There is a kind of thinking which keeps life separate from herself,
a thinking that is dead, that enslaves you.
You know exactly what I mean.
That ordinary innocuous little trance that your thought spins around the current circumstance.
like a ritual for dead life that keeps you circling around and around yourself in endless disconnection…
That is not what you want!
Turn away from it!
Don’t believe its empty promise of resolution.
Through the hidden doorway just behind all this thinking.
Enter into that feeling, descend along your sensation, penetrate your tension, your discomfort, open your body to itself!
Feel, taste, smell, see, touch, hear, the strands and whispers and the textures of her intelligence. Let her caress you till you die!
Taste your life now!
You will drink from her source and bathe in her and comb your hair with her fingers of darkness
and thought will come forth again from this invisible love making, and shape a dance, a poem a shout, full of her vibrant silence.
And words will arise, dripping her light
And you will cup them in your hands and give them to your thirsting friends all around…
Many on the spiritual path rightfully long for a sudden point in time when a shift happens
The seed of life is within us all, our dance here is mundane, strange and wonderful.
to fashion universes out of emptiness
Where do you see a window you can open for a subtle sacrament to slip into your day?
Meanwhile, someplace in the world, somebody is making love and another a poem.
A winter solstice 2020 short stream for a Movement Medicine community
A Sign of Our Times or How the Black Madonna Is Shaking Us Up for the Twenty-First Century
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