If there is half a particle of pain in your flesh, where is the other half? In my flesh, though I be a thousand miles away. Through the quantum entanglement of prayer, these halves collide and kiss, annihilated by love, replacing pain with spaciousness. The healing we seek, we Are. Shift attention to your quietest energy, which physicists call the field of least excitation, an undulating stillness, ocean of gratitude in a dust mote. Just become aware of what Is, the Wordless essence of this moment. Merely to Be is thanksgiving. Deep inside the fibers of your most ancient trauma, mad charm-quarks spiral, spun from uncreated blackness in the belly of creation, weaving mother-love into each wisp of DNA, entwining your marrow with jungle flowers, serpent fangs, raveling up wonder into photons of primordial sod. A fetal hum in your body of brilliant shadows already sings thank you, I'm sorry, forgive me, I love you.
Image of 'Charm quark' from New Scientist
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