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?
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.
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.
Upon me rolls the wave
Of being,
Brought by the voice of the bird
Invisible in the thicket.
With the pick of her beak
And blade of her song
She cuts
The monoculture of mind
Bent on blandness
And domination,
And frees me
From the world of my cage
To world of my own.
I need no more than this
Easy breath,
In which all that is free
Is contained
Or actually left unrestrained
So that I am no longer different
From all I perceive.
Is freedom just this release
From the me
I thought leashed
To separation’s identity?
Can I be free of freedom
So there is nothing left,
Nothing left
From which to flee?
Tell me there is no God
And I shall die in my garden
Breathing the wonder,
My brain obliterated
By the green spring
And the blackbird
Fluorescing
Music and magnitude
And wielding the shrill knife
Of beauty’s grievous wound,
And I will say nothing,
But put the pen
On the paper
And write my pitiful, joyous attempt
At the writing of it,
And die in my tears
And laugh in my tears,
And cry for the love
That kills me
As I feel
Its world-ending enormity.
The sun gives
Without question,
Pulsing with energy
In an ever outward movement,
Gifting without requirement,
Being because it is.
And we, the myriad life
In all our forms
Receive this gift,
And dance
In light transformed,
Wholly containing it.
The inner sun,
The sun of our heart
Is not different
Or a photon less
Than its heavenly reflection
Benevolent beyond our sky.
The mother gives
The gift, the life, the energy.
She is
In the shape of
The mother beyond the world,
Who breathes life
Into existence.
The mother is deity in earthly form,
No less than God
But no more than the mothers
In time, who populate the ages,
And bring new life
Time and time again.
They are her
As she is them.
In their hearts
They know her
Although not all resonate
With her full magnitude.
When she gives
The world is more
For she is the blood in the veins
And breath coming freely,
Filling the lungs,
And elevating the body
And the mind
With the gift of Source
Given infinitely
As a stream of love without end.
The masculine polarity is lorded
In my mind.
The feminine principle is subjugated.
Am I a man or a woman?
I deem certain characteristics
As female attributes. Certain others,
I assign to the realms of the male.
Am I a woman or a man?
I raise my children
To view the world as I do,
They believe nearly all I taught.
Are they male or female?
My thoughts are riddled with bias
And unconscious design,
A rigorous conditioning.
Am I female or male?
I am a part of society,
Constructing the ‘how is’
In my action and inaction.
Am I masculine or feminine?
Am I a woman or a man,
A man or a woman,
A female or a male,
A male or female?
Am I jointly responsible?
Am I equally responsible?
Am I free of constraint
Or bonded to the ideas I believe?
On the shelves
There are all the goods
You would expect:
Produce in colourful array.
There are people milling in the aisles,
Shop assistants serving,
Trollies wheeled,
Announcements made.
In this
You move, breathe, exist.
Reality happens – reality is.
What more could you possibly want?
distilledvoice 