We continue on into the sacred heart
of the city. Spiritual body of custom
and wisdom unfold into another realm.
In a round room with a round table,
a large circle cut out of what would
be the center of the table, just empty air,
the table like a raised, colorfully
tiled circular walk. Around the hollow
center we sit, myself leaning with elbows
and heart on the table, each of us
with an individual stained glass puzzle.
We meditate and maneuver puzzle pieces,
worship in a form of parallel play.
Stained glass muse, Maya slips into
the circle from a fold in thin air
above the empty center of the table
Her eyes wide sparkling globes. Super
natural light parachutes down covering Her
like a shroud. Her hands cup air
before the solar shrine. "I am talking
to you," She says. For my ears only.
Solitary angel. I begin to sob.
A puzzle piece falls loosely from my
hand. A woman jumps to her feet,
to my assumed rescue, breaking the silence
in a dramatic sweep of arms, cheeks
afire, shouting "Hallelujah." Silent
eyes fall from her to rest on tile.
Maya settles the woman down to heart,
in a calming voice, escorts her back to her
seat, cradles us all back to that silent
place in our hearts, of tinkering artistic
gesture toward the divine. Prayer
of the holiest magnitude.
Later, Maya shows me Her holy book,
inscribed with pictures of ornate erotic
muses, luring me off to Nirvana. |
