weaving the tapestry – reweaving threads unweaving


the incense of suffering

(to the Muses of muses and her shadows)

 

“There is nothing in my self that can be relied on.”

 -St. Teresa of Avila

 incense1

 

my hart said to my harts

there is nothing

at the hart of the rose

nothing is here

but the incense of suffering

 

the diamond hart of kwan yins

seeking nothing

she floating on water

finding nothing

her hart of all harts still weeping

 

the tears of black madonnas

speaking of suffering

the rose within roses

heaven still sorrowing

crowning warriors kings hanging

 

the sacred hart of harts

suffering nothing

he walking on water

seeking without fearing

the fragrance of a burning rose

 

the subtle minds of bodhisattvas

finding truth ennobling

on lotuses dansing

sufferring nothing

still their unworthy hart leaping still

 

smoldering tears  washing my cheeks

unworthy as we are if not

serving the midnight rose

we are nothing if not

the incense of love suffering

 

nothing is certain while nothing is suffering

 

within the immaculate hart of harts

something comes from nothing comes compassion

goddesses awaiting gods returning home

incense2

 

so i follow the incense of a smoldering rose

 

chrétien marc valentin

(© 08 août 2014 – 1st draft 04 septembre 2003)

 

*The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila by Herself, Chapter 5

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