I Do Not Seek The Ascended Master

I do not seek the teaching

of an ascended master.

I scent the musk

of a grounded one.

She burrows her toes

among the mushrooms

and arrives at the beginning.

Her journey is sinking

into deeper relief.

She ascends by awakening

stillness.

Her path is Presence,

ever expanding. 

I do not lift up my gaze.
I let it settle 
into the earth like rain.

The valley is fertile

with her breathing.

The hills float lightly

on her mist ocean.

So the chrysanthemum stays

right where it is,

yet bursts open

in every direction at once.

That is quite a pilgrimage!

Holding the sun at the tip

of her stamen, clustering

stars in her pistil,

she carries the sky upon

her petals, un-crushed.

No clinging.

She is like my hand.

The moon and the planets
are weightless

when I open my fist

completely.

Her hug makes it happen.

As Autumn comes,

She teaches me to fall

back into the seed,

attaining the wisdom

of the mountain top

by rooting down

where I Am.

Painting by Shiloh Sophia