More from Rafael: Authentic Heart website
If not for the poet, who would be the voice of love?
If not for the artist, who would be the brush of sight?
If not for the mother, who would walk the earth?
If not for the Beloved, who would truly live?
Like ripened figs plucked for the mouths of babes,
or honey suckled by the working servant bee,
our innermost heart layer subsides when Self
shines as Sun in the sky of our mind's eye.
With one tiny twist of an unknowable knob,
the inner color shifts from red to pink,
and a flower about to wilt, perks up in full vigor.
Enthusiasm, I call you friend!
Heart, I call you home!
I meet you in the void beyond time.
I shall remain here with you forever.
I have no life left to live, my Beloved.
Yet it feels so good to feel You living in me.
Do you feel that goodness Yourself,
since there is in truth no me?
I cannot touch this in words.
For I have no mind left to grasp.
I explode in the heart. I am Your I.
There is a whisper, but it’s louder than the wind.
It calls to us, "Come Home. The story is over, the pages are worn thin. Come
home." It’s like a chant,
a sacred OM underlying all else. It requires no doing anything, or going
anywhere or becoming anything.
If only we see that we are this whispering sound,
all else will dissolve into peace.
The dam has been bursting all along,
singing tears of the mountain's song.
The puppet breaks free from its strings,
the caterpillar soars with new wings.
Dreamers shall awaken beyond time,
in love with a human heart so divine.
The actor surrenders the final mask,
in Your light all life comes to bask.
A fruit suddenly drops from its tree,
such sweetness like honey is to be.