Way Home

There is a scented trail

Waiting upon the breeze,

That, like a dog

You must follow.

For the scent is a smooth ribbon

Of being,

A substance made of love

That calls you by name

And feeds your every need

Until there is only wellbeing.

Kindness flows upon this cord,

Energy to hold your hand

And lead you to effortless life,

A voice breathing away your fears

And calling you to your self,

Your voice,

Calling you homeward bound.

Love

Float

On the upwelling,

The ever pushing pulse

Of love,

For it is yours

As it is you.

Oh, how that intellect

And riddled belief

Tells you

It isn’t so,

Oh, how cold and alone

And desperate

The separate minds feels,

How loathsome life feels.

Yet, still you float

Alive in reality,

The unacknowledged truth

A wedge between you and you,

The truth displaced

By fearful thinking.

Oh, but the truth is love,

The all encompassing feeling

Filling you whole,

A mother to your woe

Holding you close

As the child comforted.

The truth is love:

It will fill you if you but ask.

Peach Of Plenty

Breathe upon

The subtle scent,

Allow your lips to linger

On its soft flesh,

Then,

Take a bite,

Chew the sweetness

And swallow the juices running freely:

Feel the plenty

Absorbed and nourishing,

Sustaining your life.

Look again,

For the peach is whole,

Untarnished, unbitten,

Perfect in its entirety.

Breathe upon

The subtle scent,

Take a bite,

Shortage was just a dream

For the peach is infinite

And you may take all you need.

Feast upon the ever-giving gift

And eat whenever you are hungry:

The peach of plenty

Is always yours.

Ⓒ Ben Truesdale 2020

When We Share

When we share

The truth

That we are free,

We are borne upon the moment

The real-time

Ever-opening moment

Of the universe’s

Outwardly expanding edge:

And there,

We are lifted and thrust

And propelled into the infinite,

Yoked whole

And joined

To who we really are.

Ⓒ Ben Truesdale 2020

The Sky Is Blue

The sky is blue

And deep

And impenetrable,

Absorbing my gaze

Which finds no purchase

In its azure nothingness,

Finds nothing

But lazuline, cerulean flawless flatness,

In which the cumulous materialise,

Condense in forever morphing forms;

There in expansion or contraction

Wispiness or burdensome bruising

Clotting before rain drops are birthed,

Or reconsidered by the air’s

Subtle hold, and withdrawn

Into the invisibility of blueness

And the dimensionless constant

Reaching beyond the reaching mind.

ⓒBen Truesdale f2020

Perspective

Whilst watering the garden pots

In the stilling dusk

I turn

And look,

Take in an unexpected perspective,

An angle from which I have not perceived,

And suddenly my breath

Is swept from my chest

By the beauty of the rush

Of plants propelled springward

And joyously becoming

Their exponential selves.

And in that gathering moment

My heart swells

For their vividness,

For the life sweet in their being,

For their entwining and wondering reach

Into spaciousness,

And for the bud of a poem

Born on the sap-surge

Of my lip,

And giddy with the prospect of flowering.

ⓒBen Truesdale 2020

Spring Morning

I step into absolute stillness.

On the horizon

Mist shifts in ethereal veils.

The houses on the hill disrobe

Slipping from their misty dreams

As the sun begins in the East.

I step into absolute stillness.

The oranges of early morning

Warm my cheek and raise

A fresh scent from the succulents

As they absorb the first light.

The stillness pervades

Holding all things:

Beauty arises

In all that is worldly,

Both natural and made

Are vivid in the same way,

Reality seems to have a texture I can taste,

One which my eyes drink in.

I breathe a luxurious breath.

I exist

And I step into absolute stillness.

Ⓒ Ben Truesdale 2020

Joy

Joy in the twittering birds

Alight the air,

The wingbeat uplifting;

A fleeting moment

Agrasp the twig in bud.

Joy in the first bees

Suddenly innumerable.

Joy in the fly

Sunning himself on the leaf,

Absorbing the nutrient

Of the sun.

Joy in the exuberance

Of every plant,

Plump on the moment.

Joy in the resonance

Of the wood pigeon’s throat,

The highlighting of treetops

And branching canopy.

Joy in the morning mist

Shrouding the distance,

Enrobing the far away

In a joyous dream.

Joy in the saxophone

Wafting from the neighbours garden.

Joy in the children’s voices

Lost in the their play.

Joy in the sound of a car

Thrumming up the hill.

Joy in the stink of cat shit

Enlivened by the warmth.

Joy in the body

And joy in the body of the world.

Joy in everything.