the entry

Not from saying names, 

or praying to statuary.

Not from holding your breath

till you are blue in the face.

Not from twisting your torso this way, now that,

till you are like a string

striving to become a knot.

Not from reading saints' lives

or fingering a billion beads.

Only this:

The moment between the breaths.

The stillness between the notes.

A firefly extinguishes itself,

bleeds darkness

before its final flare.

 ~ Dorothy Walters

from Marrow of Flame 

(homage to Kabir)