Ruins of the Moon

"The refreshing moon of the Buddha travels in the sky of utmost 
emptiness. When you arrange flowers, each flower needs some 
space around it to radiate beauty and freshness. Human beings 
are like flowers. Our meditation practice brings more space 
inside us and around us, so that we can radiate beauty and 
freshness." ~Thich Nhat Hanh 

 

The Beloved said, "Drink my cup."

What does it contain?

"The ferment of namelessness."

So I sipped sparkling silence

tasting of the hour before dawn,

full of thrush and sparrow,

ruins of the moon

with a finish of starless night.

I tasted again, the black goddess

leaping with fins of fire

to spawn with my spine.

A third taste, and I became nobody.

"Now you know who I Am," 

She said, her eyes spiraling 

a labyrinth that lead from the temple 

to the wilderness, freeing 

the captive heart from maps and signs.

I gazed, beheld the illusion  

of distances, and fell into pavonine  

rainbow-feathered emptiness.

Now I stand in the wedding chuppah 

at the center of my garden body, 

yet it has no canopy, just endless sky

in the desolation of roses

where flames go

when you snuff them out.