The simplest meditation
happens when you hug
every cell of your body.
They all dissolve in one
gentle breath.
There is no other.
Consuming the thinker
in her own sacred
flesh-flame is called
the opening of the heart.
Now there is nothing left to do
but frolic with stars
and waltz with the moon
through an ever-widening
luminous swirl of compassion,
which is the space where
your darkness gives birth to the sun.
Was there a path? Ah yes,
it led you in all directions at once,
like a small blue flower
unfolding, touched
by the dewdrop of bewilderment.
Adoration is the fragrance
of your Being.
Now sing and play in the highest
world, which is this one,
where you learn to say Yes.
Yes to aloneness, to snow,
to the scarlet berry of pain.
Where you learn to behold
your face in the gaze of a stranger.
Go outdoors and play in the rain.
Play more intensely, as children do,
making it your work.
Risk amazement.
Love until there is
no other.
Mandala by St. Hildegard of Bingen, 12th C.
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