I bow before the Mahasiddha,
The Source of All Names,
who hears these frail words
cast out to the storm for His discernment.
I bow before my Sovereign Lord,
The Principle of Understanding,
who shook off all garments of crude religion
long before we ever thought to ourselves.
I bow before my Holy Guru,
Man of still-water eyes ,
always first to forgive,
then, sudden as a ripple, to demand.
I bow before my Chosen Prince,
Master of Wildness,
who taught us in the way of women:
skin over thought, love over will, feeling over plan.
I bow before my Gracious Master,
Curer of the Loveless Heart,
who trains my pride into balance,
as a dog can learn a single human word, exactly.
I bow before my Illustrious Host,
Tireless Servant of His Devotee,
who made a solemn oath to me through mother's ear
before I left the womb.
I bow before my Silent Witness,
Whose Bare Feet Leave No Tracks,
in whose Presence I now kneel—
a riddle for the iris: why He can’t be seen.
I bow before my Only King,
The Steadfast Inner Ruler,
whose walking staff inks black my spine,
in a law that binds past death.
I bow before my Laughing Man,
Maker and Breaker of All Rules,
at whose feet I set the splintered bones
of all my love and lover-killing births.
I bow before my God of Mercy,
Who Drowns The Heart In Forgetfulness,
who crippled me with His coldest eye
to make this root move softer in the soil.
I bow before my Outcast Savior,
Whose Body Eclipses the Brightness of Suns,
who has no power to turn away
from those who turn from Him.
I bow before my Humble Servant,
Whose Body Is Constant Prasad,
whose single hair lies curled in my locket,
hung on a tarnished silver chain.
I bow before the Human-Bodied Mystery,
Whose Loving Glance Unbinds the Self,
who adores our fresh cut tulips in the morning,
knowing they’ll only last a day.
I bow before the Howling Gale,
Great-Bellied Messenger of Truth,
who severs men’s heads at first meeting
to order all future exchange .
I bow before the Open-Handed Yogi,
Who Gives The Siddhi Of Gratitude ,
with a well-timed whip
that’s stopped this donkey’s hoof at the tip of many cliffs.
I bow before the Source of Paradox,
who weaves our bodies in a veil
through which all light may run.
I bow before the Love of Lovers,
Whose Name is Known by Devotion,
who nodded His head to my drumbeat once
sitting close in the summer sun.
I bow before the Conscious Light,
Rainbow-Hued, Devoid of All Color,
who holds a mirror before the face
so it can be more easily lost.
I bow before the Diamond-Bladed Warrior,
Still Eye In The Hurricane of Form,
who eats and eats the coming dark
that will nearly blind the earth.
I bow before the All-Consuming Fire,
Lone Companion of the Heart,
who carries me through hells I thought were fables
about which I will never speak.
I bow before the Turner of the Wheel,
Unfading Friend of the Earth,
buried in repose, cross-legged,
facing West in the blood of all our lands.
I bow before the Master Dancer,
The Perfect Devotee,
who taught me that to bend my head before a sage
is to wake up from below .
I bow before the One Who Has No Equal,
Restorer of the Secret Way,
who pours His heart through every chest
like paper lamps along a chasm's wall.
I bow before the Knee of Listening,
the curving river of nectar— you
who read these lines in time.
I bow before the One In Whom There Is No Difference,
Sacred Mirror Who Reflects All Things,
I've told you what I know of Him.
I am a lover who murdered his King.