mindfulness

Don’t Delve

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Don’t delve around in the mud,

Searching for the lost parts of yourself

In a quagmire of regret and loss.

The lost parts of yourself aren’t there,

And nor are they lost,

For the self watches you over your shoulder

Aware of the mud on your face

And the oily stink between your fingers

As you dredge up your shameful

And sordid past,

Offering yet another ugly

Memory for memory to feed upon.

Instead, climb up upon the bank,

Sit in the sun, allowing your mind

To drift free from the sludge

Of past chronicles.

Your lost self was never lost,

And sits, enjoying the sunshine

Smiling kindly upon your tribulations.

It was you who was lost, not yourself,

Who’s love for you

Was never in question.

Being Beautiful Earth

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I walk barefoot

Upon your back

Breathing the fresh, clean air

Cleansed by the trees,

Their breath in mine

As mine is in theirs.

And my eyes gaze upon all your wonder,

My eyes which are yours,

My seeing which is your sight.

To think I once walked separate,

High in thought

And fear

And confusion,

Yet still my bare feet

Touched the ground,

And what the soil bore

I ate, digested, made into myself,

Unyieldingly gripping

The fiction of separation,

Believing illusion

Despite the proof of my body.

The wind is in me

And I am the wind.

I am the earth

Momentarily raised into flesh,

Borrowed from eternity.

I am the being and the seeing.

How could I have maintained

The belief that in all the universe,

Only we, as humans,

Dwell outside all that is?

The Measure Of Happiness

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In the wind chime caressed

By a breath,

And in that very same breeze

On which birds chirp and caw

And flute about the day,

And in the corrugated iron roof

Tink-tinking with a lungful

Of sunshine,

Expanding its sun-trap back

And stretching like a luxuriant cat,

And in the lofty Scots pine

Whose needling fronds

Reach like sensing fingertips

Deep into the infinite:

These all

Are the measure of happiness.

The Two Lookings Of Me

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Always, and first-off, I reach for mind,

Spewing story forward

Or back in time.

Invariably Imaginative,

I dwell in the colourful imagery

Of that dull and flat land,

Wishing for more,

Ever, ever more.

Later, I speak the words: “I am”

And feel the colourful future

Withdraw from absent lands,

While the past retreats into me,

Coalesces where I be,

Ever and always myself.

And here, the colour is love

Where fictions are impotent

And the warm smile of being

Dissolves all but itself.

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.

Only Our Thoughts

~ distilledvoice ~ 5 Comments

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.

			

	


				
					


	

			
Rest Awhile
		

				

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Come thought,





Dogged and persistent,





Rest awhile,





For you have laboured





And toiled and tried





Yourself weary.





Rest awhile





For there is nothing





You can do,





Nothing you can improve





Or fix or even make right.





The world is as it is





And you are small,





A child in all of this.





Rest awhile





For the thoughts you think





Only momentarily eclipse





The love





That holds you in the world.





Rest awhile





And you will see,





You will feel,





All is well,





All is as it should be.

			

	


				
					


	

			
Awareness
		

				

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When he speaks from Source





His heart is whole in his chest





And fears do not trouble his thoughts.





Even his troubles are untroublesome





For the Source holds all,





Sees all with beautiful clarity.





With time and memory absorbed,





There is but the now to behold,





A now of infinite plenty





Where he is alive,





Alive with innermost energy,





New as a universal birth.










When he speaks from Source





He stands at the expanding edge of the





Universe, singing the song he is,





Being none other than himself,





None but he who sees:





The very wellspring of reality.






			

	


				
					


	

			
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.