When We Share

When we share

The truth

That we are free,

We are borne upon the moment

The real-time

Ever-opening moment

Of the universe’s

Outwardly expanding edge:

And there,

We are lifted and thrust

And propelled into the infinite,

Yoked whole

And joined

To who we really are.

Ⓒ Ben Truesdale 2020

The Sky Is Blue

The sky is blue

And deep

And impenetrable,

Absorbing my gaze

Which finds no purchase

In its azure nothingness,

Finds nothing

But lazuline, cerulean flawless flatness,

In which the cumulous materialise,

Condense in forever morphing forms;

There in expansion or contraction

Wispiness or burdensome bruising

Clotting before rain drops are birthed,

Or reconsidered by the air’s

Subtle hold, and withdrawn

Into the invisibility of blueness

And the dimensionless constant

Reaching beyond the reaching mind.

ⓒBen Truesdale f2020

Perspective

Whilst watering the garden pots

In the stilling dusk

I turn

And look,

Take in an unexpected perspective,

An angle from which I have not perceived,

And suddenly my breath

Is swept from my chest

By the beauty of the rush

Of plants propelled springward

And joyously becoming

Their exponential selves.

And in that gathering moment

My heart swells

For their vividness,

For the life sweet in their being,

For their entwining and wondering reach

Into spaciousness,

And for the bud of a poem

Born on the sap-surge

Of my lip,

And giddy with the prospect of flowering.

ⓒBen Truesdale 2020

Joy

Joy in the twittering birds

Alight the air,

The wingbeat uplifting;

A fleeting moment

Agrasp the twig in bud.

Joy in the first bees

Suddenly innumerable.

Joy in the fly

Sunning himself on the leaf,

Absorbing the nutrient

Of the sun.

Joy in the exuberance

Of every plant,

Plump on the moment.

Joy in the resonance

Of the wood pigeon’s throat,

The highlighting of treetops

And branching canopy.

Joy in the morning mist

Shrouding the distance,

Enrobing the far away

In a joyous dream.

Joy in the saxophone

Wafting from the neighbours garden.

Joy in the children’s voices

Lost in the their play.

Joy in the sound of a car

Thrumming up the hill.

Joy in the stink of cat shit

Enlivened by the warmth.

Joy in the body

And joy in the body of the world.

Joy in everything.

Connection

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?

In The Aching Out

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.