The Temple of the Moon

 

on the floor of my temple
are the stained garments of the
long since loved, long since washed
that others’ hands have hurried passed
that eyes have sanitized
with sanctimony

but the air of my temple is thick
with acceptance
surrender
and the power of
what pours from your pores
in these mindfully misplaced hours

the path to the door
is littered with the jitters
of the soul beneath the skin
as your sin
turns to wine
before you step in

through my open door
by which you set down your bow
take the arrow to your own heart
bleed out onto my carpeted floor

and I’ve watched flowers grow from
soil deemed too old or hard to sow
I’ve smoothed the lines from faces
and melted disgraces
carried in the battered knapsack
of all your knackered
lies

my temple welcomes your disguise
before undressing you
before my eyes
and breathing into you
your own life breath
catching your surprise
collecting your tears
in the hollow of my chest
unburdening your shoulders
onto mine
so you can rest

in the nowhere to be
in the simmering alchemy
of all your parts
pure presence
embraced by
the infinite heart

in my temple candles flicker
in the unseen corners of you
that you’d forgotten or missed
and I listen to the flesh that whispers
between the lines of your mind
and the song of your heartbeat
and the longing of your heartbeat
and the trembling roar
that you carry behind you

as I visit faraway lands
through the landscape of your skins
all the shades of earth’s history
reds and blacks and rich browns
the rich sounds
hum through my hands
speaking languages
I don’t understand

the mind untethers
you scatter and descend
into your matter
as your atoms reveal
a soft dark place for you
to land

in other epochs
we
were the ones
to whom you flocked
to learn how to be a man
by surrendering to a woman
but ho
it’s not us though
not me, my love
but her
she is the one within
she is the mother of all things
she is the one dancing the stars
and you
and the wild wind

and when you go
I lay on the forest floor of
my rented apartment
pick the brambles from my fingers
smoke the sinews out
but know the love remains
that I have been watered
by the stream running through
that I’ve gotten drunk off the black stuff
that’s risen and fallen
and met in my center
and poured from my heart
into you

I am not weary per se
but I have met my weariness at the door of each day
the part that simply
would rather not be
and all the other parts of me

the judge has come knocking
the pedantic
the skeptic
the doctor, the imposter, the spiritual by-passer
the racist, the defender
the prosecutor and perpetrator
the afraid to have
the afraid to have not

each night I watch my fear
singing ‘there’s no safety here’
I let it be but not
become me
sending prayers
as you sink into your
same-same vulnerability

we’ve already surrendered
to the goddess rising
in a world that seems unready

but we are the world
the ready and the not
we are all of it
remember

and I am not weary per se
I am simply laden with our
every thing

softening and
remembering
that through you
I love
every thing

and though I close the door for now
the temple’s ever open
wherever and whenever my heart moves
it moves with me
the air fragrant with
the aroma of pleasure
the pleasure of sinlessness
blooming like a lotus and
tales painted upon the walls are
stories I could never write are
textures of the tapestry
I weave in dreams each night
dreams of courage
to keep opening
seeing clearly
falling free
it’s on my knees
that I find this temple
begging to be used
and it is ever in the darkness
of my love
that I dissolve.