It's almost noon
on Good Friday.
Why do they call it Good?
Because Jesus is passing
through the center of the cross,
that infinitesimal bindhu
between the opposites.
Neutrons of bliss
in atoms of pain.
Plankton of stars
in the ocean of blood
feeding the behemoth
of the coming night.
Trembling drops of stillness
pressed from the rose
of her cheek upon the white
lily of death
in his bare foot.
This day I give you
a new law.
Just embrace the dark.
Don't wait until morning.
Meditate, receive the gift
of tears.
Because Jesus the dead poet
is passing
through the ayin soph,
transcending every thought
of left or right,
above or below,
and the I is dissolving
into Am.
Neutrons of bliss
in atoms of pain.
Plankton of stars
in the ocean of blood
feeding the behemoth
of the coming night.
Trembling drops of stillness
pressed from the rose
of her cheek upon the white
lily of death
in his bare foot.
This day I give you
a new law.
Just embrace the dark.
Don't wait until morning.
Meditate, receive the gift
of tears.
Because Jesus the dead poet
is passing
through the ayin soph,
transcending every thought
of left or right,
above or below,
and the I is dissolving
into Am.
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