Strike me paradise! Make me move! - I dance beneath the churning stars, I flail and sing and cry out joyously, I temper my movements with the sweet grace of ill-conceived confidence. Strike me rich, paradise, with your bountiful nature - send me reeling across the night in blind glancing freedom. Spill me into the universe. I swing and let the constellations collect themselves upon the vast black canvas. I spin, and the gravity of dancing weaves another circuitous galaxy. I have the weight of ancientness; I bear the burden of now on tantric shoulders. Paradise, make me over in your image, like the river carves the cliffs, like the mountains reach at skies, like the dreams that come in sleep, like the clouds that calm the sun. (In paradise, the moment passes. It comments on itself, flutters, and, like a daydream, wanders languid into the spectacle of being.)
