Kiss the Fire

If your heart desires

the gift of compassion,

don't resist sorrow.

One who calls pain an illusion

must still be caught

in the net of two-ness.

Please honor these drops

of bitter honey

from my eyes.

Weeping is not a dream.

Touch the wound in the side

of the Mother.

She bled before

there was a cross.

Polish your breast  
with the ointment of a sigh

distilled from dust and bone.

It will be a flesh-prayer,

laden with the weight 

of your ancestors. 

To kiss the fire

of wholeness,

you need to hug the dark.

This makes you lighter,
like wind in the desert
sweeping over mirrors
of basalt at dawn.

What is courage?

To be born into the beauty

of unendurable companionship,

and finished with a tear.

Photo: Antelope Canyon, Arizona, Mishmoments