I rise to mate my voice with yours, darling poet of my heart, but in the gentle devastation of your presence, all my simple songs melt into silence and I stand here mute, lilting softly off balance against the background of a perfect balance reflected in the brilliance of your solar smile.
The listening born within this silence, the intimacy of the sky with the horizon, the way some meandering streams just end in the middle of nowhere in particular, exhaling an invisible secret that every light-eyed creature bathes in – all of this is evidence to anyone who may imagine some distance from their Source that there has never been a trace of separation.
You are closer to me than I am to myself. Each delicious poem-sound we make is carried on the breath of some glad god nobody has yet found a way to worship. Such living poetry is our prayer of gratitude and praise for the appearance of each other in the midst of this utter astonishment.
We float, a feather on that breath, blown far beyond any mythic archetypes
of grace-granting divinity by the loving grace of a divinity for which none can account, any more than for this touch we blissfully share.
There are magnificent shining beings who let their love flow through the universe with no limit or recoil, no fear or demand. Their true sanctuary is none other than our own abode, as we come to rest within the warm and spacious sufficiency of our radiant Heart.