Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

God makes me blush

I like the way you blush, God,
The season spring.
The season summer, the season, fall the hour of winter
And that magnificent season, existence!

Yes I love the way you blush, my Lord, when we are sometimes near.   (Hafiz)

There is something about intimacy
Is bares us
That strips us naked
And leaves up naked and pimply
In the fresh breeze of existence

God makes me blush
At the sheer audacity of the divine knowledge of me

God knows me
And that knowledge strips me of all pretense
All sense that I can somehow pretend

I am feel like an emperor
But the emperor has no clothes

Love does that
In the presence of love
We are stripped down to the core of who we

When we are known
Really known
And still are seen with the eyes of love

What is there to do but blush
At such transparency
At such acceptance

What is there to do
But say “thank you”
Thank you, my love
My child
My friend

Our cheeks are rosy
With our joy

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