Holy Smoke 

The ritual bonfire burns.

Even in the rain,

The smoke smears down.

We dance in circles around the flames

While drums en-trance us.

There is no sky today,

Only earth.

Deep entanglements untie

As we dance and finally feel the truth:

There is a sky!

And we are in it.

The smoke is staying here to dance

With us, circling around the flames.

It doesn’t know the steps,

But then again it has no feet.

It watches us to learn the dance.

We watch it to learn to fly,

Even in the rain now pouring.

We smear down.

Our fingertips try to grip some unknown time,

Some unknown place

That Smoke calls home.

But we can’t go,

And it can’t stay,

And to think otherwise would be

A great departure from the Truth.

But we maintain the ritual dance,

And we still smell the remnants of the smoke

In our living, breathing nostrils,

And we understand the mighty dimensions, 

And the holy space that joins them

Where all things meet,

Where all things are True,

And all things are One,

And there is no more separation.

-jenn