A moth burns

Suffused by ethereal mists divine, graced upon us when we choose to be still, doing nothing, with bliss beats we align, celebrating as voids within us fill. The entity that sought has disappeared but with ego lost, clear sight’s been regained. Entwined with oneness, what’s there to be feared, for our soul presence is pure and unstained? We know by now that each pore is a door, through which Holy Spirit pervades our form and as rapture rises, we keep no score, swept straight to heaven in this benign storm. Nodes within churn and we willingly burn, as soul’s transformed in this mind-body urn.