Samyama

Just before you fall

asleep tonight

perform samyama

on my smile.

Glance only

for an instant

at love's ancient face

in the mirror of your heart

and I will fill your body

with the laughter

of the silent stars.

Long for me ever

so lightly,

then let me disappear,

a ripple in the moon

on a forest pond.

Drop my name like

a pebble in the pool

of your aloneness.

Here

where Breath goes

to fold her wings.

Turn elegant mud

into a flower,

oblivion into a kiss.

Then forget, forget.

Abandonment is sacred practice.

When you hear

the tender calling

of the midnight owl

and gaze into the night

within, beyond

the glittering houses,

the cloudy constellations

of eternity,

I will be there.

And you will almost

but not quite

remember

* Samyama: a subtle practice described in the Yoga Sutras, combining Dhāraṇā (concentration), Dhyāna (meditation) and Samādhi (union) on a single object. At the threshold of uncreated silence, drop a seed of intention into the fructifying void, then let it go without effort or expectation. In its very self-abandonment, you give the intention tremendous creative power.