Uradiance

Let a swarthy Goddess be your breath. Then you won't need any rule but wonder. Just for a little while let joy and sorrow drink from the same bowl, the one you've been holding in your rib cage and polishing too carefully. What chalice doesn't get chipped and spill its feral energy? No need to count the drops, each one is whole. Mother Raven in her fire-flecked feathers brings you no sun disk dipped in heart wine, but a still inward whirling, circled splendor of emptiness, portal to the Uncreated. Now listen to evening fall. Beyond far faint star music , hear the final beauty, silence, cleansing your mind of the need to awaken. Let the grace of the present moment illuminate your hollow bones from inside. Image by Cororo on DeviantArt

In the beginning was the Silence. And the Silence was with God, and the Silence was God. Ineffable Darkness was over the deep, and the breath of Silence was stirring the waters like a Mother softly, restlessly brooding over her egg. The Darkness was shining and the Night was as bright as the Day. And God said... No, God did not speak. The Silence was already filled with Song. Photo: NASA 

  Start with something small like breathing in the stars, holding trillions of them in your chest, to light up every atom in your body. Then breathe out, giving each a new name  and a deeper darkness, more space to polish with the beauty of fire. Let this exhalation caress the lake, the forest, the city, touching every heart, the heart of fur and feather as well as the human heart. Then move on to larger tasks,  like listening to a stranger  at the coffee shop, or smiling at a serious baby who rides backward in a grocery cart. Then get down  to the greatest work of all, healing the earth  with your naked toes.

Don't give away all your beauty for free. Let there be a portion of your silence that falls into a deeper silence, pulsing like a distant star in the scented abyss of your intimacy with darkness. Learn the art of not revealing what you yearn to share with every thirsty stranger. Let your luster be like the moon pulling on the garden from within. We all share this night. Now and then a green nocturnal bud bursts free. Pilgrims stop and want to know, "What is that fragrance?" Don't tell them. Just let your wild invisible sweetness fill the air, the hour before dawn. Love is a secret. The Beloved is a secret. You could be a secret too.