Perhaps you didn’t notice, when you awoke this morning, how you took your first breath from the next dimension, shifting for a moment to a world where atoms vibrate with a softer Law.

Perhaps tomorrow morning, you won’t come back. You’ll stay there. And it won’t matter anymore if you are on the Left or Right, Christian or Muslim, Indigenous or Immigrant, Do-er, Non-doer.

It won’t matter whether you see One or Many. No need to wear the veil in that moon-drenched air, because the only authority is Presence, and the tribe you once belonged to leaves no scent.

Only the glow of your essential oils anointing the meadow, because no one else exudes such tincture, swelling the plum bud, stiffening the fur.

No longer enticed by abstractions, you’ll live by touch and tear, musk and radiance. It won’t matter anymore which master you follow, as long as She is the one who descends through your next breath,

blossoming in the splendor of your chest, resting in your hollow core of silence. All that will matter is emptying your golden cup, and opening the dark furrow that runs down your body.

Why wait? Awaken now. Begin your work of thirst. Taste the glistening night and hear in every cell of human flesh the song that flows from that ancient spring:

“Chitananda Rupam, Shivoham, Shivoham! I am the very form of the bliss of awakening.” Don’t ask what work you must do, just listen for this music in the heart of every stranger.

Image: Persephone by Danté Rossetti