*Magic Carpet Ride*

Master:

This is not a blue rug. It is something else.
Sure, it feels like a rug, and it most certainly gives
the impression of being blue, but what first impressions
don’t falter with more scrupulous investigation? Look closer.
Better yet, step back, shut your eyes, keep them shut, then look closer.
Now wait, just for a moment, and tell me what you see.

Apprentice:

Master, I see a field of soft grass rustling like pond ripples
in the silent breeze. There, wrapped around a lonely hill
lies the skin of Tiger, jaws gnawing at the drift of seasons.

I see brother Snake curled in a basket, feasting on his own tail, which
never ends and always continues, even when feasting on his own
head. One day he’ll rise, Master, and rustle the naked fig leaves of life.

There is a cave, distant, but near, empty, abandoned, save for the specters
of 1,000 ancestor warriors who have since shun the battlefield, renounced
their weathered swords and mastered secrets lingering behind cold stone walls

I see a forest, the storm and ten lost oceans converging at one singular point
two inches behind the breast of an elephant’s skull, a skull shaped by thick shards
of past memories

I see the female wolf lactating on a virgin sun whose immaculate children
peer curiously into milk washed night, tongues lapping the warm air.

Master, this is not a rug, this is a temple with vast golden pillars in the form of
a Queen and a prince sharing kisses below the crescent moon, and, in the
center, atop the bare green altar, lies a bloody heart, beating without a body.

It is all, and everything, and all, and everything, and all, and everything else,
spoken and silent, real, imagined, seen and unseen, manifest beyond
thin veils of mud.

Master:

Now, my son, open your arms, embrace the temple, and reunite with your heart