I Speak To Her

She does not wear a sari or hijab,
Nor is She of any race or ethnicity,
Espousing “beliefs” of any kind,
Neither is She a “she”,
And yet…

I speak to Her.

The Beloved is metaphor,
For the Incomprehensible,
The Unnameable, beyond words,
And yet… resident in my Heart,
Here in this Dream of Existence.

An Unfathomable Presence,
Palpable, visceral, embodied,
Of Ineffable Sublimity,
Intoxicating Dissolution,
Fullness, Completion, and Bliss.

I speak to Her, as if She hears,
With every breath and heartbeat,
About the Great Mystery She is,
While “rational” friends deride me,
As a simple-minded “religionist”.

But I, too, am a rational, empirical man,
Abnegating “belief” and faith,
Concepts, theories, and conjecture,
Wrapped around “spiritual” experience,
With no verifiable basis in “fact”.

And yet… I speak to Her.

I suppose that makes me,
A rational, empirically-minded Fool,
For I've no “idea” to “what” I am speaking,
And no “belief” in “who”,
For She remains to me a Great Mystery.

And yet… I speak to Her.

I speak in a wordless language,
For my very Existence is the Pray'er,
As it is the prayer Spoken,
And the Hearer, as well,
All at once.

Just so… I speak to Her.

I ask the impossible of Her,
In the face of all that I see,
All that rationality and empiricism reveal,
In the way of Love and Hate,
In the way of Beauty and Ugliness,
In the way of Hope and Despair,
In the way of Tenderness and Brutality,
In the way of Ecstasy and Agony,
In the ever-changing face of duality,
In the world… and within myself…

My Heart asks,
That all suffering cease,
Everywhere… now… and forever,
While the mind, rational and empirical,
Knows full well, that Creation is as it is.

And still… still, I speak to Her.