Too beautiful, the peonies
in your garden!
By all means enjoy them,
yet be only half distracted.
Keep a tincture of pure attention
stored in your chest.
Don't let the seductions
of pain or beauty utterly pluck
that other flower, deepest grown,
the one that has always
already blossomed in your body
with its shades of fire
beyond imagining,
kaleidoscope of nameless fragrances
wound loose as mere light
on the trellis of your bones.
One day you will discover
that consciousness itself
is the Beloved.
How can you be sure?
Keep the promise of this breath.
Photo by my dear friend, Aile Shebar
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