Let me no longer speak of Higher and Lower.
Let me no longer speak of Oneness and duality.
Let me no longer speak of the cosmic Self
and the petty little ego.
For my petty little ego
is the playground of the devas.
My personality is the jungle gym
of the Goddess Kundalini.
Let me no longer speak of East and West,
left and right,
enlightenment and ignorance.
From now on I will speak 
only of Lover and Beloved.
Let this proclamation be a murmuring
so soft your heart must be still 
to listen.
Don't shatter the rose window
just to enjoy the sun.
The white light and the dome of glass
are both holy.
Smell and taste and touch
are golden temples of emptiness.
The artist mixes God's radiant beams
with umber dust
to make a pigment for the invisible.
Shiva sits very silent for his portrait,
and Shakti loves to wear bling.
The Lord who dwells beyond all forms
is dancing in your body.
Christ gets bored with himself alone.
He longs for friendship.
Without you the Buddha
could feel no intimacy.
Don't listen to philosophers
who tell you to root out desire.
Listen to the flute-mad whirler,
the blind harper whose strings
are beaded with tears,
the feral priestess fermenting
underground fungus wine.
Be a warrior of the faery kingdom
suddenly springing up like a mushroom
beneath the full moon.
Never hesitate to sing about
your yearning to become
who you already are.
Savor your relationship
with the Ineffable,
a smoldering that gives off musk.
You are both one and two,
the flame inside a flame.

Photo: My backyard in Spring, taken by my daughter Abby

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