Pathless - Fred LaMotte

 I breathe in darkness, breathe out light, but pranayama is
not my way.  I bend and bow and honor the tides in my
spine, but asanas are not my way.

I savor the name of God, but the Word is not my way. I
honor the Guru, but my path has no master.

Though I listen to the songs and suras of the wise, I follow
not the Vedas, the Torah, the Qur'an.

I give to those in need, but the path of seva is not for me.  I
surrender, Lord, but even You, even You, are not my way.
Parasam Gateh, "beyond the beyond," is where I am right now.

With no chant, no altar, no eucharist or puja, I wander in the
forest, offering the silence of cedar, trillium, fern.

At midnight, soundless owl wings, bright knives of un-knowing,
slice through the glory of darkness.  Coyote howl is my song.

And because the light of primeval stars is only now arriving
in my body, I am awake.

Each electron bathes in the glory of its origin.  Every photon
collides with the darkest particle of its other self.  I follow the
wordless path of this breath Om.

But my way is not a journey, it passes neither in nor out, but
shatters every window between seer and seen, sinking every
vessel in the ocean of transparency.

I have trillions of eyes, gazing into the well of eternal aloneness,
where past and future kiss, annihilating time.  This very
moment is the diamond of my awakening.

I achieve the beatific vision of celestial mansions, simply by
gazing at the motionless explosion of a rose.

Every religion a blood-colored petal of this, but I would offer
the whole flower, the wounded bud which opens in all directions
at once.

Where I Am there are no steps, no degrees of initiation, no levels
one to seven: only fragrances, only dissolving.

Each lineage of masters is a pollen mote, but I have sticky feet. 
I visit the center, where the nectar is made in secret darkness.

Down where the pistil and stamen touch in a throb of stillness.
Come, drink.....

Fred LaMotte
Uradiance

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering