Lullaby

It begins

With a strong focussing mind,

A me behind the eyes

Looking out,

The contracted energy

Of a self

In the grip

Of wanting to be.

And maybe there is a way in that,

A way through the puzzle

That cannot be solved,

Frustration

Burning so bad,

The mind freed

Through absolute futility.

A way, perhaps!?!

But when I turn my gaze

And relax,

When I unfocus my eye

And breathe out,

When I do nothing

But be

It’s as if I’m reclining

In the feather bed of myself

And bathing

In a bath-time of being,

Absorbing sweet ubiquitous sunshine,

Something and nothing at all.

And where is mind?

For his blather has faltered,

His voice has lulled to an easy quiet.

He now slumbers,

Rested in the greater bed

Of borderless life

Upon which the warmth of love

Flows simultaneous

To everything,

And where there is no one

But the one

Being its ever present lullaby.

On A Balcony

On a balcony

Breakfast set on a small table:

Strong, bitter coffee in paper cups,

A croissant, a white roll, milk

And jam in plastic packets.

The near world:

Weathered stone buildings

With Terracotta rooves

And balconies from which

An array of washing dries,

Narrow alleys webbed together

By cables and telephone wires,

And covered terraces

Festooned in succulents

And semi tropical flowers.

Ratcheting Cicadas

Unseen in the trees

Haul the just so-ness,

Drawing it with percussive song

Until it miraculously oozes

From the pores of all things,

No one

More or less steeped

In equality’s being,

Reality broad and encompassing,

Presence vibrating as a unified field,

Every tangible element

Totally equanimous.

With A Sudden Thud

With a sudden thud

A robin

Hit the pane

And dropped.

It brought me from my chair

To cradle its tiny frame

In the cup of my hand.

I watched the last few moments

Of light in its eye

Before it faded away.

What is that light

So easily uncoupled

From the loose body still warm?

What intangible element

Glowed so fierce

Then dimmed over a long moment?

What miracle

This tiny death,

The being unsheathed

With but the stroke between a heartbeat

And the final fall

Of a red breast

That barely made it through a season.

Wonder In The One

Wonder lust

In the ever opening eye,

Wider with each glimpse

Of the infinite,

Broader

With its ephemeral taste.

Oh, how I am caught

By allure,

Drawn ever deeper

And called ever on,

Wiling to give my all,

My wholeness

My life

My love,

Hold back

Not a single drop,

Give it up,

Until I have none

Until I am undone

Until I am one.

Close Your Eyes

Close your eyes

And go naked to the love

Free in the centre of you.

This love

Knows nothing

But being alive

And the one nakedness

From which all things are.

Be in being

Where all duality

Is dissolved,

Where all that is fragmentary

Slips loose,

And even the one who might hold

Is dissolved.

Close your eyes

And go naked to the love,

The free being inside.

A Breeze

A breeze strums

The feathers of the Scot’s pine

Towering above my garden,

And a wind chime

Gently interprets

Each gust.

There is a magic in the creak

Of the flexing branch

And the twisting sinews

Of fibrous bark;

An instrument

For the wind’s fulfilment.

Always, a dove coos

When I find the wind-full tree

Of my life

Existing in the silence

Of a tangible happening,

Drawing out the now

From its hiding

Until I am like a finely tuned

Sensing apparatus,

Filled with the sticky movement of sap

And vibrating

With the sweet resonance

Of life’s thrill

Through fronds of waxy needles.

A Loving Moment

For a moment,

I am in love

With the world

Dancing before eyes,

The whole and beautiful spectrum.

My heart

Has broken the bounds of my body

Escaped the cage of my chest

And gone free

In the sphere

In the space

In the being.

Oh, how there is warmth in this,

Warmth in it all,

Myself mellow in my finger tips

As it it is mellow in the trees

And distant fields.

How broad is gratitude?

Broader than the flawless sky,

And deeper than seeing,

The yolk of my heart tumbling out

Until there is nothing untouched,

Nothing unglazed by light,

Nothing that isn’t dripping

With love,

As if form

Were some bizarre

And delicious flower,

Pungent and exuberantly expressing

Such divine fecundity.

Morning Stillness

Stillness settled with the night

And did not leave,

And now a windless, blue sky

Brims with spaciousness.

Birds, twittering in the skeletal trees

Dissect the quiet, but not the stillness,

Their tongue’s music

Is the sharp edge

Of reality.

I lean against a wall

Bathed in fresh light.

Things happen in the stillness:

A car passes,

A faraway motorbike on a faraway road,

Blunter than the birds,

A squeal of a refuse truck, ever hungry.

But the stillness remains,

Deeper and more broad

Than the mind can conceive,

Deeper and more broad,

And deeper still.

The tree, standing elegantly tall

Knows the stillness intimately.

It stands beside me, thrumming

With a soundless resonance.

In the patch of sunlight

I lean against the wall,

Listening to the birds,

Knowing that stillness.

Sometimes The Storm

Sometimes the storm

Is turbulent

But when the gusts calm,

When the fearful thoughts

Settle down,

The love we find is serene,

Bright-eyed and beautiful.

All that was tumultuous

And all that raged

Was but a movement

In love’s dream,

A squall playing on the surface,

A temporary disturbance

On the facade of our lives,

Fleeting and momentary

But unable to touch the depth of us.