For the Summer Solstice
“Don’t tell me about the end of the world.
Tell me about the beginning.
Befriend entropy.
Assume this exhalation is your last
and you are on the slope of a final heartbeat.
Be a wing that glides on gravity, rising
only by surrender, never quite knowing
how this melody is made from listened silences.
A thousand skies are raveled in a raindrop,
a thousand lives of wisdom in a tear,
last Summer’s light on a brittle twig
wrapped in a milky cocoon, a blue egg
waiting in its mother-swirl of sticks,
she too the shaper of galaxies.
Relax into uncertainty, into the wound
of not knowing, into the sound
of what happened before creation
in the brilliant beginning-less core
of this moment.
Come taste and see
the diamond-pointed bindhu
between the mirrors,
between the world and its beholder,
here, where what flows out
meets what flows in,
a tiny wild flower of grace
that glows only an inch or two
in front of your chest.
Don’t tell me how it ends,
tell me how it begins.
How this breath is given
because you surrendered that one.”
How It Begins by Alfred K. LaMotte
Chorlton Unitarians 