The Yoga Of Friendship

Dearest friend

I could sit in the silence of our being

And dwell satisfied

In the knowledge

That we are joined in the heart of our life,

For our friendship

Is not based on superfluous traits

But deep seated

And deep rooted

And deep found

In the beginnings of our self

Where we are one:

One, to the exclusion of other,

One, to the exclusion of else,

Simply and only one,

Where friendship is shared

And where all that seemed separate

Is found to be joined

And all that seemed divided

Is unified and whole.

When The Universe Speaks

When the universe speaks

There is a flow of happiness

For in its voice is wisdom

Saying: please join the great river of joy

Ever flowing outward,

Like mildest breath of fresh air

Come to lighten us.

In this, all mens’ hearts are one,

All womens’ hearts are one,

All hearts inconceivably connected.

And even the fractious mind

Busy conceptualising everything separate

Is not shunned or shamed,

But invited.

And even this is untruth

For busy mind is but love conscripted,

Love’s energy veiled.

For what could exist

Outside everything?

Who in God is beyond

The infinite?

Where is this outside,

This place cut off

And separated from the wholeness?

What wholeness could wholeness be

If there was another in the realm?

And where else would we look for wholeness,

But in wholeness,

There being nothing but

Its infinity in which to be?

Love Shines

When the mind quietens

The sun shines

Internally radiant,

Offering love

In the entirety of its being.

As I am shining

I am bathing

In the warmth

That irrigates the body/mind.

Could it really be

That such a (no)thing

Could go unnoticed,

This most apparent (no)thing

Somehow overlooked?

And so eclipsed,

The universe of being

Seems cold and absent,

The self crystallised in ideas

And apparently imprisoned.

Rigid in the un-rigid,

We call incarceration ourself

And suffer the consequences of belief,

Pained because we cling,

Hurting because we identify with stiffness

In all that is only fluid.

But when the mind quietens

The sun shines

Internally radiant,

Offering love

In such abundance.

And as I am shining,

Bathing in the warmth

That irrigates the body/mind,

I see that irrespective of the mind’s condition,

Love shines

In the entirety of being.

Stacking Logs

A winter sun

Glimmers pale

Through leafless branches

Alive with liquid dew buds,

And under a mackerel sky

I put myself to stacking wood.

From the store

I load an armful

And carry it to the pile beside my front door,

Savouring the woodsmoke air

Impregnated with birdsong.

Logs chime when they’re ready:

Knock two together and hear the clink

Of the summer’s drying maturation.

I stack the logs,

Throwing them together in a rough fit.

There’s the scent of twisting smoke again,

Sweet as warm-hearthed living.

I separate the smaller pieces for kindling,

Reworking the rest

Into a collage depiction of a fragmented trunk,

The grain of years encircling me.

A patch of light breaks through

And wets the leaves of an ornamental plant,

Unveiling the lingering touch

Of the vapour-breath night.

Once again, to the log pile

Where I find a hibernating wasp

Torpid in a fibrous crack.

I set its home aside,

Mindful of its sleeping potential.

Another load hugged,

Rough and calloused

To my fingertips.

Each piece

The perfect wholesome weight,

A measure of reality’s depth,

And warming my heart

Even before the spark has caught,

For the flame of life

Burns vigorous,

Ablaze in my heart

And the heart that is the world:

Life burns vibrantly bright

In everything,

In simply everything.

We Are One

I wish to share the truth

That we’re not separate,

And that the feeling of separation

Is purely hoax,

A myth upon the mind

Played by the mind:

The mind swallowing its own lie.

What it means

Is that this warm heart inside my chest

Is your warm heart,

And that the being we are

Is one beautiful being

Holding us in its arms,

Cradling us

Feeding us the gift of life.

The love I feel

Is the same love

Blossoming inside yourself,

The exact same taste

Of infinite being.

We are one in this,

And knowing that the root

Of our life

Is the same root

From which all draw sustenance,

Means we can go free inside our personalities,

Move easy in our bodies,

Express our individuality to its fullest,

And be wholly ourselves.

Walk With Me

Walk we me a while;

The night is sweet with honeysuckle

And fragrant shrubs breathing out

Their gifts for nightjars

And moths intent on the moon.

