A blahness seems to creep in
a perception blanket of wispy resistances
to here Now Reality.
Sight Sees I am judgeing what is.
I feel this as suffering, pain.
This very contraction is suffering itself.
This very idea that This Moment is not enough turns Heaven into hell.
In a Quiet Inquisitive Openness,
Sight works its subtle alchemy,
turning lead into gold.
Somehow choice meets Grace.
Their pact is dissolution of this knot that wanting tied in me.
The Vibrant Womb of Perfect Rest dawns,
It's Pervasive Permeation plays rythum and bass to the Melody of this Heart,
as it sings with Joyful anticipation now
of each Moment in Its glorious arising...
"have me - I Love you"
"take me - I'm yours"
"I abandon all I ever was or wanted..."
let 'me' burn up in Your ever present Fullness
(my salty tears taste like honey)