Sweep

You can sweep up the dust of a thousand ruined civilizations in this breath. You can gather the ashes of your ancestors in this breath. Whisk the DNA from all the microbes that ever swarmed the gut or swam the blood of rodent, honeybee, or leprous medieval peasant in this breath. You can reap the protein from each virus, from each chromosome fossilized in fissures of a meteorite; you can harvest molecules of leopard scat and mastodon, maggot and wolverine, the very color code of parrots in this breath; or learn the secret gene-Om of a black hole humming from the core of the galaxy. And in this breath, you can distill the tears of your enemies, the wild scent of your first love, the healing elixir in all rain-forest herbs, the dew in the eyes of your unborn children for a thousand generations to come. You can taste the nectar of atoms that Jesus breathed in this breath. Now hold it, friend. Just for a moment, cherish and hold this breath, sweeping up the stories, the grievances, the blame and forgiveness, transmuting all that ever was or will be into Sparkling Awareness. Yes, into the empty infinite free energy of your own Sparkling Awareness. Now breathe out.

 

 

NASA photo of the 'Flame Nebula,' an embodied Goddess pointing out there, toward the ever expanding rim of your last exhalation.