Gold of All

O this rollicking stillness!
Can you feel the graceful jolt
of alignment,
your soft landing
in the groundlessness
that lets the planet spin?
You've explored the rim
of the glow on the wick
of the stars and discovered
that the prophets were wrong:
there is no return.
You were never in exile.
You are ever at home
in the beginning,
where the most ancient light
has always just arrived.
This is why true sages
ride their donkeys backward.
Now you want to ask
the Master for a refund?
You should be grateful
for the trick he played on you
when you forgot to whisper,
"Om Tat Sat, Aham Brahmasmi:
Everything is God, including me."
Here is the drunkenness:
there's no one left to become.
Now be Selved by dissolving.
Find wholeness in the gaze
of the Friend.
Don't you know
your breath is a secret name
for Overflowing?
Why not be the grace that burns
the edges of creation,
gilding the thingness of each
with the gold of all?

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