay one, remain voluptuous.

You can't avoid the void. Some speak of it as naked and empty. Yes, sometimes it is, and you must drown there. Then the void glows with indescribably intimate softness. Receive that touch. And finally, at spiritual midnight, when the darkness is deepest, the void gushes with the Beloved, your secret and eternal Paramour. Be ravished. These are the three forms of the formless.

Don't tell them that the bride is an exhalation of surrender, a golden body of breath stretched into fragrant darkness. Don't tell them that this silver-crowned inhalation, laden with gifts, is the groom, who enters your garden through the open gate of prayer.

We meet in moonlit stillness. The heart is a lake. There seem to be two swans. But there is only one white-feathered splendor, settling gently into its own reflection. Softly now, in a whisper, renew your vows.