I walk in reality, breathing the breath,
Feeling the body, seeing with the eyes.
The world is beautiful
For it happens
Despite the thoughts in my head.
The garden grows, expands into spring,
The foliage lush with promise.
The cat sits by the pond, under the
Blossoming trees, and amid daffodils.
He breathes the air too,
Watching, always watching,
Thinking not one moment beyond the
Moment he’s in.
The angry mind and the put upon
Seeks its justice.
Who better
Than your polar self
To carry the ills
And the blame
So you may remain innocent
And put upon still.
Who raises the boys?
Who raises the girls?
In whose mind
Are the toxic stereotypes?
Who carries the bias?
Is the domination occurring
Out there or within the framework
Of mind?
Who perpetrates,
keeps the system going,
Passing it through the generations?
Who are the parents of our collective Psychology?
Who is the mother?
Who is the father?
Are we not all children, osmosing
The faults that came before,
Then offering them
To our children
And the children to come?
Who is responsible?
Who is responsible?
Who is responsible?
You are responsible.
You are responsible.
You are responsible.
The flower of my heart
Blooms on a stem
Of gossamer energy,
Upsurging from the world
Behind the world,
The space that is formless.
My heart smiles on me
As the heart behind the heart smiles,
As love comes
Like a river from the source:
Like a river from the source
Provided endlessly.
When we are not love
We are but the echo of the past
Thrown into the future,
For as we were made
So shall we make the world.
Only in love
Are we exposed,
Waking from the dream
Of happening without volition,
Happening without choice or will.
Only in love
Can we see the bones
Of being,
And choose,
Choose our way through.
In your subtle magic
I feel the breeze of God
Blow fresh upon my face,
As though my heart were dipped in you
And open to receive
The gift of love
In its dreamy magnitude.
Oh, but this is just poetry
And the facts of your warm breath
Are the melting
In the melting,
The dissolution of the self
As one salt drop becomes the sea,
Where worry is made redundant
By the loving,
And fears
Are turned to whispered nothings,
And the heart reins full
And beautiful,
Seeing beyond the body’s boundaries,
Smiling upon the mind
And the thoughts
And the self importance,
Utterly disintegrated.
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.
The earth’s pulse
Is felt:
Some attune,
Some tarry,
Some skip ahead,
But all
Are gathered
In the end.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
The world spins
On instant access
Where secrets
Divulge
In the second of their conception
And news
Burns like star-fall
And dies as quickly
To the black
And old.
And time,
Shackled workhorse
To the mind
Careers
As never should
It fall precious
Past uncaring hand
And fingers barely touching,
Racing
Itself to panting
Wreck and ruin:
All of what it’s worth
Spent
In a flash
Of fast food
And capitalism,
Memorised
Even before
Its moment
Of occurrence
And physical birth.
The future
Travelling
To the past
But heart bypassed
So as not to happen
In the now
At all.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Not in the stone
Or the frame of the flowers,
Not in the lawn or the trees
Or the generous borders.
Only in the eye
Who perceives,
The I
Who perceives.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Whether tended rose, vine
Or weed in bramble entanglement
We yearn the same dream:
And equal upon the earth
Take sustenance
In sunshine on the cheek,
Leaf or flowering petal.
We are the same in love
And level in our needs.
We are not different in our beings
Or our brotherhood.
We are one under the sun
And one in our differing.
We are together in our reach
For the sky blue expansion
Of life’s meaning.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
