Real

 

Why plant plastic flowers? 

The fragrance of one silent rose 

roars louder than a thousand suns.

At night, candles appear to shine, 

but where is their glory 

when dawn breaks open the sky? 

You waste your money 

in the market place of spiritual teachers.

Each of them has a little boutique. 

But which one has a root or thread, 

a lineage leading to ancient weavers? 

Can any of them spin this world 

into the weft of stars?

Isn't it time to close up 

these shops in you mind?

Wander out beyond the maintained trail. 

The wilderness is nearer than you think, 

closer than breathing. 

Go there, meet your oldest Friend, 

the one who whispers your true name 

after all those centuries of being

faithful to forgetfulness. 

Every time you said, "I believe," 

you fell a little deeper asleep. 

Now is your chance to get lost and wake up.

Find true darkness. 

The Beloved will use your bones for kindling, 

your blood for a spark to light the wildering 

blaze of his countenance in your chest. 

Night is no problem when that Face 

becomes your face.

The roar you hear is not a plastic flower.
It is the fragrance of a silent rose.

 

 

Photo by my dear friend, Kristy Thompson