Drop Every Concept

You asked me to drop 

every concept of “Other” 

and “God,”

so I did.

Then I abandoned “Trauma” 

and “Embodiment” too.

Love is not a therapy.

Now I sink into the infinite

physiology of light,

my true flesh.

The stillness in my chest

is an unbroken pour

that does not flow

from “there” to “here,”

but quivers in the void,

a braid of black lightning.

The taste is beyond

all thought 

and every breath.

I call it sweet wine,

but that is the language

of fools and lovers

whose story has drowned

in silence.

I will never know

who tilted fullness

toward emptiness

and made the starry rim

of this cup overflow

with a wonder

no longer

called “me.”

Yet I can still say,

Thank you, thank you, Friend.

I can still ask,

Was there a journey 

in that pour?

Or have I always

already arrived

at the Tavern of Amazement?

 

 

Painting by Mahmoud Farshchian