Month: May 2021

Wealth

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

It’s a feeling,

Warm as a scent-laden breeze,

The succulent breath

Of a fertile night

Rich with possibility.

It speaks, and says,

“the universe is infinite,

And you,

One with it,

Part of it,

Every molecule bathed,

Are infinite too.

Drink of me,

Be drunk in me,

Wealth is love

Bubbling as creation’s

Spring;

Only through you

What is seen

Is seen.

Join the feeling

As the bee joins

Summers fecundity,

As beings all

Rise aloft

Life’s indomitable spirit.

Wealth is yours,

Your essence,

Your birthright,

And the deeper truth

Of your reality.”

The Great River

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I lie back

In the great river,

Its warm waters

Lapping at my cheek,

My chin and my forehead.

The great liquid of the world

Holds me with a tenuous grip,

Perhaps only a nudge

Upon a gently idling whirlpool.

My chest holds my heart to the sun

And I am open as a child

Yet to learn.

There is sunshine on my thoughts

And eyes, closed

For the meandering of the heart

And wisdom’s language,

Subtle as the currents

Baring me.

I am alive in trust,

Surrendered to the water’s movement,

Guided by it,

Content to be borne

Where its great waters will.

Falling Into Nothing

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I lean back

And fall into nothing,

Released from the world

So various

And swallowed

So the tight knot of ideas,

Beliefs and concrete thoughts

That I called myself,

Melts away

Until I am naked

But for my essential self,

Zeroed in formlessness.

–

When I return,

Pick up my thoughts,

They are loose upon my back,

Less important

Than the warmth of love

Irrigating my being,

And somehow charged

By the seeing.

I am reborn in myself

As myself,

Free in my body

And free in my mind.

–

Where else but nowhere,

Being nothing but being,

Can you be free

Of the entanglements

Of the physical world?

Really, That Simple?

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Is it really

As simple

As remembering love,

Acknowledging

The love in being

And that being is love?

–

Is it as simple

As turning one’s head,

Looking inward

To the source

And seeing

That source is love?

–

Is it that simple

To notice the beautiful

Hidden before your eyes,

Hidden in plain sight,

Love at your centre

Brimming where it has always dwelt,

–

Love waiting with open arms

For you to see

And be one

With your heart,

Finally coming home

To the home you already are?

A Dove Coos

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A dove coos

In the the bell tower,

Soft and throaty

And warm

For the chicks

Loved in to the nest.

–

The Scots pine,

Lofty in the graveyard,

Stands still and magnificent

Exuding presence,

Shining with silence

And oblivious of time.

–

The woodland,

Dotted with ewes

And skewed graves stones

Chatters

In warble and whistle.

In the canopy

Birds flap and flutter unseen.

The Paradox Of Separate Worlds

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In the this singular world,

This individual,

Personal reality

In which I am centre

And no other exists

But as myriad watching faces,

(Equally individual

And no less personal,

Yet experienced by me

As face, not world),

I see my thoughts

Only my thoughts,

And you see yours,

Only yours.

And we will never know each other,

For you,

As I

Are master artist,

Applying a veneer

To all

Upon which our thoughts alight.

And we’ll never really meet

Or experience

The truth

Of our separate realities,

For all I see is me

And all you see is yours,

Except in the richness

And depth of our being

Where we are undivided,

Sharing wholly

The abundance of love.

May Rain

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The sky breathes

Moist upon the land,

Kisses the newness

Of just-unfurled leaves,

Liquefying the air

Until dew drop and rain drop

Dampen tree bark

With dark mottled absorbency,

And the haze of cow parsley

Scents the sky’s earthward reach

With its Milky Way.

Shriller and lubricated,

Bird call conducted

Through the denser fluid,

Cuts the sweet cloak

Of draping mist,

Amplified inside

The descended cloud,

Defined by its weight

And closeness.

And from the delicate canopy,

Born in perfect verdancy,

Coalesced drops patter,

Splatting loose and percussive

Upon fresh nettle leaves

Yearning for light.

Master Artist Of The World

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Now, right now

I dwell in future doom

In which

What could be

Sprawls out

As a dismal landscape.

I’m in pain,

A heaviness rides upon my back

The now

Is a polluted stream

With no hope

Or respite from darkness.

–

For some time

I believe this truth,

The fact darkening the now,

Which I think must be endless.

Then, I wonder,

I query this “truth”

Threatening to pull me asunder,

And lift the curling edge

Of my feeling,

Glimpsing a flicker of light.

–

Could this feeling really be

But the consequence of thought,

My thought

Projected out

And so colouring

The whole world?

Could this world

Be but a blank canvas

And my thought

The paint on the pallet

And the brush in my hand?

Could it really be

That I am master artist

Applying tint

And shade

To all I see,

Reality fluxing before my eyes

As thoughts

Conjure feelings

Morphing under the spell of my eye

And dancing to my every preconception?

–

And if so,

What does that mean for truth

And a “real world” out there,

And the me

Who thought himself buffeted

By forces beyond

And things

Other than himself?