Summer Ashram

We don’t need
to dress up our spirituality
in fancy language

Sanskrit might as well be
cicada hum

church is apple blossom
and watermelon

choir is a chorus
from a bank of summer flowers
worshiping sky

our sacred drum is
wailing children
stomping sand

i am,

and am,

and am.

I get my sermons from slugs

I am schooled by
sea-glass, and the alchemy of
lifetimes of broken hearts

I am
more than human.

and if I can’t trust
when I’m scared

then how can I say I trust?

If I can’t love – here –
when things fall apart

then I can’t say, I truly love.

If peace inside of me, relies
on peace outside of me

it’s not peace.

I am
majesty, and algae

I am “spirituality”

no robe needed
no green smoothie.

no building
no costume
no “channelling”
no “download”

no archetypes
no exclusive circles

no animal skull/fancy dress/skin drum
can emulate, or replace this

we are
and are
and are

limitless.

*

There’s no guru, but
your own breath

so don’t kiss my feet
and feed me sugar

let’s lie in the long warm grass
and worship

all the light we cannot see,

together.