A body can become a temple in which each organ might be played to sing the songs of god.
Let me be washed by the tears that express sorrow. * Let me be broken by the distance between my arms and yours. * I listen for the melody of mourning. Like jewels they both flow eastward, the tears and the brokenness.
Amidst a world of contrast, illusions fade when the melody is made continuous, as a temple hums.
(There is a truth that kindness matters.) And kindness can be found in the eternal hum.
Begging from the shadows with a pause from listening for the sounds that never cease, heartache becomes my compass. On a route that is oriented towards devotion, I become the contrast.
I am never not looking for divinity.
I stretch myself in the direction of a secret door. The intent is to pour any love I have inside its threshold.
Though what actually happens is that I just crawl in upon my knees.