Holy Chanting Keyhole

December 26, 2009

Holy chanting keyhole,
holy golden hinges,
a door made of living flesh and calling,
always calling for Creation,
both of Earth and Ether,
to enter/exit,
and often regardless
of the housekeeper’s love-feelings…

Spirit domain and Soil remains,
Songs and quietude settling into
millworks holding the granite wheel steady…

White mice, white flower, white milk,
white nurse smock, white towel
and white light…

Breathing father and a slumbering son;
make believe and heart believe napping…

A fireplace
and placement of a match
so to see where the candle’s
bald head is showing upwards
its thin,
one wick-hair…

Glowing love,
laying into and going beyond
concentration nests,
consuming judgment,
uncostuming the laughter
from the feared surprise
that shields itself
with shy smiles of bashfulness
and being a revealer
of Holy-opportune disclosures…

Evergreen towering juggernaut
and its white cathedral tree house;
gold android jaguars at the base of it,
curled around its trunk,
a living God-equator purring,
and all resting with one eye open
for those who claim
contemporary Legion to be one
and the ancient One
to be too fragmented to holy surrender
to its shinning yellow dive into
deep emerald seas of loving the mistakes…

The mind creates this 2010 date,
and yearns it
to seem like another year arriving,
yet all moves into the agelessness now,
while Then and Later sleep inside bright red roses
glowing with mica love-thorns…

To that purr-kept tree house;
tiger eye ladder-way
leading to a holy floor-entrance door
encrusted with faceless, eventless,
dateless gold coins,
diamonds and ruby-onyx lover mints…

Disclosure of the rose wreathed heart,
beating with the buzzing of a
thousand three hundred gracious honeybees…

And sweet blossoming breaths
upon a pink emanating cradle of the most
soft kind of blessedness…

All butterflies are lovingly cut
from God’s worn out shirts…

To the dandelions and passageways
that God requests remain submerged
in living galactic blood tides
till The Heart of hearts moves it through,
till the Heart of hearts begins
building sandcastles
with mortality’s blade-worn-short shovel
and holding confused Hurt’s dunce hat
upside down to be a bucket
of such a Welcome mat rolled diagonally,
then laced together
with drawn out
molten-cooled diamond thread…

The mistaken utility of Love,
most especially
when it’s looking for itself,
as the lover becomes utilized
by the contradictions leading
to Love’s most prized quiet lesson hall,
that location-Spaciousness
where all else lays down
next to the soul-human being
and licks its paws
so they’ll gleam brighter
in its host’s own eyesight light…

Love listens
when the ear of the mind
is awake and dreaming in silent awe
that it can dream at all…