Why transcend the body when each photon of blood, lymph and marrow is a tremor of transcendental consciousness? Your very flesh is a matrix
of subterranean cilia, fibers of starlight, beams of celestial beauty emanating
from atoms of dust. Vectors of eternal past and future entangle as the warp and woof of neurons in your hypothalamus, the infinitesimal cosmos
clustered in each holographic spark of your protoplasm. This whole universe has groaned in travail to weave the miraculous tapestry of You, and your body is the prototype of a New Creation. Why not sense every twinge of pain as a message from the Goddess Shakti, vibrant with healing
fire? Feel each throb of anger or despair in your belly or bone as a ripple in
the love-ocean. Just as a mother watches over her children, witness your grief, your outrage, your furious little mind clinging to names and forms. Be like the moon
gazing on seven billion flickering candles. You are the fertile well of blackness in the
galactic core, running your luscious void through the beaded hollow of each star. You are that same womb-emptiness threading through each proton on the rosary of DNA. Let the seer pervade the seen without grasping; they are not two. Be spacious and free, a caress in the heart of chaos. There is nowhere else to be free.
Art by Natiana Nikolova
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