Rest and Listen

Rest in the ancient lineage
of the present moment.
Listen to the evening breeze
in pine green quietness.
You will hear creation hymns
that sang the sun and moon.
You will remember when
your tears were original rain
and your eye created the light.
Confess that your flesh
is floating pollen
in a beam of what sees,
and you are the black vacuum
at the core of what whirls.
Now use the faintest
feather brush of breath
on bone to dust away the mind.
Become the silence who
has all along been listening
to your prayers.
Knead the bread of earth
into doughy clay again.
Shape it warm by a gesture
of healing, and bake it 
in the secret fertility
of your stillness.
A stem of furious
cleansing will tremble through
your hollow obsidian bones,
from the belly to the dimple
in your crown, wedding
your ancestral darkness
to an unborn star.

 

Image by Marcel Van Luit