So many confused.
Christ is not a man who lived long ago,
Nor a woman.
The Christ is not of this world.
Men and women, even a child,
Can realize the Light.
It will not come through the body’s eyes,
Glory supplants our binary earthly existence.
Wish to become fully the Light?
Be not fooled. Pain will be involved.
How are dense gray rocks transformed into transparent crystals?
How is gold purified?
The Christ is Quietness.
A snowstorm scribbled a solid excuse to stay home,
Relief washes over you,
Your daily burdens miraculously lifted.
Peace envelops the forest, or city street,
Blanketed in pure heavenly white.
Sunlight transfigures the brilliant wonder,
into a unexpected in-breath of long-awaited awe.
This same Love reaches through a young woman’s
Fatigue to comfort her cranky infant,
Or sensed as a man opens his heart
To his woman’s upset directed at him.
It is felt as skillful compassion is extended to a distressed addict,
Understanding the incessant attempts to keep the inner demons at bay.
It shines through a neighbor’s soaking of a small dog’s infected wounds,
As day after day, she coaxes the little creature from death’s claws.
Christ is the Eternal Remembered,
Not a religion.
Christ is those who embody the Deep Stillness,
Those transmuted by the Joyous Emanation of Immortal