Humm

Before the invention of thoughts

we sang ourselves

to sleep.

The day melted back

into humming,

the humming into silence,

silence into a breath

of the Beloved.

Of course the stars

were not yet born,

and the moon was still inside you.

Lay your head

on my shoulder now.

Listen with all

your heart,

and I will teach you
nothing.

A Vedic text declares: “Adau Bhagavan Shabda rasahi: In the beginning, the Lord created the universe through a stream of sound.” I know, you have a very subtle esoteric sadana to practice. But before you meditate, don’t forget to Hum...

Om is too stuffy, just Hum like a bee. Hum beyond thought, shattering the chrysalis of your intellect. Hum through every atom of your body, every photon of your light. Humming will strengthen your immune system and dissolve your weary mind, so that above is below and without is within. Hum the catastrophic dissolution of all distances into the nectar of bliss.

Your vagus nerve is the mycelium network under the forest of your skin. You project your inner beasts upon the sky above, Capricorn, Leo, Taurus, macrophages grazing on comets in the bloodstream of night.

Why is your spinal cord glowing, and all its neurons lit from within? Because it is the image and likeness of the Goddess Laniakea, She whose clustered galaxies contain our infinitesimal pollen mote, the Milky Way, She who reaches her hand down your vertebrae, fingers dripping warm ghee. Hum yourself into a hologram of her radiance. Hum her spiraling nebulae into your chromosomes.

Hum through the hollow in your backbone. It is the Tree of Life at the center of the garden. Hum through your brain-stem. It is the burning bush of neurological fire that Moses grokked in a cloud of unknowing on Mount Sinai, from whose terrible sweet flames the voice of Elohim resonates the ten Sefiroth, world-shaping angels mistaken as “commandments” by humless theologians entangled among opposites on that other tree, the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Eat not of those opposites, but Hum into the well of your heart. Hear what echoes up from the womb of singularity, the river of silence, the breathing of microbes and pathogens, mushrooms and planets.

Let your Hum be the song of Brahmari the bee Goddess, who secretes neuropeptides in the hive of your cerebrum, soothing your hypothalamus with her honey, opening the almond fragrance of your amygdala, lighting the pituitary chandelier in the domed cavern at the center of your cortex. With your softest Hum, polish the blue pineal pearl, whose arrow of Shakti opens the eye in your forehead.

Let a golden Hum drip down the back of your throat to the subterranean temple of your rib cage, trickling into the grail on the alter of your breastbone. Hum stars through your bellybutton. Hum sap through your root. Humyoni Humballs Hummoonlitseeds of ancestral children. Hum chthonic grottos of amphibious wisdom where unborn suns sleep. Hum.

Honored that Braided Way Magazine has just published this piece. LINK. The painting is 'Honeymoon Bhramari' by Mani Price.