The moment in whose appearance waits itself unexpectantly into time,
Inevitably produces play whose fragrance lingers ever so subtle long after departing.
Cherry blossom, jasmine and incense are everywhere.
Every heart a drum,
Every beat the Shaman:
Calling home the Dreaming.
No prayer ever goes unanswered;
Every question, every torment its own reply.
Grace appears to reason as insanity;
Wisdom knows nothing of the self.
Each instant is a crucifixion and a resurrection;
A singularity – nothingness-somethingness –
Locked in divine, unanswerable bliss.
This is love.