Finished By A Tear

If your heart desires the gift of compassion,

don't resist sorrow.

One who needs to call pain "an illusion"

must still be caught in the net of twoness.

Please honor these drops of bitter honey from my eyes.

Weeping is not a dream.

Touch the gash in the belly of the Mother.

Polish her body with a breath of ointment

distilled from dust and bones.

Turn your ancestors to prayers of flesh.

We are born into the beauty

of unendurable companionships.

We are finished by a tear.
Yes, there is a genuflection

that ends at the feet of the Master.

But there's another bow
that shatters your forehead against the dark.

A bending that pulls you down

through every maelstrom of loss

into the wound of abysmal awakening.
Dispel 'above' and 'below' with astonishment.
It is better to wonder than believe.

Yes, there's a grief more intimate than joy.

So be hopeless, just for a moment.
Hug desolation.

If you do this with passionate abandonment,
you will tell some perfect stranger, "I love you,"
in the language of an uncreated star.

Photo: Hubble Telescope, "Where Stars Are Born"