Instead

Instead the ever outward looking

For love

Turn inside yourself

To that which was always there;

Deepest well of formless infinity,

For there dwells life,

A heart-full of life

In abandonment to love,

Beautiful being of love.

There seem to be two options:

A movement into mind

And the stories we tell,

That swirl around

As so much fear.

Or the other way,

In the direction of self,

Detached from the fictions

And free

In the formless realms

So easily overlooked.

Instead the ever outward looking

For love

Turn inside yourself

To that which was always there;

Deepest well of formless infinity,

For there dwells life,

A heart-full of life

In abandonment to love,

Beautiful being of love.

A Breeze

A breeze strums

The feathers of the Scot’s pine

Towering above my garden,

And a wind chime

Gently interprets

Each gust.

There is a magic in the creak

Of the flexing branch

And the twisting sinews

Of fibrous bark;

An instrument

For the wind’s fulfilment.

Always, a dove coos

When I find the wind-full tree

Of my life

Existing in the silence

Of a tangible happening,

Drawing out the now

From its hiding

Until I am like a finely tuned

Sensing apparatus,

Filled with the sticky movement of sap

And vibrating

With the sweet resonance

Of life’s thrill

Through fronds of waxy needles.

Sweetest Infinite Being

What other life

Could I live

But yours,

The life in you:

Sweetest infinite being.

Is this praise,

To fall into your arms,

To release

Every objectified form

Of its obligation

To fulfil?

For it is surely madness

To look for love

Outside the source of self,

Overlooking the sweetness

For a wearisome search.

Only in you

Is gentle salve,

Only in you

Is satisfaction,

Only in you

Is happiness.

To this, I am devotional

For this great love for you

Is love in me:

There are not two loves,

Not me and not you,

Not two,

For in love

We are one infinite being.

Fresh Air

I breathe the life

In fresh air,

Close my eyes

And feel the space inside

As I feel the space without.

I smile at nothing

Feeling vibrant space,

Feeling being

Feeling the nothing of my self,

And tasting sweetness.

Who am I in this

With every idea cast

And separate from my being?

Who am I

In this?

I am space

And fresh air

And sweetness.

I am nothing

But being’s spaciousness.

A Bright New Day

Chittering wrens

Pick from the larder of cones

Clutched in the pine-brush

And absorb the awakening light.

Beneath, I sit and ponder

On the nature of being.

Some would speak of mankind

Separate from reality,

Somehow living above it all.

Yet, I am moved

Upon the turning of the world

In season’s gentle shift

Of early beginnings

And day pushed into night.

Surely this body,

As all walking free,

Feels the thrust of life

In the burst of the bud,

Unopened but profoundly expectant.

Surely all are moved

By the first warm breeze

Tickling the pine needles above.

Who is really alone

When life thrums

Through the body’s instrument,

When the very moon

Sways the water of our moods

And the constitution of our minds,

And new light shines,

Drawing us out

To sit absorbing

Like the first insect

Roused from hibernation’s

Torpid sleep?

I Look Into Your Eyes

I look into your eyes

And find my joy brimming,

For I could fall inside

The clarity of your seeing

And swim free

In nothing,

Buoyant in the being we share.

You told me of a Tuscan life

Picking olives,

A world where obstacles

Had dissolved

And all that evolved

Was the beautifully self

Looking at the same time

Both inward and out.

I tasted the olive of happiness

And lived your life

As my life

Dwelling in kinship

With you,

Where you were nothing but myself

Looking kindly from another perspective.

All Things Dissolve

In love

All things dissolve,

Coming to rest

In the primary nature

Of being.

All that is apparent:

The forms in the world

Are melted

In love’s crucible,

Love’s home-bound heart.

There is nothing insoluble,

No behaviour

Or state of mind

That can stand

The yolk of the sun.

Love is indomitable

Yet gentle as warmth

Passed from father to son.

It encompasses all,

Leaves nothing

But tenderness, acceptance

And a wealth of connectedness.

It is the foundation we share,

All of us equally beneficent

And wholly unified.

Picture

In the floor to ceiling window

Opens the picture:

The river

Glassy with the sky,

Smudged with autumn morning,

A pale blue glaze

In which mists cling

And spiral,

Calling back

The chill night

That stilled the dew drops

To a crust

And freed the tattered leaves

To mulch beneath the trees,

Sending out

A sweet and heady breath

Of spores

As life withdraws,

Releasing jealousies,

Indifferent now

To the russet matter

Discarded.

The Looking Of You

There is a looking,

A looking into yourself

Where the eyes

Become ever wide.

Ever and ever wider

Grows seeing

As though astonishment

Were limitless,

And what the self is

Is no less

Than all.

And yet there is greater seeing

And wider eyes,

As astonishment

Is refreshed with each

Step into yourself,

Each looking wider still,

Seeing drawn into

An infinite expansion

Into seeing itself.

Ever wider sees the I

Behind the eyes,

Ever wider

Becomes the I.