this hello echoes from a
hallowed ground, I ascended,
I am winged now,
a bright star with all my
feathers in tact, a singing
lotus, open to every energetic lick
It doesn’t make for good poetry,
I know. Luminosity is so easy
to tease, to make a misery of,
wholeness can be so overwhelming
And from wholeness, what is there to say,
Besides Everything and Nothing?
Ask me how and I would say,
there is no why.
Stop asking and obey
your tempestuous, aching heart.
The paradox of ascension is that
there is no such thing,
Oh, there is.