At the threshold

Space flickered and our heart sighed, since the heartbeat of God spied, though cognised by soul’s eye chaste, offered not agape love’s taste. Formless presence free from thought, ego reduced to a dot, though at peace, feeling complete, love bereft, faces defeat. Trudging along heaven’s trail, savage instincts yet prevail, which is why, God draws not nigh, for in our eye, grows lust’s sty. We’re almost there but not quite, bestowed not spherical sight, though God’s bliss boon makes heart swoon, whenever there’s a full moon. We wait our turn as we burn, within this mind-body urn, setting up an intent wave, whilst promising to behave. Grazed by bliss, soul becomes pure and childlike presence demure, upon which, we feel a surge and in God’s heart, gently merge.