She Flows Into You

She flows into you through her secret name.
Her silence is a lofty science of sounds,
a spiral of echoes in a shell of stars.
Your breath is her wisdom, Sophia Shakti,
healing the earth.
They don't teach this in schools.
You learn it by sitting on the threshold,
in a chamber at the center of your brain
where you know without
knowing how you know.
The sign is a smokeless blue flame
in your chest.
This is the first temple.
Don't be confused,
her exhalation is your inhalation,
the kiss that creates.
She breathes you.
Now, if you are ready, you must
change the name of your wound
to 'River of Roses,'
the name of your sorrow to
'Fragrance of Her Fallen Hair,
No Longer Gold.'
Name your sleepless midnight tears,
'Undulation of Hips
on a Sea of Moonlight.'
Name your darkest longing,
'Bare Feet Crushing Pale Violets
in Wet Moss.'
Whatever season it is,
name it 'Enough.'
Be more careful of stillness.
Notice how still things become
when you let them.
Not just the flower but the vase
of emptiness.
You hear the stillness first, then
perceive thingness in the hum.
Creatures arise from the crystal
space of your uncertainty,
the silence between their names.
The Goddess flows into you
by virtue of your listening.

photo by Kristy Thompson