This day, this moment,
this is my Torah,
my Bible,
my Gita.

The pain that clamps my heart
the joy that makes me fly,
these sacred lessons
written on the invisible parchment
of my days—
they crucify me
and resurrect me.

They part the sea
of my false being
so my true one
may pass through.

This friction between how I act
and what I know—
this is the unadorned parable.

In its negotiation
lie my own loaves and fishes
my blind self finally seeing.

In the sticky mud
of the ticking minutes
of my days
I place my hand
on this holiest of books
and vow to the Beloved
that I will uphold truth,
the highest truth:
that all is God
and He is me.

This life, my sacred text.

This moment
the true holy war,
which, like Arjuna,
I must pull out my sword
and slay.

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