A Bright New Day

Chittering wrens

Pick from the larder of cones

Clutched in the pine-brush

And absorb the awakening light.

Beneath, I sit and ponder

On the nature of being.

Some would speak of mankind

Separate from reality,

Somehow living above it all.

Yet, I am moved

Upon the turning of the world

In season’s gentle shift

Of early beginnings

And day pushed into night.

Surely this body,

As all walking free,

Feels the thrust of life

In the burst of the bud,

Unopened but profoundly expectant.

Surely all are moved

By the first warm breeze

Tickling the pine needles above.

Who is really alone

When life thrums

Through the body’s instrument,

When the very moon

Sways the water of our moods

And the constitution of our minds,

And new light shines,

Drawing us out

To sit absorbing

Like the first insect

Roused from hibernation’s

Torpid sleep?

Who Is The Leaf?

Leaves drawn of their vigour

Yellow in the chill light

And flutter down

With each stroke of the breeze.

Dying is a beautiful thing

When life’s sap is safe,

Eternal

In the trunk and the root,

Withdrawn from the world

Like an in-breath

Or tide, or season’s

Planetary oscillation.

Who grieves the leaf

Its turning or its loosening

On the branch,

Or its earthward mulch

Settling into new form?

No one grieves,

For the life in the leaf

Is not gone

But hides behind bark,

Gathers against the darkness

Of the shrinking wintery days,

And awaits the pull of the sun

And the soil’s warming

And the osmotic urge

To express itself again,

And again, and yet again.

The Morning Is Crisp

On the first crisp autumn day

Dazzling light from the low sun

Guilds the forest,

Burnishing every leaf.

In hollows

There is the shadow of frost,

Grasses jacketed stiff,

But in the open

The sky is clean

And the distant rolling hills

Seem magnified.

After coffee sipped

With the sun’s hand on my back,

I amble through the farm shop

Selecting delicious items,

And while paying for my goods

A conversation spontaneously happens.

Like two old friends

Exchanging intimacies,

The shop assistant speaks

And I listen.

We share our truth

And as I look into their eyes

I see wisdom

Deep in their seeing,

As if the autumn light

Came from understanding

As much as from the sun outside,

And I am warmed

And touched by the moment

And brought wholly into the now,

An openness without resistance.

Only Our Thoughts

Only our thoughts

Deny the lifting spirit

Holding us buoyant

In the being alive.





Only our thoughts

Cage our minds,

Eclipsing

The wealth

Filling us

Until brimming,

Until our hearts

Are overflowed.

Only our thoughts

Obscure the love

Streaming out

Through ever cell,

Streaming out

Irrepressible:

Infinitely giving,

Infinitely wise.

Only our thoughts,

Our harmless thoughts,

Our transient

Substance-less thoughts

Believed to be strong,

Believed to hold

Power over us,

Believed for so long.

Only our thoughts

Are burnt

Under love’s internal sun,

And brought to nothing,

Our bonds loosened

As thoughts are seen

In freedom,

Seen for what they are:

Just fleeting thoughts,

Not owned,

But passing through

Unhindered, unclaimed, unchained

From who we are.

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.

Always Here

You are always here.

Sometimes, I turn away,

Riding the maelstrom of my thoughts

Until I’m dizzy,

But you are always here.

And Sometimes my mind strays

Convoluted paths

To past and futures imaginary,

But still you are always here.

I remember when I thought you were not,

Couldn’t even imagine

A way out of the bubble of my loneliness,

Seeing only glimpses to highlight

My misery at being so lost;

But you were always here.

If you are self or God,

Or even make believe,

I am glad that you are always here

Because you are always here.

Share The Light

I have drunk

From the standpipe

Of sour belief,

Constricted and miserly,

Gripping every drop

In an effort to control preciousness,

Becoming a gaunt shadow

Because of it,

For I am a man of this world.

Oh but the world urges to flow outward,

And the standpipe,

Rusty and dripping poverty,

Is but the mind’s eagerness

To hold love down.

For there are some

Whose eyes see beyond the standpipe

To the infinite source,

A waterfall

In which all need

Is foiled in an everlasting deluge.

And for others there is no standpipe

Denying the flow,

Only the mind

Constructing a fictional valve,

Dispensing injustice

And such a limited view.

For energy is free for all,

And you may drink your fill

Until you are full and wholesome

And ready to share

All the light in the world,

Knowing there is no end to it.