Bubble of Respect
In the iridescent bubble of Wholeness
there is no separation, no fear of breaking.
The age-old Dream-time world-view,
burst (how? when? why?)
shattering our womb-sense
of security within Unity,
leaving us bereft:
suicidal, depressed, bullying,
murderous, addictive, sick,
stripped of self-respect, respecting nothing.
We have learned to our sorrow
how it feels to be broken.
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Centegrity: a shiver breaks it.
A breath makes it; a breath
unmakes it, makes it new again.
It contains the universe,
bubble of Wholeness,
blown with each breath newborn
by the milky lips
of a sleeping babe,
pursed like a kiss.
It catches rainbows,
promises and dreams:
each breath a life, a death, rebirth,
a gift received with thanks,
a gift returned with thanks.
Pure intention, honoring now,
blessing past and future,
revives the world again.
Breathe with thanks; breathe delight.
Re-make the whole creation new!
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Past Eden, future Eden,
holons of a sacred world,
so piercing in their loveliness,
they challenge us to experience
reality so purely
six senses will compel us into Love.
Our now is broken fragments.
We are saints, artists, visionaries.
Yet we wrap ourselves in plastic busyness,
armor ourselves in violent emptiness,
frantic to resist this moment by moment,
ever-insistent seduction by the One.
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A sharp word splits the world.
That's what words do if they are swords.
If they are wombs as I am womban,
they nurture wholeness,
make us whumban.
They create a universe in a bubble
where we can sing a verse together:
Sing a verse to the Universe.
Sing in unity.
There’s only One in the Universe,
and She is Three,
including you and me.
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Bubble-pipe, pipe of peace:
we can blow one fragile world-egg
with room for two.
Inside, intimacy is silent moon
to a distant planet called trust.
If we hurry, we can get there
in time to watch twin suns
rise like a double-yolk.
We can blow the rainbow bubble of respect
simply by honoring the breath,
recognizing Her caress, Her loving gift;
but we must breathe together: One.
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All things become another
in the Mother, in the Mother.
She is the Womb. She is the Tomb.
In Her is room for every dream,
and we are more
than what we seem.
Change is, forever new,
forever through the Mother.
© Tamara Rasmussen 2018