Honed

 

Earth is the pilgrim, not the sun,
whose radiance only seems
to come and go.
So the mind is turning,
not the heart,
whose glory is unchangeable.
Whirl inward and discover
what never takes a journey,
the star
at the center of breathing
where exhalation
and inhalation kiss,
and the soul surrenders
to the Other
who is her own
astonishing Beauty.
Then a hollow seed is
planted in the new moon
of your blood,
containing a blackness more vast
than the night which enfolds it.
This is the You
that needs becoming.
The lathe is your backbone,
the furnace your chest,
emptiness the workshop
for hammering gold.
These earthly turnings hone
your joy and sorrow
into one ruthless blade.
When all the brilliant
silver slivers of perfection
get ground away,
You can be the shimmering
silent flame
of darkness.



Mandala by Rashani Réa, used for
the cover of our new book