At the Altar of Death

put down
all your beliefs
your stories
your identities
your dreams
your whole self
first
at the altar of Death

leave them there
for a while,
as you bow down
and open yourself
to the fragrant breath,
feeling it flow
into and out of
your every cell

and then,
receive it all -
everything you put down,
as an offering
from the God of Death,
wearing them
with reverence
and grace

remember
their fragrance,
their softness,
their lightness,
as they lay strewn
like colourful flowers
with death on their wish-list,
ready to offer themselves
up again, any time.

and then you will know how to live.

The Temple

and people come
and they leave,
stepping inside
this world
within worlds;
bringing flowers,
many offerings,
soulful songs,
gratitude,
and prayers;
and while I watch
from the fringe,
hearts laid to rest
upon the stone,
they leave behind
and take with them
what they've been looking for -
the pulsing silence
that never left their folds.

They are Yours, not Mine

and all along
I thought
these eyes,
these ears,
these hands,
these feet,
and these breasts
so full of love,
were mine, and
belonged to me;
until I found
they cannot see,
or hear, or touch,
or feel themselves,
nor give to me
what they cannot
give to you;
and in that moment
I saw how they belonged
not to me, but to you -
an offering
of a life well-lived,
and how I used them
to see and feel you.

Sacred Chalice

in the silent
spaces
between
breath
and skin,
in the wordless
conversations
between
form
and life,
grace
emerges -
an unnoticed
spring,
as a
formless form
brought to its knees
bows over
to drink
from cupped hands,
the offering
received
and flowing over
in one instant
from the
sacred chalice.