No singular resurrection

Love is

The funeral pyre

Where I have laid my living body.

All the false notions of myself

That once caused fear, pain,

Have turned to ash

As I neared God.

What has risen

From the tangled web of thought and sinew

Now shines with jubilation

Through the eyes of angels

And screams from the guts of Infinite existence

Itself.

Love is the funeral pyre

Where the heart must lay

Its body.”

― Hafiz, The Gift

_______________________

this is something I am learning

I cannot say I have already learned it

for it is elusive, and I am forever chasing this truth

down dusty roads

and into dark alleyways,

catching glimpses of it everywhere

but

never

quite

being able to firmly hold it in my hand

this is something I am learning

that life comes from dying,

fullness comes from emptying,

freedom comes from binding myself to love

that I most find myself when I lose myself in

the One Who is Love

When I let myself self be deconstructed,

torn,

burned,

ravished

by a love so intense that all that I was

is destroyed

for in that ending is a beginning

I am re-created by

that same love

and “risen

From the tangled web of thought and sinew”

I find myself again

Child of God

But this is not a singular death

Nor a singular resurrection

For I must die and die

And die again

To all those things in my

Which would rob me of peace and joy

of life

for in every death there is a beginning

and once again I rise