The sun gives
Without question,
Pulsing with energy
In an ever outward movement,
Gifting without requirement,
Being because it is.
And we, the myriad life
In all our forms
Receive this gift,
And dance
In light transformed,
Wholly containing it.
The inner sun,
The sun of our heart
Is not different
Or a photon less
Than its heavenly reflection
Benevolent beyond our sky.
The Scots pine glows red-skinned
In the morning light.
He is always there,
Watching over my life.
Sometimes he stands out,
As beautiful as beauty itself,
And sometimes he is invisible.
Today, his presence is called
And warbled by the birds
Hopping among his branches.
The breeze too has its say
In the vibration of a myriad needles.
The mother gives
The gift, the life, the energy.
She is
In the shape of
The mother beyond the world,
Who breathes life
Into existence.
The mother is deity in earthly form,
No less than God
But no more than the mothers
In time, who populate the ages,
And bring new life
Time and time again.
They are her
As she is them.
In their hearts
They know her
Although not all resonate
With her full magnitude.
When she gives
The world is more
For she is the blood in the veins
And breath coming freely,
Filling the lungs,
And elevating the body
And the mind
With the gift of Source
Given infinitely
As a stream of love without end.
The masculine polarity is lorded
In my mind.
The feminine principle is subjugated.
Am I a man or a woman?
I deem certain characteristics
As female attributes. Certain others,
I assign to the realms of the male.
Am I a woman or a man?
I raise my children
To view the world as I do,
They believe nearly all I taught.
Are they male or female?
My thoughts are riddled with bias
And unconscious design,
A rigorous conditioning.
Am I female or male?
I am a part of society,
Constructing the ‘how is’
In my action and inaction.
Am I masculine or feminine?
Am I a woman or a man,
A man or a woman,
A female or a male,
A male or female?
Am I jointly responsible?
Am I equally responsible?
Am I free of constraint
Or bonded to the ideas I believe?
On the shelves
There are all the goods
You would expect:
Produce in colourful array.
There are people milling in the aisles,
Shop assistants serving,
Trollies wheeled,
Announcements made.
In this
You move, breathe, exist.
Reality happens – reality is.
What more could you possibly want?
I walk in reality, breathing the breath,
Feeling the body, seeing with the eyes.
The world is beautiful
For it happens
Despite the thoughts in my head.
The garden grows, expands into spring,
The foliage lush with promise.
The cat sits by the pond, under the
Blossoming trees, and amid daffodils.
He breathes the air too,
Watching, always watching,
Thinking not one moment beyond the
Moment he’s in.
The angry mind and the put upon
Seeks its justice.
Who better
Than your polar self
To carry the ills
And the blame
So you may remain innocent
And put upon still.
Who raises the boys?
Who raises the girls?
In whose mind
Are the toxic stereotypes?
Who carries the bias?
Is the domination occurring
Out there or within the framework
Of mind?
Who perpetrates,
keeps the system going,
Passing it through the generations?
Who are the parents of our collective Psychology?
Who is the mother?
Who is the father?
Are we not all children, osmosing
The faults that came before,
Then offering them
To our children
And the children to come?
Who is responsible?
Who is responsible?
Who is responsible?
You are responsible.
You are responsible.
You are responsible.
