Golden Hollow

No judgment arises from the golden hollow in the core of your body, because the light of "Nothing Wrong" engenders a new earth with each exhalation.
When you find this place in your body, my smile will arise there. And when your smile arises from that same place in me, each photon of pure light in my blood says, 'thank you.' I am absolved, forgiven, transformed by your emptiness.

Beyond non-duality, we rest in the immeasurably soft fabric of otherness. Our oneness is entanglement. This is why our power to bless keeps expanding, and the dance of the galaxy begins in every cell of our flesh.

Waves of clarity drown us in a gaze. Then we know that judging others is the root of dis-ease, forgiveness the nectar of healing.

Friend, let us study the marvelous science of the belly, which is deeper than love. Our teacher dwells in the moment before creation, therefor She is very near. In fact, She is probably a furry beast whose pupils are ancient wells, flooding over with the darkness of our first ancestor.

There's a clearing in this wilderness, just below the heart and above the navel. Here we gather to study the physics of miracles. And this is why we have no time for outrage.

Now what do you learn from the anointed animal of your own physiology? When the mind wanders during meditation, don't chase after it. Let it explore the farthest edge of interstellar amazement, or mingle in the golden atoms of a rose.

And even when you have as many thoughts as there are 0's after the 1 in the roundest number of Infinity, your meditation is still silent and hollow. Do you know why? Because you are not your mind.

You are the space through which it wanders. You are the motionless green journey of a seed spiraling into the death of its flower.

Therefor let mind roam through time as well as distance, without the slightest effort to grasp or lead it home.

Just as a mother's love enfolds her wrestling whelps, so you watch over the play of your thoughts. For as long ago as your great grandmothers can sing, and as far ahead as your unborn children can dream, your mind is just the refulgence of this moment.

Know, through the sacred art of listening, what the owl sees at midnight, how the new snakeskin shimmers under the old one, what the moth wing feels as it enters the flame.

Why is there no journey? Because the beginning and end are one breath. Now rest in the heart.

Painting by Sue Wookey

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