Temple

 

There's a temple inside emptiness, a space within space where darkness hides her secret wealth of light. That is where the world comes from, and many other things too beautiful for the world, until we imagine them in ourselves.

 

I know, I know, there is only One, but God loves reflections. Within the Within is a mirror, where She looks into herself, and this is not vanity but amazement.

That gaze is a river of laughter and tears, an opening of countless mouths to sing the name of hidden splendor. When you are very quiet, you can return to that clear glass, and see for yourself.

 

In that mirror you and I first met. Unborn, we touched, and I think the green earth tumbled from our burning fingers. For the vacuum is not empty. The void is a ripe pomegranate, gushing bittersweet red gems, and midnight a cup for the elixir of stars. Our own bodies fermented in their ancient distances.

 

Whatever you suffer is a womb. Enter it more deeply and be born. Not by knowledge but sensation we expand, each atom more spacious than the galaxy, because the only dimension is being awake.

 

You need no mala, no beads to invoke your Mother. Night itself is your rosary of pearls, each moment rounded and buffed by longing. Your Guru is her silence, respiration of the unchangeable. She dances as the dawn of awareness in the fading of sleep, wearing her sparkling bling. The dream was never real.

 

Each infinitesimal point in space the ayin soph, a portal and a whirling door to the crystal path, a Way that spirals ever inward through entangled fractals called your wonder-woven "body." And what keeps spilling out of the pointless? Corn and wheat, a withered husk, and finally a seed, the ordinary of the seasons ineluctable in pigment, pungency and musk, excruciating sweetness. The song that rattles in the zero of a gourd.

The order of unsettled weather is the grandmother of ceremony, rain and sun the daughters of the sky. And your flesh is effervescent wine, whose glistening contains all suns, all heavenly and infernal journeys.

 

Now sip the nectar of your next inhalation, and thirst no more. Let your expiration be peace upon all this holy confusion. One world only exists, dear friend, the great circle of your breathing.