Part 5: Your Eyes
by Armando Ortiz
Your eyes light a path that leads to your temple inside the living palace where waterfalls palpitate and your pupils ignite candles that cry inside your chapels. You let me turn your prayer wheels as everyone chants Om mani padme oum.
I proceed to enter the room of a hundred numinous Buddhas and Shamans start speaking with past spirits, talking in flames, while swirling and twirling in coyote pelts.
The wheel of time turns and we open doors to other doors, and the teachings of ancestors turn and turn like the atom, like the mani wheel, like the turning of chariots, like the cycles of days, and the turning of seasons, like the turning of time.
Huddled we watch our mother dance with the Whispering Spirit.
They become swirling dervishes shuffling with the present as the fox chases its tail.
The conception of nothingness is where knowledge emerges.
Kalachakra and Vishvamata disintegrate into ashes and the dust of our delirious steps rise above our feet revealing to us the sacred wisdom of the old self-perpetuating reality that has permanence one conception at a time.
All is vanity under a canopy of frozen tears.
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