O my soul, you breathe out
but forget to breathe in,
speak, but do not listen, spend
more than you earn, mostly on pain,
the entropy of your thoughts
spinning the world from a hollow core
where light escapes, never to come home.
Waking at morning, you turn
to your shadow instead of the sun.
Why won't you, even for an instant,
return to the beginning
where rainbow pinions enfold you,
not God’s wings, but your own.
Unfurl them, though
they sparkle with tears.
Dry them in the golden morning
of the Self.
Choose merely grace,
and you will discover that grace
has already chosen you.
Gaze through the tiniest violet
and fall into the sky.
Let your drunkenness
be the harmony of the stars.
What feels to the cup like pouring
is stillness for the wine.
You are not a
grail any more.
You are a fermented Spirit
bubbling over the
rim of your body.
How could there be such a thing
as silence?
The void is a sea of infinitesimal bells.
Press music out of emptiness
by gazing within.
Descend into the chorus of your heart.
Listen!
A sound of bliss creates the world.
Water color by Marney Ward
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