WHO?

who is it that beats this drum?

if you think it is you then

leave this circle,

you are not ready for truth,

who is it that fills these lungs?

if you think it’s you

you do not sit in this circle,

but trapped within yourself,

that beating drum 

within your chest,

that flute played with your breath…

gifts, all gifts..

the drum, the flute, this breath

now this breath too, 

gifts, all gifts,

 each present moment.

who is it that gives you these gifts? 

if you do not know, 

find out!

IGNITE YOURSELF

Burn up until nothing of you is left

but ash.

From an ancient gnarled oak,

roots deep into ground,

our limbs conspire and contort to reach the sun

and stretching beyond that familiar inviting light

 we speed and swirl past planets, suns and moons, 

flinging them out of our way

 we spiral outward, ever further-

faster then the speed of light.

it’s true!

we are past light

racing into nothing known,

an unseen endless void,

a deep drop into nothingness,

 die into nothingness, 

into silent emptiness.

This is the source of everything!