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.

What Does Love Say

What does love say

To the mind’s swirling creations,

To its entrenched angst

And to all that ails

And seems intractable?

Love says nothing,

But like a tide of warm indulgence,

Love flows as the body of the boundless self,

Flows unstoppable to bitter ills

Dissolving all but itself

And freeing that self

From the illusions

That seem to bind it.

I Look Into Your Eyes

I look into your eyes

And find my joy brimming,

For I could fall inside

The clarity of your seeing

And swim free

In nothing,

Buoyant in the being we share.

You told me of a Tuscan life

Picking olives,

A world where obstacles

Had dissolved

And all that evolved

Was the beautifully self

Looking at the same time

Both inward and out.

I tasted the olive of happiness

And lived your life

As my life

Dwelling in kinship

With you,

Where you were nothing but myself

Looking kindly from another perspective.

Chopping Winter Wood

Last night

Brought a frost,

A coating of crystalline white

Drying the air, stiffening every leaf,

Crisping every damp thing,

Stilling all life

But for the sparrows.

Into this

Plooms my breath,

Brought momentarily

From the invisible;

I feel wonder at the breadth

And reach

Of the ether if my being.

I select a log,

Choosing one with flawless grain,

Straight lines, unknotted,

Placing it upright.

I lift the axe, aim

Half heft and half let it fall.

If it is true

My kindling spilts with a snap

Akin to the most beautiful synchronicity,

The grain parting

As if only a thought’s worth

Cleaved it separate

And clean.

I cut more,

And while I swing my axe

And watch my basket fill

With rough cut pieces,

I listen to the sparrows

And the stillness,

Enjoying my breath

Realising wintery all about me.

The Moment Is Fresh

The moment is fresh

As dew-lubricated leaves

New from the womb of the world.

Oh, this sweet, empty moment,

Virgin as the first born thing,

How can I describe your unresistance

With but the clumsy word?

For you are nothing:

An endless, friendly nothing

Holding me in your arms,

Tender as the loving heart

Welcoming all that is.

You, who is no you,

You, who is everything

Seen and unseen,

Everything unformed or dwelling unchanging

In that which is not yet made.

The moment is fresh

And alive with infinite spirit,

And while the dogged mists and moods

Of false thoughts,

So seemingly bonded and glued,

Drift upon me from time to time,

Obscuring your brilliance,

They too, are born in you,

They too, arise in the light

Of awareness’s presence,

Taking their life

From the very light that you are.