I Am A Bath

I am a bath. 

I am the crackling sputter of a humid candle. 

I am a human animal. 

Sensual, that’s undeniable.  Sacred, neither deified nor defiled.

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I am a lover. Imperfect, but not at fault. 

I am the aching chambers of this heartbeat’s vault. 

Pummeling to the depths of resilience. 

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I am stuttered hesitance— a fumbled trip, a bitten lip. 

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Waking up to the space that holds this fiction, 

Yet still subject to the friction 

of the ego’s addiction 

to de-fine myself, 

Safely confine myself 

Shackled to the conceivable, or, least, the perceivable.

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Is original sin but the illusion of mortal separation? The prerequisite for “creation”? 

Without “me”, there’s no need to just-if-I. 

Exponentially “evolving” layers of projected identity craving validation ’til “I” die.

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What is there to prove? What to redeem? 

Infinite steps in every direction, 

anything outside of Now 

unattainable it would seem. 

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Who cares who thinks what of me? As long as I’m free. 

Yet crystalized expression, through me longs to be.

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70% surrender. 30% detached intention. 

Ceremonial, each action—without the pretension. 

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Anything that has been or will be done is divine, is a dream.

No matter it’s motivation. No matter it’s outcome. 

Big or small. 

Celebrated, forgotten or condemned.

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The Witness Be Held it. 

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No matter how much whichever separate identity believes in their (in)ability to “manifest” 

“their” dream…

Whose dream?

What birthed personal preference, and impulse?

Out of what? And into what?

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No matter circumstance at birth ~

Or sense of self-worth ~

No matter the role. 

All are equally, inextricably divine and eternally beyond. 

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Profoundly imperfect.

Perfectly meaningless.

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Rabbit-holes of questions suction whirlpools of seizing seekers. 

Endless, maddening, exceedingly brittle. 

And chaotic.

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Pupils—black holes in the fabric of our projected dual universe. 

Wormholes…

A straight shot to Source.

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In stillness lies expansion. In silence, knowing.

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I am a wild lust. 

A rapid gust  —

At any moment—from this plane I could be thrust.

In that moment, 

Will I know Trust?

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Forgive the imaginary enemy.

Relax the grip on meaning.

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Call it fall or call it fly. 

Do not pass Go. 

Do not collect $200. 

Dare now?