The Way Love Works (Part Two) -- Eric Ashford
- The Way Love Works (Part Two)
You are held up high in this self.
And, what is to be
in the universe of space and time
are of, and for your soul's fulfillment only.
Your wish-dreams are
the clothing of spirit for God's revealing.
You ride the cosmic wind of an eternal sun
as the breath of conception.
As the craftsman of creation
you listen to what speaks in your spirit hands
and obey the impulse of a divine love talk
as it shapes all poems of existence
within a limitless sphere of self-creation--
as the love of God to be seen of Herself.
You take your heart-ease in you
here in the space and time of your well-being,
breathing into yourself
what is good and ready to be consumed
in the absorption of spirit,
that it might nourish God also.
You slip through the world
like clear water.
And nothing sticks to your fluid path--
where you leave no footprints of any other--
but Love passing in your way.
You can feel your being
in the breath you draw into your own self
when you let go of trying to breathe
through any other medium but God.
Then you feel the ease of your way in you--
the felt-scent of a traceless joining,
love lapping together in its waves and its depths.
There you ride the same sweet breath
where you are the receiving and the giving--
a life shared in the soul dance
of your divine experience
and breathing for God.
You are nothing more than She can be in You.
And this is the Way of you.
You need no path but your love songs--
poems that shape your soul
and untie your heart from anything but the Beloved.
And you have no questions to ask of the Beloved.
You have no complaints against Her.
You are Her finger
tracing the stars into whatever earth She makes.
You are the fingertip of Her love;
and what you touch becomes your thought--
your endless thought-- carving out Love's images
in all things that mirror your being within them.
The art of the divine
reflects Love's face upon every feature.
The way Love works is not slow or fast.
It slips through time
as your own incestuous investigation--
as a sinuous blade prying open
what can only be opened in your death as Love.
Love has its own ingenious shadow
that feels its way through
to a star-child's sunrise of itself.
It waits for the chink of your horizons
to crack open like a clam shell,
and then lays itself down as your life
when your shell is broken.
It is a secret path--
this Way that keeps no secrets.
You are a secret to yourself.
This secret of God in you is too intimate
to be said in words and the spaces between words--
too sacred to be called from the minaret
or preached by any lesser being but Its own tongue.
Your temple bell has lost its voice,
to be the ringing of the sky.
You are a secret teaching
that has lost its bible in the church of the heart;
and your walls have tumbled down
to be the stars that lay under
whatever meaning the world can preach.
Yet, for a while, a lover must fly his own kite,
keeping a few dreams made out of string and paper.
For Love is revealed in the faith of its moonbeams;
and when his beams seek lesser gods
the God of the One Sun can shine through them.
He should try the air as Love's dream in him.
Flying out and bobbing for a while in the air,
fly a few thought-forms that are his special dream-life--
as if all dreams did not dream each other
in the limbs of one awakening love play.
Until you get crazy-drunk with yourself,
you cannot repent of the world.
You cannot drown the moon in the sun
until the sun receives your shadow.
So, for now, keep a little confidence
just for the flying of a paper moonrise
and a few stray heartstrings.
Be a paper moon willing to burn
so that some God you cannot reach by yourself
may take mercy on you to be that fire that lights only God.
Then you can be mute and simple and not tell how
God has placed you inside of Her
like a key in a lock
that only love can open.
You should keep some silence on
how your skin fits Hers all the way around
and how your blood
has Her spirit-heart beating within it.
How when you speak you can hear the stars shining.
You should fly a few make-believe spaceships
and travel somewhere
and not let on that you are the space
wherein all ships fly,
relation-ships that fly apart only to be Her perception,
endeavoring to keep this secret life
that is the water
where all vessels drown in each other.
You should tell a few stories of love
while drowning in the only story of love
that is beyond your telling.
You should tie a few bits of string
and paper together
and recognize that you had thrown them up
in the air as God.
Until you can fly without paper wings
and have no dream hand to hold onto the string of Love,
it would be too overwhelming to be
your orgasm in a strange body
that you spoke to as Hers.
It would be too confounding
to be the one perfect desire
held within the same drop of imperfection.
God will let go of you
when you are ready to be Her only love.
Until then, keep a thin tissue of secrets
a few lover's lies
placed like a transfer paper
over the face of God,
just a little transfer of love
between here and there,
a little dream space to hide within,
to keep the distance
an eyelash keeps from vision
just for a comfort zone of difference--
just for the sake of a little burglary
where you can steal your heart away
and pretend to have made a distinction,
where you give back your own tears
because you shed them for love
as a gesture, and a transfer of yourself.
You should keep going on like this,
impersonating the impossible
in the contrasting theater lights of illusion,
until the curtain of this deception falls
and the lights go out one by one--
until there is no one left
to keep the mystery of you
but this overwhelming Love
as it raises reflected in Her soul--
until you hear the shattering of empty raindrops
falling from paper clouds--
until you break open into the sky confessions
of God's grace and laughter
with no secret dreams to share but Hers.
