Shekinah
Fred LaMotte
As you fall
asleep tonight,
don’t take this inhalation
for granted.
Honor her like a royal guest.
Make a spacious tent of your flesh.
For She who ripens and gathers
clusters of galaxies
has come to dwell in your body.
Touching the soft spot on your crown,
She pours the Milky Way
down your backbone.
Therefor breathe the night.
Each expiration guides you
to her moonlit mirror door.
The key is silence, step through.
Her footprints are sparks of dark energy.
Follow them into the void.
Wings of astonishment will carry you
from death to death.
A scent of blossoms from
the garden of the unborn
will guide you home, enlarged
by the memory of stillness.
Neither come nor go.
Just sink deeper into the seed,
the sanctum where you’ve always
already arrived.
Don’t try to understand.
Be vast and hollow.
Not-Knowing is the space
of compassion.
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