Uradiance

I offer this hymn for Shivaratri, which means "Night of Shiva," most sacred of the Yogic calender. This night celebrates regeneration out of darkness, through the union of Lord Shiva and the Goddess, consciousness and its beloved body. Devotees stay up all night chanting the divine name to purify the mind, the nervous system, and the earth.   Calling this place your Heart does not make the way clear. It is nearer than that, closer than our lips when they meet  like an arrow of wine striking the vigilance of a ruby. Every spark from this wound is a poem about our hidden fire.  Remain awake in jasmine-scented darkness, sleeplessly singing  Shiva's name, your very breath his paramour, the Goddess Shakti. Evaporate your blood into the night, chanting "Shivo'ham!"  Let this sound be a medicinal thorn to remove the deeper thorn  of wanting. Shakti's sigh alone cannot find its alphabet.    Jesus and Magdalene meet ...

Someone spilled the ancient jar of light. It can never be stored in the temple again.   Don't try to keep your master's teaching in a can. Bottled and sealed, even the freshest beans go limp. If the Dharma gets packaged in plastic and shelved at the ashram, you'd better check the expiration date; it has to say 'Now.' Someone spilled the ancient jar of light. It can never be stored in the temple again. The vitamins of God dissolve in silence, but they nourish your body in action. For every breath you take, give one to the poor. And who are the poor? Look around you. Everyone is poor. Someone spilled the ancient jar of light. It can never be stored in the temple again. Each pair of eyes is thirsty for your gaze. Your smile is nectar. 'Enough' has no meaning unless it is shared. Fresh, with no container. The Mother never gets hungry. Her breasts are busy with lips and milk. Someone...

  "The one who descends is the very one who ascends higher than all the heavens, in order to fill the whole universe." ~Ephesians 4:10 Sophia, the Wisdom of the heart, cannot be known by knowledge. She is known by the power of intuition, the ecstasy that stills your breath. She alone is the unfathomable source of healing. Isn't it time for you to burst like a spore and take root in Her? The glory of the heart swallows up the illusion of distance, exposing your intimacy with galaxies whose light is only now arriving as your body. The constellations, those animals of wild night, are your internal organs. Countless suns thread silken rays of love into the atoms of your flesh. Here is your miracle: the golden splendor descending from the stars is the very energy ascending from the womb of dark matter, nourished by your ancestors' bones, entangled in the sacred dance of mycelial loam. From star-beings to mushrooms, countless messengers illuminate you, weaving themselves in...