The not-secret

It may seem a secret to you,

My love, that is.

A moon you look for in the

Night sky.

And unbeknownst to you, it’s there —

A new moon in the heavens.

It’s like looking for the sun at

Night, or water in the desert.

My hint: it comes from deep inside —

At first, you mightn’t find it directly;

Just the before-and-after of its passing.

My love is your love,

The foolish urge, unquenched by a

Disconnected society,

To skip and sing,

To laugh when a bumblebee tumbles

From a flower too delicate

To accommodate its fat ass.

The deep sigh of satisfaction at a

Gust of wind, a beam of sunlight

On winters morn, the smell of wildflowers

And grass in early spring.

These are the manifestations, the

Ever-changing before-and afters

That you hold onto so frightfully.

But… eventually, you will let go.

To be with the Source of it All

In direct experience.

Without questions, and full of

Wonder.

Full of trust in the

Miracle of seeing it clearly.

More glorious than silence,

As graceful as the cores of stars

That spin in dimensions of plasmic light,

Whorling in the space of creation

Purely for your pleasure.

And, yes, pleasure indeed it is to love you.

To hold you close

And to let you go —

The way a cloud loves its rain.

So go deep, further, farther than cacti roots,

All the way in.

Tell no body of what you find — 

But laugh it brighter; it was there all along.