Cultivating a Flexible Heart

Cultivating a
flexible heart,
being silent and still,
I gaze at Shakti as she dances;
a butterfly that quivers, and
hums softly,
sipping nectar in the golden,
melting sunlight.

If only we were all blessed
with the Grace
of witnessing this sacred dance!
Only a fool fails to understand,
that grasping a butterfly captures
only Death.

I open my palm, sit
in the garden,
inside of the great doors to
the Treasure house, and wait
until the Mystery
invites me
In.