Night Journey

Before I met the Giver
I was only pretending
to breathe,

wavering in my doorway,
a homesick pilgrim
who could not even begin
the journey.
Then, in the night
of Unknowing
I heard a darker whisper
that illuminated all things
with the light of one Self.
Your Name was not a prayer
but a holocaust of stars.
Now is the morning
of the Blessed.
Someone has departed,
never to return.
 Was it I?
The desert traveler,
my exhalation,
has been ravished in a distant land
by the Lord of Sighs
who stole that very 'I,'
leaving nothing
but the
open wound
of love.

Photo by vglima1975, Atacama desert, Chile

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