Love's imagination is gravid in this drop of yourself.
You fall through your tulip heart
and taste the whole ocean of Reality in that falling,
of the pregnancy of Love's desire,
a desire of faith and an ever infant joy
that expands the universe of you.
You are both the embryo and the Mother;
and, within those two,
the Father shines out.
You are the invocation of Love's prayer
within all growth.
And this is the Way of your becoming--
Love's foretelling of Herself
in every soul birthing.
You die each moment
and are resurrected
into a neonate revealing
of the miraculous conception of Love.
You are the easy path and your yoke is light.
You make no hindrance of yourself.
You seek no advantage over love.
You do not interfere with the flow of being,
but play with each wave of yourself
as if with your only love.
You do not avoid the wave troughs;
and you do not cling to the wave crest,
but flow easily as both,
knowing you are the spirit
that moves upon and in the water of life.
And, in that fidelity, you meet Love as itself--
as it Is and as it becomes in you.
Love wears your body and soul as a marriage ring
upon a hand that touches its own creation.
Love knows Herself in the way you touch Her.
What you touch in yourself as love
feels nothing but Love's touch.
You awaken in the eternal Mind
knowing: this is the heart of everything that will ever be.
For Love cannot awaken
without your will to be its movement.
Love is only known in the act of loving.
Love Is. But, without your being of it,
Love is a door unopened--
a marriage yet to be consummated.
Love is only as wide
as the door you open in the heart of yourself.
The Beloved who knows your love to be Hers alone--
both in your sleep and awareness--
enjoys Herself in your vessel
and kisses every contour of your craft.
She tastes you and loves that taste;
and you live on Her tongue
as a drop of yourself in Her perfect goodness.
You live in Her mouth tasting this thought of love,
while, in the heart of you,
She awaits that kiss of perfection
you have denied yourself.
You are not a secret way.
You have no knowledge and nothing of wisdom
that is apart from Love.
You are simple and that is why you are great--
great with the child of your love.
Your passion is not your own.
You are Her speaking
in the womb of Herself before the delivery
of what She can say as you.
You are Love's labor of love.
You come out of Her easily
and are not apart after that birth.
You enter what She will enter;
and you remain where She will keep you.
You are the Way Love is and will be;
and the thought of what becomes you
is your own self-evident life in God.
You give no meaning of yourself to Love
but reveal Love's meaning in Her Nature.
You dress up in Her-- in God-Lightning,
in the divine silence, in the invisible thunder
of Love's vision.
You are not other than this utterance
in the cave of Her Love
where She listens for Her answer--
Her love revealing the secret of Her.
Your heart now speaks
because you have let go of any language but love.
You are the sound Love makes
in the open mouth of surrender.
You hold yourself close
to whatever loves you into this Self,
and flow out of this Self
as whatever Love has to say.
For now you are turned over.
Love has turned over in you;
and the face of your mirror-soul
now looks upon a self that was hidden in God.
You have become so human
that your soul has flowed out of all bodies
to be the cup that Love drinks from.
You are April rain washing
the hills of your country.
That rain holds within each drop
the myriad features of being
held together by One Love.
You are bathing in where you are
and finding out where you are not
in the cleansing rain
of a timeless awareness.
You are human as a flower is human,
and the earth and sky is your flesh.
You live upheld in a benevolence
of God within you,
uplifted as the tulip heart of a sun
that opens its petals of light
until no petal remains--
only essence shining;
a speaking that is the voice of the blossom
awakened for the delight of Love,
and opened to itself.
You are delighted with this being,
this body of Love shared with all things.
When you look at your hands,
your outspread fingers,
you can see your celestial self
lifting the face of God into infinite emptiness
and returning as the artwork
of an abundant beauty--
a Beauty that needs your eyes to see its reflection.
Forms appear to die and be reborn
upon the fingertips of this Love.
Your fingers spread out further
creating more of Her-- more of you in Her.
Dead sparrows fly in the daffodils.
You are feather-fueled here in the garden
where the passing away is flowering again.
You have found out Love's secret teaching.
Quite by chance
you have stumbled over your mind's skeleton
here in the garden of endless decease
Here, in the limitless body of Love
you become the look the moon has in a dreaming lake
when it stares up at its eternal Beauty.
You have understood what the daisy has known
and the daffodil preaches eternally:
that there never was any rule of Love,
and that the golden rule is to keep nothing,
and there find a priceless gold.
The rules you had been learning
were the sermons of despair
prattled by the insane idols of a God
you had raised as a separation between
what you are
and what you allow yourself to be
in this One Love.
The moon does not need its surface
to be the light of the heavens.
The dark face of your moon-soul
is as clear as the sun both in shadow and light.
The only rule you now can be
is to give every idea you have away
to be God's idea of you as Her,
to be this burning feather
in the daffodil-prayers of becoming,
to be a sparrow consumed by an eagle,
willing to nourish
daffodil-suns with dead feathers
and fly unburdened by any other wings.
