Uradiance

  I could not get rid of my addiction, so I transmuted the yearning into You. I thought the hollow place inside my chest needed to be veiled in the smoke of a blunt Habana robusto, or the earthen bouquet of oak-wise well-aged whiskey. But now the fragrance of the merest breath delights me with the musky finish of your love. My emptiness rejoices in the fullness of thanksgiving. Longing itself is my inebriation for I have met the Friend whose glance changed everything. Solitude became a wedding, night a darker sweetness than desire. I have too many radiant centers now to be alone. Silence has been swallowed up in the music of namelessness. You flow into me, and I flow out beyond your edges. Foolish, crazy, self-luminous, I must be the One to whom I have been praying. Only the naked and the lost can savor these words. They alone are worthy to beg. Sculpture: 'Christ the Beggar' by Timothy P....

  I had a way of wandering that always brought me home. I had a way of losing myself in the woods without getting lost. O God take me back to that day, maybe tomorrow. Guide me down to the stream beyond Wendy’s house and over the meadow to Bobby’s just in time for lunch. And along the way I’ll remember how to name every elbow of the creek again, every fallen bridge-log after an Indian tribe, Ojibawa Bend, Mohawk Crossing, and there between two rivulets of raging Spring run-off, Leni Lenape Island. I’ll bring along the five tiny green turtles I bought at the sad pet shop in the basement of J. J. Newberry’s Department Store, their shells already soft. I hardly had them in their glass bowl a single day before I decided to free them, so they could wander the creek bed like me, just as I liberated two parakeets  the previous Winter. There was no time for death. I watched them swim into the deep, imagining how they would grow over the years into enormous snapping ...

Why transcend the body when each photon of blood, lymph and marrow is a tremor of transcendental consciousness? Your very flesh is a matrix of subterranean cilia, fibers of starlight, beams of celestial beauty emanating from atoms of dust. Vectors of eternal past and future entangle as the warp and woof of neurons in your hypothalamus, the  infinitesimal  cosmos clustered in each holographic spark of your protoplasm. This whole universe has groaned in travail to weave the miraculous tapestry of You, and your body is the prototype of a New Creation. Why not sense every twinge of pain as a message from the Goddess Shakti, vibrant with healing fire? Feel each throb of anger or despair in your belly or bone as a ripple in the love-ocean.  Just as a mother watches over her children , witness your grief, your outrage, your furious little mind clinging to names and forms. Be like the moon gazing on seven billion flickering candles. You are the fertile well of blackness in the ga...