Whirl With Me
What is Christ if not the thrill of delight in a single hair on the nape of your neck as starlight pours down your backbone? When the commandments grow sweeter to follow than ripening grapes, you may crush them into wine as you dance to the drum in your left ventricle. Sooner or later a moonbeam falls through the lens in the eye at the center of your chest, igniting a blaze that burns down all other temples. It is very late, you must wake up now and whirl with me. Melt the silver crucifix dangling at your throat. Dissolve every statue of God with tears of diamond emptiness. This is the hour to go mad with a Love that blossoms from the silence where looking begins. Photo by Bahman Farzad