Coyopa :: Lightning in the Blood

I don’t know anything about holiness;
I thought I knew plenty -
I saw the high star to aim for:
It was bright as an angel.
I polished my wings and leapt towards it and
Dived into a crevasse in the Earth.
It was not Heaven,
But a blessed loss of grandeur,
Though it tore apart my wings.
Not sanctity,
But a prayer of gratitude
That comes near extinction:
For this leaf in the frosty morning,
The heron’s flight over the river
And this breath after the other
And this and this.

I’m left cold by great exclamations.
The words of the prophets are well-
Intentioned and sincere,
For the most part honest, but…
I know the touch of my fingertips,
The magic of honesty,
The way a body weaves
Its story of life’s untold mystery.
I’ll take a warm fire and the
Shared delight of sunset,
The majesty of the rising sun
And the incredible wonder
Of arriving on this Earth.

I haven’t turned aside from anything.
Simply, things have fallen away.
You could say to me:
‘All the way to heaven is heaven,’
Or ask me if the dog has Buddha-nature.
Who is any the wiser?
I’ve watched a universe unfold
In my blood and I’ve
Carried Baba Yaga a thousand miles
On my back.
What have I got to tell you?
‘Look after the trees.
Spend time in nature.
Smile at children.
Keep your kidneys warm.’
Not much to show for
Thirty-seven years?
Perhaps enough.
Hafiz and Naropa and the
Countless dazzling saints
Have said the rest
And will continue saying so
Until the end of time.
I’ll sit by the river and
Marvel at owls and rats and falcons.

In your body and mine,
There is a scripture
That needs not be written down.
Quiet as an oak in winter
And as eloquent as Spring;
A voice of blood and wonder,
Of bone and grief and joy.
When I speak to you
In the holy wilderness
Of our lives,
Let us read together
From that book
And forget that we ever
Once thought we knew
A thing.