The God-voice is a Land Where the Beloved Wanders and Dwells

Life is a song*
My Beloved comes forth in the vesture of skin.

Oh, my Beloved speaks: I shall wear the garment that you wear. I shall come close so that you may come close. I wear your garment. You shall come close and not be afraid.

My Beloved brings a giftbox. I don’t know what’s in it—a wound to my vanity, a new life, a new body, an old memory, a slip of the heart that was once mine, a delight for my soul. My beloved brings a giftbox. I do not know what’s in it. I do not care. It is a gift; it is from my Beloved. The effulgence of the gift shines through the opaque wrappings. I do not know what is within—a wound, a delight; it is from my Beloved. I accept. I accept it. Oh, it has come from my Beloved’s hands.

The Beloved stands near. Sentinel. Self. He has opened the gift bundled behind my solar plexus. Here. He gives it. It is voice—my voice, His voice, a harmony of ceaseless dialogue whispered in the recesses of the soul, the aorta’s chamber. My tongue becomes a dream coming true in my mouth. The dream flows forward. I whisper. I talk. I search the God-voice. It is a land unto itself. The God-voice is a land where the Beloved wanders and dwells. The God-voice is a land where Jesus sits on a throne strumming the strings of viscera and feeling until pure soul weeps from eyes, lips, palms, subtle sheaths of the body, the ether itself. Jesus sits on a throne, Master of the soul lute, He is strumming the strings. Jesus thrums in the throat and all words flutter like Isis-wings* from the mouth; all utterance flutters into the Jesus air like God-songs. They are God-songs, all words spoken here in the land of the God-voice. All your weeping, all your moaning, all your laughter, God-songs all.

In the land of the God-voice, soundwaves are Rasa Vilola.** Krishna takes your hand and leads you through the flesh of your own life’s text, through the skull of despair when you momentarily forget His omnipresence, through the nervous system of your resolute longing to unify the pulp of your solitude with His universal substance. His grand essence. Rasa Vilola. Krishna dances in the synapses. Here in the land of the God-voice, all your movement is the dance of the One. All your shaking, all your trembling, your every step Rasa Vilola. Krishna dances in your every pore. His fingers snap against your skull. Rasa Vilola. Who remembers despair? Oh, it must have been God’s invitation to the dance in the land of the God-voice where the Beloved wanders and dwells, where Jesus strums the strings and the air whirls Krishna-blue cloud, air infinite-spanned as Isis wings, and the song is yours. Is yours.

And you sing it.
My Beloved comes forth. He is dressed in robes of light. In His hands He holds a robe of light.

Oh, my Beloved speaks: You shall wear the garment that I wear. You shall take one step and I shall take one thousand. You shall wear the garment that I wear. You shall take one step and I will be there. You shall have no need for skin, for fear. You shall wear the garment that I wear. You shall take one step and be there. Be there.

Here. He gives it. Be Gods.

~Leslie Peace Jubilee
Yonkers, New York

*Sri Sathya Sai Baba

**Isis is a name for the Egyptian goddess Auset, the Great Divine Mother

***Ecstatic dance in which each Gopi danced simultaneously with Krishna as a partner