Worthy of the Holy

Am I worthy,
Of the Holy?

Why do some of us shun from the light?
Why do we often believe ourselves to be undeserving?

I want to understand where the disconnect took place –
The void pulsing in my center.
Soften suffering with the cool sweep of my wand.
Rectify virtuous living when kingdom come.

What defines worthiness, in the worldly sense?

Is it the air in your lungs?
Expression in your eyes?
Heart beating loud and clear?

And so it is…

We are born serving the divine.
We are born deserving the holy.

I am that I am.

Scars inflicted and torn open again, and again by kin –
The wounded, bleeding badly and badly broken –
Souls once wholly connected, now disjointed –
Caught in the heart of darkness.

And to hear Her sing the song of healing.
The melody of resurrection.
Tuned to Karma.

I ask this humble question,
With hands folded over my burdened heart:
How do we forgive ourselves -
When stale fiction remains spinning?

I see nowhere else to go -
When The One rests within.

We must open our hearts, feel love pulse,
Breathe life into this sparkling world.

In this life, in this human experience -
We are anointed to represent our fears.

Care to let Ego run you down,
And lose your mortal crown.

The truest gold. The treasure of Gods.

Like a flower growing only to wither.
Like summer surrenders to the chill of winter.

We live to die and we die to live –
In the same way the everlasting is.

To be in fear of nature Herself,
Of death and dying -
Of impermanence -
Of mortality…

It is believing in a backwards truth.
For spirit itself is boundless!

Smudge the illusion.
Light, set us free.

Within, we remember every lesson of awakening -
Pulling back the curtains to let the light shine in,
Revealing layers behind layers to believe in love,
Turning a new leaf only to recall the meaning –

In a different space.
Taking off the same mask -
In a different place.
Time and time again.

It is that it is.
I am. We are.

The moon rises in the nightfall.
And each day brings out the sun.

Love is the eternal pattern,
Sprinkling meaning like rain.

The holy cosmos exists in the twinkle on her eye.

Freewill and Fate.
Kismet and Consciousness.

We serve a land of flowers,
Which blooms ferocious beauty.
Growing –
Shaping –
Dying –
Planting.

Built by the moving hands of divine design.
Worthiness dances in the evergreen time.