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Give Up and Be Perfect

I contemplate life with
smoked almond and cauliflower soup
warming up my insides,
indian corn adorning our door,
and a fleece blanket in my lap.

I talk on the phone
about the body of thought
as being everything we are:
each of us a complete reflection
of omniscient good
heavenly, spiritual,
never vulnerable or thwarted.

I’m paid to hand out
metaphysical erasers
for rubbing out mistakes.
No misconceptions are permitted
to intimidate or confuse–
they need our consent to exist,
but we, ever so wisely, refuse.

Instead,
we pour in truth,
suffused and imbued,
cleansing and overflowing.
We turn away from and let go of
those pesky false suggestions,
no matter how importunately they pound
on the metaphorical door;
because we are safe and cozy
never cowering or wincing
totally protected under the
impenetrably infinite wing.

Give up and be perfect;
return, return, return
to love, which is life itself,
closer than your next breath,
with nothing to fear,
but the impossible hubris
that we could ever think
that we could be separated
from wholeness, which
of course we cannot,
never has been,
and never will be.

We are not
what we eat, what we wear,
or what is outside of our door.
We are what we think
with no mind of our own.

We can’t make it up
or even misbelieve,
because all that’s actual
is colossally marvelous,
and is already here:
the exceptional ultimate,
is ever at hand, unfolding,
and revealing itself
more and more,
eternally.

Notice it, adore it,
embrace it, express it,
–get out of the way!–
be grateful for and enjoy
the adventure of being
the only real,
wonderful you.

Polly Castor
11/28/17

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