Peeking over the edge

Peeking over the edge                                                                          
 
I light a tea candle in my room
before a photograph of the Tomb
 
adorned with dried Samadhi roses
and assorted other gleaned icons
 
relevant almost exclusively to me
in a round red shallow, bowl-shaped
 
votive vase, the flame at once
strong, high, bright;
 
shadows thrown about the room. 
I lower my eyes and gently invite
 
truth, surrender, Oneness, God
into my makeshift prayer chamber.
 
Much later, I raise my eyes again,
prepare to rise upon my muscles.
 
The flame is low, meek by then,
barely peeking over the edge,
 
floating humbly, improbably
in the spent fuel of limpid wax.
 
My room is dark again; vast,
intimate, evidentially divine.
 
O child of God, to experience the Everything
allow yourself to be reduced to nothing.