September Flagstaff Sweatlodge

The lodge was super hot, the rocks came in but never left.
"Holy cow, that's a lot of fucking rocks!"

Wisdom came with the steam, the juniper berries, the glow, the splitting rock
splits me open with it and spirit flows out from me...

"The shadow must be brought to the altar"

"Why did God order Abraham to sacrifice Ismael at the altar? So that they could be completely free."

Did you know? When you are in a dark steamy burning sweatlodge
if the wall is raised a little from the earth, there is much light and surrounding the light
there is a perfect circular rainbow, hazy from mist everywhere.

I emerged from the lodge, half in and half out,
not ready to stand, barely ready to crawl, I laid there
head on the earth, sky above, lots of air, joy to be here

I moved to knees to crawl to water, I know there is water,
crawling inspired by my son, Cyprus, now one,
everything bigger, everything either a path or an obstacle on the path,
some places hurt, some are smooth going, sharp stones, more work,

Eventually I tire of crawling and stand and stagger toward the pool,
An Aspen down in the water, I enter the pool and rest my tired hot head on the tree
The cool water covers my body, and my wrists are chilled, cooling my boiled blood
I hear the beating of my heart in my ears, thunderation with each beat, clouds move fast

I hear the beating loudly, a heart attack? No a transition, from hot to cold, from inner to outer
I hear the beating and see the drum of my heart, big enough to sit around
Set in the middle of a circle where sit Zarathustra, Abraham, Rama, Krishna, Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed and my Divine Beloved Meher Baba...

Each Avatar, Prophet, Master sitting side by side in Peace and Oneness,
Beating the drum of my heart in time with each other, each beats a drum stick from a blessed hand on me...

And standing behind the Masters, my lovers from every past life, every wife and every husband, every child I ever gave birth to as a woman, or raised as a man... all encircling my sacred heart... made sacred only by their presence.

All moments in one moment, all perfection.

Then I reach down and grab handfuls of silty mud, and wash myself clean from the past. Mud cleaner than soap, body purified for this now.

Laurent