Her Body

"When the spiritual power of the Kundalini Shakti enters the heart center, the self-begotten unstruck music of God begins to be heard." ~Jnaneshwar

Her body is the form of this breath; She dances as dawn in the fading of sleep: the dream was never real.

You need no mala beads to invoke her; darkness sparkles, night itself your rosary of pearls, each moment rounded, gleaming with eternity.

The Guru is her silence, respiration of the unchangeable; O breath, what do you teach us this morning? That stillness is pulsation, hollow and full, hollow and full, the way of the moon.

Kernel, blossom, wheat, a withered husk; flavor, scat, and in the scat, a seed: the ordinary of the seasons.

On this planet, all is explained by pigment, pungency, and musk; everything verified by excruciating sweetness, and what rattles in the zero of a gourd.

Unsettled weather is the mother of ceremony, both rain and sun the daughters of the sky; blackness a cup for the elixir of stars, this body a cask where ancient distances ferment into the wine of Presence.

Whatever you suffer is a womb; enter it and be born, expanded not by knowledge but sensation, each atom more spacious than Andromeda.

Spring up like a weed rooted in the groundless; there is only one dimension: being awake.

Make a tincture of yourself; be last year’s leaf suffused with the eros of emptiness, the final tonic of loam, savored in the space between thoughts.

Resist nothing and taste a secret; the void is ripe with bittersweet red gems, the vacuum gushes: learn from the pomegranate, cipher the fig.

No point in space is not the Ayin Soph, an infinitesimal whirling door to that crystal path that spirals ever inward through fractals of your plasma, entangled with fragments of DNA from the wing of a dragon fly.

Your lymph and marrow woven from star stuff, your body the bread of God, your flesh an effervescence containing all suns; the wonder of unknowing is the beginning of all heavenly and infernal journeys.

Now sip the nectar of the next inhalation; let your exhalation consecrate this green and holy confusion.

For one world only exists, thirsty pilgrim, the great circle of your breathing.

_________

Listen to this poem read aloud: LINK 
Photo by Soumen Tarafder