We’ve walked this path

In times past,

Many times;

We are kin

Though perhaps you’ve forgotten.

Never mind,

For arm in arm

We remember our love,

The warmth of our hearts,

The friendship

Of warm human bodies

Strolling side by side.

See, with each step upon this magic

We are closer.

To what? You ask,

Still forgetting.

To the Now perhaps

Or the tangible moment

Filled full with the moon

And dark-eyed moths

Feeding on the celestial beams

And heavenly night-shrubs.

See, up ahead, the Seeker’s gate:

It has a powerful magnetism.

But do you not feel the lushness of the

Creeping vines around us?

Do you not feel the cool

Of night shadows

Seeping between the trees

Holding earthen scents,

Sappy grasses bleeding

Into the cradling gloom?

You wish to go through the gate, I see.

I understand.

Do you wonder at what marvel lies beyond,

What treat you could be

If only we could muster the key

To enter?

No, beautiful friend, no!

Go that way

And find only endless dissatisfaction

In search of the elusive end

That never ever comes,

Always a horizon distant.

No, we are here already

For we walk arm in arm

In moonlight,

Our bare feet touching the cool stones

Of a pathway wending between trees

With waxy leaves,

Fluttering in ever so soft breezes.

See, there is enough in friendship.

Do not seek to open the gate

But look into my eyes instead,

Savour the scent of the moon

And the flavour of a wood

Enshrined in shadows,

Ever calling the nightjar and the moth.

Be here with me

In this savouring

Of the life in which our hearts beat,

A savouring of the space

In which we inhabit,

And the love

That gathers and glows

Between us

In the lush garden of ourselves.

What Is This Love?

What is this love

That firms the heart’s placement

And allows the lower guts

A secure knowing I,

For it speaks

Not in words

But in certainties,

Like deep roots

On which feelings

Draw support

For the body’s gross material.

And here there is knowing

That first in the world

Is the evergy body,

Like a current in the energy sea

In which all things are but component,

A dancing trace of a self

More nymph or laughter of light

Frequencing high, high, high

As electric thought

Transmitted.

This unshadowed being,

Swiftest eddie of soul untied,

Is our truth

Before the body,

Our elemental self

Free in the zest of freedom’s whole,

Free energy

Illuminating itself

Within itself,

Playfulness playing free

In all being,

The you before

Condensation in to form,

The lightest you

Unformed, unclothed and unprecipitated.

I Call Them Home

I call all my wants home

For each is like a hungry dog

Pulling hard on a rope,

Salivating

With the scent

Of satisfaction:

A dog’s belief

That things in the world

Can fulfil

Happiness.

I call them all:

The multitudes, the horde,

The ravenous pack – ever unfulfilled,

And whisper gently to them:

Sleep here by the fireside.

In my flame is the universal

– Burning without fuel

But for the fuel of the everlasting self.

Dine here

Where there is abundance

In sweet cornucopia.

Feed on that which is eternal

And drink from the ever brimming cup.

Do not look upon the world

For sustenance,

For it has nothing to give:

Look only to offer it love.

Autumn Fisherman

True, this life is not perfect.

There are problems and difficulties

In the body,

In relationships,

In the wider world,

Spiralling into

Apparent madness.

But as I sit here

On a train

Watching the countryside streaming

Under a overcast Scottish sky,

I spot a tan and autumn fisherman

Wading in peat-brown fury,

His line arcing for trout or salmon

Or just the chill water, pulling,

And I am brought to the wonder

Of a grey morning

In which our fleeting touch,

Half a moment shy of his hook,

Is sweet with life’s meaning,

And for a second

I feel

It was not a silvery fish,

Taught and tugging,

But I

Vibrating on the end of his line.

Meditation

First, I settle

And then

As if drifting

I am dipped in the liquid of being

And go whole

Into that golden sea,

The light sea

Where there are no beginnings.

And in those unfathomed waters

All that was

Is indistinguishable,

All that could be

Is likewise nullified,

All things of form

Answer the call,

Returning home to the source

To be free.

Yet when I arise,

When I put on my clothes,

My mind and my body,

I feel the warm nakedness of truth,

A drop of that sea

Lubricating all things

With wonder,

A single infinite drop

Baptising all with its light.