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Single Eternal Note

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

I won’t go into the day save to say it was grim as an overcast sky, hungover and car sick. But now, on a beach polished golden by late afternoon light, two cold beers – my companions, refreshment beading bottle-green glass and glugged so thirstily, the whole of reality is changed, altered.

The wind moves constant through the pines, and unseen birds twitter: Vibrating needles hum a single eternal note.

The tide is in, lapping gently in the push of cool waters. Oystercatchers shrill low over the glistening brine, every wavelet capturing the blinding sun.

Moored sailboats jostle anonymous, swayed by tide, current and breeze, their lanyards chink, chink, chinking, tolling a finger-tapping rhythm, a morse code of freshness.

The wind moves constant through the pines, and unseen birds twitter: Vibrating needles hum a single eternal note.

The sun is on my back like a hug from behind. I look up, and the beach is near deserted. My companions are spent and silent, drunk.

The sunbathers have packed up, leaving but a memory’s shape pressed in the sand. Only a lone young woman remains, sitting on the wall, reading. There is a deep silence inside her, a peace made of the ever-flowing wind.

The wind moves constant through the pines, and unseen birds twitter: Vibrating needles hum a single eternal note.

Behind the woman is the row of trees from which the birds twitter. Their trunk-bodies are sculpted by the air; their faces swept clean; their hair creaking; their needles vibrating with the sound of reality.

I can taste the world, the whole world, brought by the wind and the twittering birds, constant in the fronds of the trees, creaking gently.

The wind moves constant through the pines, and unseen birds twitter: Vibrating needles hum a single eternal note.

I can feel the world, the whole world, called by the wind and the bird’s constant twittering, and the oystercatchers cutting the sunlight from the waves, and the chink, chink chinking of lanyards drumming on aluminium masts.

I know the world, the whole world, found in my broadening heart’s cool waters and the sun’s hug from behind. I know the loving world contained in the constance of silence as the wind moves through the pines and unseen birds twitter; Vibrating needles humming a single eternal note.

You Call My Name

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

You call my name

With the music of your voice

And now I am falling……

–

Falling into your voice,

–

And……

–

I am….

–

Lost in the falling,

Adrift in beauty’s placeless place;

In love with love…

–

Oh, I am….

–

Speechless ………..and wordless

–

Stripped of my meaning

And brought to my knees

Before God….

–

Oh, I am

–

Silenced

–

Silence

Cool Breeze Beneath The Plane Trees

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London is sweet

In June’s ownership.

Roses billow

From front gardens

In to quite, shady streets.

There is a cool breeze

Beneath the plane trees,

And reality flexes

With a deep breath

And a mind expanding.

I read in the paper

That rare orchids had materialised

On a green roof

Among towering edifices –

An astronomical improbable chance!

Someone was quoted saying it was miraculous.

It made me wonder

What other miracles

Are yet in store,

Idling just off stage,

Unseen in the formless realm,

Unexpressed possibility

Awaiting only

A nod of our head

And an invitation to be.

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.

For The Politicians

~ distilledvoice ~ 3 Comments

Your incendiary words

Are the kindling

In the pyre

In which you stand.

Your hatred

Are the sparks

Falling into the hot oil

Smoking at your feet.

Excite the crowd with an inciting speech,

Encourage the rage of the rage-full

Until they are hot for blood and vengeance.

But ready yourself,

For what you give out

You’ll receive in measures multiplied.

The wounds you inflict

Are both the wounds on your soul

And the wounds

Your enemies

Will flay you with.

Good Morning

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

The morning is sweet

With the bird’s high ether,

Trill, and as full

As their abandon.

The air is warm and fragrant,

Infiltrated with wood smoke

And the earth’s low savour.

In a faraway glance,

The distance fades in to mist.

The morning in the breath is sweet.

A Traveller’s Sweet Moment

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All the various people toing and froing with bags pause as heads tilt to orange lights capitalising arrivals, departures, long lists of destinations, or mill about waiting to board.

A deisel thrums, fuming up the place, and a tannoy mumbles. The sun shines, diffused through skylights stained with pigeon droppings.

And in this intersecting place which is no real destination, I find happiness in the happening of reality unfolding, suddenly miraculous as if the being in me, my heart, had melted like butter in the dish next to the half eaten croissant disintegrating on a plate.

And as the guard blows a whistle my insides break from something solid to a free flowing fluid made of nothing but lightness and space and the joy of dying, where all paradoxes balloon inside until my skin seems a transitory coating, a boarder and yet an open door, a bubble’s width transparency, in which, and through the world I momentarily glide.

In The Aching Out

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In the aching out

Of separation from the Source,

In that desperation

Of the body without,

Energy in that fraught moment

Disbelieved

And transformed into a mind robbing truth,

The inner sun eclipsed

Until all is gripped anxiety

And the thieving hunger

Drawn from soul

Reluctant in the giving.

In that moment,

In the knowing of that bitter biting absence,

That disconnected fatigue

And adrenal drift of dept,

Caffeine flowing

In the pressured veins,

In that moment

Of seeing the truth of untruth

And the untruth of lovelessness,

The love to flood the self is found,

And all that was

Is warmed

And looked upon

With tender eyes

That seed no malignancy,

Only the simple need

That needs

Parenting

By the blessed touch of grace.