The Magical Art of Breaking into Your Heart
The Unveiling of Beauty
The Descent
Before descending into the abyss, I climb a vertical ladder up to the center of my chest, the precise place where ribcages kiss.
I come upon a green wooden door, ancient in its ways yet young and fresh in its texture.
It swings open revealing a sea of stars
and sky
and love.
Love so big, I stagger back from the the magnitude of this force.
Boundless.
The music filters through.
I sweat, and I sway and I swing like the cuckoo dancing for his meal.
Faculties calibrate, and through the door I go.
And I harvest, and
I harvest — a love so pristine -
into pocket in awareness,
funneling streaks down to a core that is in dire need of stability.
I even arrive upon the place that is mine only.
Always.
Beyond history.
Insubordinate to time.
And here I meet the others, in this timeless space that doesn’t occupy space.
They offer me a blessing — a talisman inscribed with experience.
On my way I go sliding down my slide of love.
Down down into the place they call shadowland.
Dark, musty, grim, gritty,
no place for windows.
Shyness grips my sadness asking for a game of chess or rock paper scissors.
I am flustered by the wicked contradiction.
Stupefied by the scandal this will raise.
Riots erupt from the imprisoned,
the diseased ones — deemed unworthy of public showings.
There they languish in their stench and barricades of rejection and shame.
My pockets of love start their show.
They create a picture of divine interventions, a life full of whales and lightness.
Light.
The shadows fall to their knees as if scorched.
They are scorched by frequencies so rarified they know not what to do.
In time, they come to as dead skin peels off just from the seeing,
the presence…
and they begin to blossom before my very eyes.
Shame begins to morph and shift and yawn and grin.
Her contorted features begin to relax and
peel and open and unfold.
Petals — blue petals of permission,
her right to be,
to share, shape
come into fruition.
Full force. No friction.
Around us a transformation is occurring.
The harder I loved, our love, the softer they shift, alter into alternatives with layers.
Before my eyes a crowd of beauties are presenting themselves.
Glorious beauties.
My beauties full of the ordinary
and earth
and they are simple.
simple in their exposure
to the tender flesh of their newness.
vulnerable in a vineyard of imagination.
And so I stand, and watch and
I am well pleased.
And my heart too is well pleased.
And we are one piece.
At peace.
