It’s trite
But truer
Than we think.
Be happy!
But… says the mind
And lists
A barrowload of objections.
I can’t be happy because……
Be happy is the mantra
Without sound or words
It is the silence
From which the mind
Finds its subtle ground
And supposedly rises.
Happiness is that
On which
The mind
Leans
And borrows
For its list of grievances.
Be happy…
It’s trite
But truer
Then we think.
poems
Child of the Universe
Like a child of the universe
My heart drinks
The love
That comes
In a flow
Of warmth
Like the breath
Of my beloved.
At base level
The heart is a pump
An organ of flesh
Higher
It is organ of feeling
Floating on an emotive sea
And yet higher still
It is receiver
Of higher dimension
And the portal
Through which
The universe
Feeds its children
An opening through which
Love pours
Into self
Ignites the body to living
And lifts
Everything it touches
With light
Owned
By none
But God.
God Came
God came
In the form of a breeze
And played with dry leaves
For a curling moment.
Then He came
As my brother
Wearing a frown,
Dragging his ego
Like a regal gown
Yet muddied
With the whole of history.
Next, He came as emotion
Stirred in my chest
And triggering
All sorts of reaction.
He came
And He went
In form’s motion
Yet all the while
He stayed
Smiling
At everything various
And stretched between
Poles
Far and near
But remaining here
Ever-present
While all else
Played
Like the breeze
Among the crisp leaves
In the curling moment.
Feng Shui
In the house
is
space
and objects
on the shelf
and furniture placed
but
mostly space
as if
each object
was a pointer
to that
which held
it
safe
as if
subtle space
had traded place
with form
to be
the
more important
thing
and that
which calls
attention
to
itself
allowing
all
the stands proud
to find its home.
Before All Else
To share
The sunshine of the heart
Is to find
The sun upon your face
And bliss
In basking
In its beauty.
For around each corner
Is a smiling face
Reflecting joy,
Both playful and loving,
And each new corner
Yields still more of the same
Infinite quality.
Can you imagine
A world
In which the heart
Is worn naked
And transparent
In the body,
And everywhere
There are flowers
Glowing
In adoration of the sun?
Well, this IS the world
In which the heart
Finds its place in plenty
And where the mind
Has settled down.
This IS the world
Into which we are born
Through the tool of the body,
Knowing the grit and dank
Of the soil
And yet also
The ineffable reality
From whence we all come.
How could we not share
This truth
Made of light and love,
Beyond the bounds of space
And time
And all we deem heavy?
How could we not share
This warm and tender truth
Of happiness
God-given to us all
As life
Found effortless
Just like the sun
And the flowers -
And really
All forms under
The light loved down.
How could we not share
The sharing
That brought us to ourselves
And to the boundless
And to the truth
That we are love
First
Love first
Before all else.
Rose
Some are green buds
Barely begun
But pushed
By the weight of the universe
To become
First the pursed lips
Of an imminent kiss,
Then the ripe indulgence
Of a beauteous flower
Generous scent
Wished to all,
Then loose
With joy
As petals relax and fall
Scattered like confetti
Abandoned
As the church bells toll
Marking the ever-passing moment
Of celebration.
Myself
Dearest and closest
Most intimate friend,
You are made of nothing
But being.
When I acknowledge you,
When I fall back into you,
I return molten with love
As if you had dissolved
All but the essence of me,
Dissolved all
But that which you are,
Dissolved all
To which I was bound
In mind, body and thought.
And for a moment
And maybe moments after
Or even when moments stretch to hours
And perhaps really
In the truth of timeless always now,
I am free,
Free in being
And free in love,
Free to be myself.
Old Lives
Sometime the old lives rise
From where they lie,
Undisturbed
But fully functional:
Scripts we once called ourself
And followed unconsciously,
Ideas we believed
But forgot we believed,
Whose presence
Steers us
On courses
Now obsolete and irrelevant,
The machine trundling on
In a groove set
Years ago,
Thoughts we ceased to see
Guiding us
In the robotic program
Of our walking sleep.
Sanctity Beyond Arithmetic
The past is littered with casualties:
And mind
Will go back
And count the lost,
And perhaps dwell there
As an unhappy accountant
To that which should have been.
–
But love is never lost:
The wise
Cast away the past
With all its woe and misery,
And hold only
To principle love,
The heart warmth
That tells of eternity
Beneath the messy arithmetic,
An inward wealth
To right all wrongs,
Solve hurts
And salve wounds,
A truth that swells
As it is acknowledged,
A truth that wholes
And reveals
That beyond and behind
The persistent ills,
Love holds all
In sanctity pristine
And being,
Ever perfect.
Dial In
You can dial into love
As simply as smelling a rose,
As simply as taking a breath.
Dial into love
And feel the love that you feel:
It doesn’t matter if it’s for a pet,
A person alive or dead,
It doesn’t matter:
The warmth of love is the same.
Dial in to love:
Love that love:
Love and be loved
And step into the expanding realm
Swelling in your heart’s domain.
Taste the love that loves,
The love you have always been.
distilledvoice 