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
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.
Sometimes I’m lost in thought
Whisked away to darkness
And imaginings
Fraught and perilous,
But always I find my way back
To the sun, my heart
And the light of love inside.
–
And so
I too and fro,
Losing myself
And then re-finding
What cannot be lost,
Ever the sun, my heart
Ever is it shining.
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.
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.
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?
I am lifted upon a cloud
As light as love
As playful and transient
As love,
Making no mark upon the world
But indelible significance.
For what else lifts us
In the body?
What else
Conveys the clouds,
Makes the moon the delicious moon
And the sun magnificent?
Even when we are down,
Crowded by thoughts,
Living beaten
By the throng of our thinking,
Still we are lifted
And still we are born
In the world and of the world,
Love in everything
Despite our tenacious denial.
How long can we hold
To absence, and the idea
Of heartless universe?
A lifetime, perhaps?
Or perhaps,
There is instantaneous recognition
That loves fills
And always has.
In the feeling
All that was future
And past
Is gathered
To the beautiful, unfolding now.
You,
Withdrawn from scattered self
With eyes only for the world
And the things in it,
Are returned inward
To yourself,
Finding that you are whole
As you have always been,
And full of love
For every wrong turn
That lead you to the truth.
Never were you parted
Never were you alone
Never were you distant
From wisdom’s place
And the heart song
Singing
Life’s simple authenticity.
You are the outpouring of self,
Fresh and new and crisp
To the world
And joyous
In the living of it.
Love sees you
Dwelling shameful,
Harbouring secret thoughts
Too ugly to own,
And puts its hand upon your shoulder,
Turns your face
Towards the sun
And whispers
‘You are not alone in this
For I hold all in warmth,
And all your shameful thought
Is but a heavy weight
You need not lug about
Nor even believe.
Come out
From the shadow of your thinking,
There is no weight in love
Only fullness
Of the heart absolved
And the infinite wealth
Of joyous being.’
Turn
From the tired old trudge
Into limitation,
Where the mind conjures
Ever decreasing lack
And multiplies of hardship.
Turn towards
The vortex of love
Spinning perfect
In the centre you forget
While straying in the dream
Of you as lonely entity,
You as lonely, separate fact.
This infinite you is limitless
And born anew,
Fresh and ever fruitful.
It calls the thoughts,
Enrobes them rich,
Colours them
In love’s ubiquitous energy,
And spins them
In upward spirals
Bringing more and more
And glorious more
In never ending
Expansion of being,
A potential
That cannot be reached
But can be
Reached into
And rode:
You,
Forever uplifted.
