You are the dwellingAnd the Indwelling Presence.You are the tentAnd its opening.You are the pomegranate — full to bursting.You are the bell. Empty. Ringing.You are the space that keeps things whole.You are engraved work.You are this entire gathering –You are the accounting.You are the parts being joinedAnd you are the joinerIt is up to you to adjourn the Tent of Meeting.Make no mistakeYour body is not a temple.You, who hears these words,Who feels and fills the space you sit in –You are the temple.Your exquisite lungs, as they breathe This. –The Ark where the truest covenants are made.Your mind, the Lamp:The branching unityCentered throughout your beingSeven shimmering Auras. Torahs. Shakras.The menorah, your Mind.You are not your mind.The drape of skinBlood-red when taut and drawn towards the skyCapillaries, miniscule details, minutia of the eyeThe rainbowing oils under the slick tent.You are not what you feel.The incense and what incenses you.The scent of a lingering lover and the copper laver which resets.Skirts in the marketplace and a mistaken face in a crowd.Live in the sanctuary that is our life.Live in the sanctuary that is life.Live in One Place.
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