A text by Michael Graber
Come my fundamentalist friends.
If you found the shedding of the body a terrible pleasure, and the forgiveness of all desires and resentments a deeper bliss than sacred sex with a little nibbling, just wait. When room expands in your heart to view life’s unfinished business through different eyes, some composed of pure, almost heretical light–and your skin unzips and skeleton crumbles into an anonymous pile of bones some future spirit-scientist may study under a nana microscope, trying with hellish desire to discover the vibration, waves of light, the infinite birth you are becoming as you release all fear and shame and hate, aware that you and that those in society define as other share the same ingredients.
This is a dance, and dance where details–music, musicians, the star-lit ballroom, dancers–blend into a collective am-ness. Where did I lose you? Where did I stop making sense? Return to that point of the poem. Locate the word where you tripped or disagreed with underlying conceit. Take just the first syllable of the word and repeat the seed of sound without rushing to make meaning. Can you take a minute and say this sound, releasing any compulsion to add to the moment? Experience, in the gap in between the ordinary and miraculous music of our lips, the molting of rapture.