With your softest breath,
polish all those dusty thoughts
from your heart mirror.
Are you looking for a quiet place?
Friend, you are already here.
Repose in your own blood
between pulsations,
every vein in this body a grotto
for the pilgrim mind.
Find the secret chamber in your chest
where you have no enemies
and no one is to blame.
Make your heart an empty chalice
filled with the nectar of reflection,
where thirsty souls kneel down
to lap up moonlight just before dawn.
In this place where your journey
has no beginning,
prayers for peace need not be spoken
because they’ve already come true.
Here, even the word "love"
and all the names of God
disperse like smoke of sage in desert air.
You too evaporate
into the finer element you were
before you breathed.
You are the sparkling sky
in the lungs of a hummingbird,
the stunned stars’ silence,
an afterimage in the blackness
where a flame just blew out.
Remember that your flesh
is made of swirling suns
that vanished eons ago.
You are a threadbare remnant
of luminous entangled trails
leading to this moment of gratitude.
Distant constellations bow to you
like visiting kings bearing gifts
made of shadows.
Don’t try to understand.
Just stumble into your own rhythm,
which feels like not moving at all.
These weary bones need no
discipline of stillness.
They merely want to heap themselves
in fur, under a hay mound
of last summer's dreams.
Be the nest inside the egg,
the womb that carries her own savior,
the wind that drops its milkweed silk
in a furrow between your breasts.
Whether you wander in loss
or abundance, this seed holds light
through the darkest season.
Whatever you meant when the fragrance
was so sweet you closed your eyes
and murmured, "Mmmmm,"
just smolder away into That.
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