god

The Path

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In the ever present now

We find ourselves

Expanding

In knowing –

That we are infinite being

At the crisp edge

Of happening:

Becoming ourselves

In the unfolding of the universe.

And sometimes we forget,

Dawdle lazy

On the road

Of our making:

Obstacles scattered

By our own hand

That make the journey

Seem tiresome and long

And effortful.

And sometimes we remember

The ever present now,

And step inside ourselves

And the universe,

And the being

That we always were,

And see

We too are always infinite,

And the road

And its obstacles

Are but illusions

On an illusionary path.

The Wealth

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Not one of us

Upon the earth

Is anything less

Than the whole sun

Shining in being,

Illuminated in the endless wealth

Emerging from the formless realm,

The nothing and the nameless,

Our infinite self

Ever at our finger tips,

Infinitely Infinite and infinitely free.

–

It is only our crowded thoughts,

Straight-jacketing us rigid.

Gripping us to an idea

Of a drought-ridden self,

Stiff within our skin

And so hopelessly lonely,

That thinks us

Thought-severed from the Source,

And made bleak as a separate entity.

–

And yet, those thoughts separating

Are but tenacious thoughts,

Combined, conjoined, layered,

Believed, stiffened, judged

And felt solid enough to be real,

Each one hiding us from the truth:

–

That universal love

Is the absolute fundament of our nature:

The life force propelling,

Filling us up,

Upholding the fleeting entities

We call our selves,

Buoying us

Even when we deny we out buoyed.

–

Not one of us

Is anything less

Than the soul

That is all,

The one,

The only one,

The love emanating from Source

Becoming something,

Ever unfolding as the form-ful manifest.

Way Home

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There is a scented trail

Waiting upon the breeze,

That, like a dog

You must follow.

For the scent is a smooth ribbon

Of being,

A substance made of love

That calls you by name

And feeds your every need

Until there is only wellbeing.

Kindness flows upon this cord,

Energy to hold your hand

And lead you to effortless life,

A voice breathing away your fears

And calling you to your self,

Your voice,

Calling you homeward bound.

The Sun

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The sun my heart

The sun your heart

The sun our shared heart.

But one sun

In whose radiance we bathe,

One heart

In which we ourselves are,

One love

Lifting every being

Into life,

Filling every being

With its light,

Carrying every being

Into the whole of its wholeness.

ⓒBen Truesdale 2020

Peach Of Plenty

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Breathe upon

The subtle scent,

Allow your lips to linger

On its soft flesh,

Then,

Take a bite,

Chew the sweetness

And swallow the juices running freely:

Feel the plenty

Absorbed and nourishing,

Sustaining your life.

–

Look again,

For the peach is whole,

Untarnished, unbitten,

Perfect in its entirety.

–

Breathe upon

The subtle scent,

Take a bite,

Shortage was just a dream

For the peach is infinite

And you may take all you need.

Feast upon the ever-giving gift

And eat whenever you are hungry:

The peach of plenty

Is always yours.

Ⓒ Ben Truesdale 2020

Spring Morning

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I step into absolute stillness.

On the horizon

Mist shifts in ethereal veils.

The houses on the hill disrobe

Slipping from their misty dreams

As the sun begins in the East.

I step into absolute stillness.

The oranges of early morning

Warm my cheek and raise

A fresh scent from the succulents

As they absorb the first light.

The stillness pervades

Holding all things:

Beauty arises

In all that is worldly,

Both natural and made

Are vivid in the same way,

Reality seems to have a texture I can taste,

One which my eyes drink in.

I breathe a luxurious breath.

I exist

And I step into absolute stillness.

Ⓒ Ben Truesdale 2020

Coming Home

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is when being away from yourself is no crime, and where wrongdoings are smiled upon, attracting no shame.

it’s when Ill thought is not made Ill with thought, but allowed to be but thought in the cosmos of your being.

it’s where there is no requirement for change, for already you are whole, and where need itself is looked upon with equanimity, and even calming is calm beyond calm.

it is when being is simply seeing what is being, and when warmth is all there is or could ever be.

Connection

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How would our world be different

If when need arose

We’d but call upon God

To ask for what our hearts required?

How would we change

If this was more

Than fanciful belief

Or a hope derived from pain.

What certitude

Would such a connection make,

Our needs satisfied

Way before they became malignant?

Who would we be

With love’s channel open,

The answers flowing out

As if from an infinite spring?

Spontaneous

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What else

But sweet oblivion

To solve the angst

Of worldly living;

Its pleasures and pain?

Where else

But the heart’s here and now,

To quench

The ever-shifting appetites;

The changeling mind?

Who else

But the you behind the you,

The self itself whole

And happening;

Spontaneity immediately alive?

The Settling Dusk

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In the slowing moments

Of the settling day

Where stillness nears its absolute,

The honeysuckle dusk

Blooms in windlessness,

Prickling the senses

Of moths.

This is dying:

The day spent,

The light away

Beyond the curvature of the world,

The night

Not yet begun.

There are sounds:

Birds chuckling in the canopies,

The swishing of cars,

A throttling motorbike,

But all belong

In the settling,

All are borne upon the air,

All are called

By the magnitude

To witness,

To witness a death

More alive than words

Could ever carry or convey.