When The Guest Arrives

I’m cleaning up around here

Oh, it’s been a mess

I’ve had to throw a lot out

A LOT OUT

And rearrange things

So energy can flow,

So oxygen can touch those hard-fast places

Where I had tried to keep Love’s face away,

in my shame

in my idea of not deserving Love’s glance

in my own rejection of That which I crave the most

*

I have a Sacred Guest

Who is bound to arrive

The moment I open the door

I smell Her fragrance like the lilacs and the jasmine flowers of spring

She’s right outside

I see and feel Her brightness

Even from behind these walls,

where I stand sweeping, sweeping

*

Sometimes my sweeping is born of devotion

In itself, the chore becoming a dance of Union

But sometimes, I’m just keeping my Guest waiting

Sometimes even sweeping is a form of hiding

from my Maker

The One who governs my very breath

even as She stands on my doorstep

Ever patient

Ever awaiting the thrill of a soul who wants only this Homecoming

*

And then, what can I do?

But strip naked in all of it

All the mess

All the effort

All the wanting and striving and formulated plans

All the habitual patterns and pre-conceived ways of

doing things

Strip naked

and stand before the Sacred Guest

Strip naked

and allow Love to touch this body

and allow Love to fill this mind

*

I open the the door

creak

and let the Guest enter the cave of my heartspace

wombspace

sacred space

every space

My nakedness is my innocence

And I am seen

*

There is still so much brokenness

Everything unfinished

Splayed out

Threads reaching back lifetimes

The imprints from my ancestors

The passed-on pieces revealing themselves

And the fragmented pieces

finding their way back to me

through this newly opened door

*

The Guest is here

(already)

“Come on in, it’s a bit of a mess”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before”

I laugh

I am seen

And my nakedness is my innocence

*

 

 

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