Confession

 

 

My weakness is my strength,

my emptiness my treasure,

my darkness the seed

of light.
I find the path by wandering

off-trail.
I learn dangerous secrets 
through the power of un-knowing.

Taking root in foolishness,

I flee from people 
who call me a teacher.
Whatever they ask me, I ask them, 
“How long can you hold

a snowflake in your hand?

What is the flavor of silence?”
I am a mountain meadow moth
resting blue wings on a lupine,

ruthlessly dissolving
distinction between the kingdoms,

flowers, insects, humans, 
angels and demons,

flowing through the borders
in and out of each other.

No one is allowed 
to be a stranger here
in my kingdom of bewilderment.
I confess, I threw away 
my passport, my birth certificate,

my life coaching license.

Now I walk barefoot at midnight

hearing stars whisper to the temple, 
"Take off your roof, drop your walls."

When I grew thoroughly 

at home with confusion, 

I asked my Guru, "Who are you? 

I mean, for real, who are you?"

His eyes were black holes
thronging over, spilling
trillions of worlds.  

Ever so softly he answered, 
"I am Nobody."

That is when I learned to bow,

shattering mind on stone,

shouting, "Nobody!

Nobody is my Guru!"

Painting: Father Abraham, by Mahmoud Farshchain