Going Home

Like the caterpillar,

We enter the Cocoon

Of the Great Mystery,

Knowing we will not survive it.

Even so, we cannot help ourselves.

Love 
Has called us

Into the womb

Pregnant with possibility

That is death

to our caterpillar self.

Trusting the impulse

that called us Here

We surrender fully to the Darkness

Saying yes

to the Silent

Formlessness

That is now All That Is,

Never imagining

That one day

We will emerge with a different

Orientation

To everything,

Taking to the air

With breathtaking Majesty,

Following the impulse

that is now our compass;

This Love that sets us free.

  

The Placeless Place

This is the space
Between the in breath 
And the out breath,
Deep in the Heart of
The Beloved.

This is the place of un-knowing,
Of seeming isolation
And doubt.

This is the Mystery
Whose author is Love.
This is the pregnant
Liminal space
Where stars are born.