Of fine tuning
slow, steady attunement to another being.
Of recalibrating what bliss means-
with once singing joints now rickety,
tired and aching from carrying a little one –
but redefining ecstasy to encompass new reference points.
No, I am not presently a master of Yoga or the Intellect,
only having plumbed the depths of my own soul.
Master of this:
The Inner realm that is also the Outer:
reflection of divine light
also known as Love,
reverberating in all my cells
and in my slow beating heart-
quiet master of my own loving, aching soul’s journey
through time and space
Nothing more, nothing less.
Just Here, simple, in love in the face of small things.
I am not a master of words.
My particular realization concerns itself with Presence,
that act of grace filling body
coming together to form spine and stomach
and eyes flashing only glimpses of Divine reality within.
Ushering forth new life,
A mother becomes master of
Some say ‘mundane’
I say beating heart
full of love
resting in simple dance of Being.
Nothing more. Nothing less,
Like the great crucible of life that is