You can say yourself in every part of you;
yet, all your words of life
are only the garments of your truth.
That Truth which is Love's work in you
remains the silence of God's knowing--
a knowing that is beyond what can be said.
If you could say your truth
in any other way but love,
you would have to find another language
to speak in--
a sound and word not known in the world
since that morning
when your clock crashed off the wall of time.
that time that was outside of time
that you did not feel in time,
but felt as Love's body turning over in you--
in that dawn, when your tulip heart opened
to be the face of God.
Then the Beloved turned you over
to be Herself.
Then She began to pray in your being
as Her divine expression
and to wash your face in Her body of Love--
a Love that rains ever more clearly
into the empty cup of yourself
held up for the cosmos of creation
to pour through you.
You are the sky-roof of heaven
and the ground of a fertile earth,
both returned to each other.
Now you are human at last
and live in the heart
of an infinite tulip of love
as the unseen essence of that
which will blossom
in the garden of time and eternity.
Now you can never be less
than the love that you are;
and, what you are now,
is the way Love works in you.
Now you are not speaking in your body,
for your spirit is not yours,
but an oral movement of Love.
You are the partaking and the giving.
You speak from a tongue of flame
that licks all tongues into feeling,
forever beyond the extremity of flesh,
but uttered into every form as its content.
You are the fiery thrust of life burning
upon the secret lips of love--
lips that sustain appearance
for the invisible touch of yourself.
And, in that telling of yourself
there is no secret to your telling.
It is the sex that births the cosmos of God
inside the seed you-- open in yourself.
It is the flower that can be tasted.
It is the eternal blossom that is inside
the flowering of the Universe.
You are petal movements breaking open
to be the one power of Love
seeking the space and the offering
of your star-bright surrender.
And what you surrender to
is just your emptiness
made real by your heart-shattering desire
to be God's way through you.
These bodies of Love that you fall through
begin where you open them in their subtle forms,
in the transpiring bodies of Love
you bring awareness to.
They are the hidden flowers of Love
that are held in the darkness
for the light of you to reveal them.
Every new body you move into
is the untilled garden of light and shadow
brought to appearance as a mirror
of God for Her to look upon.
That looking of God is the way you look in Her.
She sees Herself as your clouds and rain
and opens Her own infinite body for this meeting.
She opens your clouds and rain
for you to fall through.
She opens the bodies of you
that She be nourished of the love you give Her.
That love is Her own prayer
answered in your passion to be only what She is in you--
this one body of Her Love.
And so, you are the finding of your earth and the sky;
and where you join them as one body of your truth
She blesses that union with Her Beauty--
a Beauty not of your earth or sky
but of Her Reality transpiring through
whatever body you make sacred for Her touch.
That touch is Hers and you may only feel it
when you offer your realms of being
to the fire of Her vision
that She might ignite the soul of your cosmos
to be the being of Her.
You are limbs spread out like clouds
to receive the rain of Love's passion--
as Love's prayer into light--
as this oral movement--
as this tongue convergence of Love.
You are not born again
You are not begun, but arrive;
and where you arrive you depart
as a movement of Love's Self
as She explores what can be said
in the body of Her own Way in you.
Love works in you;
and only Love reveals this work
that is void of all becoming of you
but Love's Way.
You are no longer a haunted house
but the temple of Love's prayer;
and from that temple the fountain of God
overflows to inspire every sphere of your consciousness
into the sun-flowering presence
of your being in Her.
Then, from out of that star-bright beyond of you,
Love gathers you into Her womb again.
Your early dawning consumes itself in an unborn darkness.
You lose all title and rank
and are consumed in an adumbrate mystery
that cries out one last prayer of death.
There is no God or you to hold to--
only a wind of dissolution
as it roars as a dragon's breath in the valley of annihilation.
This does not happen. It happens always.
This second coming of Love
always was your real birth
and it is now open wide in the unknowing of itself.
From out of that death
your Jesus soul returns to you
and you are now the Spirit of the wind.
You are the second-coming of man,
and all men are your flesh and blood;
and creation is a cup you drank
in order to be the life of Love's resurrection.
You have reclaimed the body of Christ.
You are Jesus and Mary
and you are not two
but one breath dancing for the play of Love.
You stand in yourself
and are the door you walk through.
Love has opened the tulip heart of itself.
You are the soul of God
and the Holy Ghost is your house
that is lit for all to see as the work of Love--
a work you give away forever:
as the I Am:
as the Body and the Way.
And all this you have written here
and will ever write of, are only hints
written in the sand of dreams.
You can understand these ghost words
for you are the pen and paper
of Love's soul speaking for God.
Your one good eye is open;
and even though you dream a while
of being haunted by this Love,
you will know that this haunting
is just Love's work in you
until your ghost awakes
as the living eye of what you are
and always are to be:
the vision of God as Her
in what you give up of yourself
for Her alone to see.
Copyright May 2003 Eric Ashford