poems

Lullaby

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It begins

With a strong focussing mind,

A me behind the eyes

Looking out,

The contracted energy

Of a self

In the grip

Of wanting to be.

–

And maybe there is a way in that,

A way through the puzzle

That cannot be solved,

Frustration

Burning so bad,

The mind freed

Through absolute futility.

A way, perhaps!?!

–

But when I turn my gaze

And relax,

When I unfocus my eye

And breathe out,

When I do nothing

But be

It’s as if I’m reclining

In the feather bed of myself

And bathing

In a bath-time of being,

Absorbing sweet ubiquitous sunshine,

Something and nothing at all.

–

And where is mind?

For his blather has faltered,

His voice has lulled to an easy quiet.

He now slumbers,

Rested in the greater bed

Of borderless life

Upon which the warmth of love

Flows simultaneous

To everything,

And where there is no one

But the one

Being its ever present lullaby.

Thank You Lord

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Thank you Lord

For my heart floats free

In the amnion of love.

I feel it there

Breathing borderless being,

A fluid bathing

In the broad waters of the one self.

Thank you Lord

For with eyes open

I see through a lense of love.

For so long I mistook you

In the world

As flat and featureless

And ached with every minute dull,

Yet now I see miracles:

The mosquito feasting on my skin,

The church lit yellow in the night,

The drone blinking high above my head,

The crickets chirruping,

The dogs barking to their fellow mates,

The simple pleasure

And description of my pen,

And all myriad things unnumbered

And unrecountable

In scope I could not list

Nor tell,

Nor ever find

Unreachable end,

For none seems untouched

By light of life,

Enabling the whole its happening,

The dancing now

Filled beyond truly reasonable.

Oh thank you Lord

For allowing me life,

My old and static heart

Dissolved to but a current,

A brief shimmering,

A joy

Thrilling loose in spirit,

And bringing deepest recognition

That there is nothing

In all this

But you.

You Call My Name

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You call my name

With the music of your voice

And now I am falling……

–

Falling into your voice,

–

And……

–

I am….

–

Lost in the falling,

Adrift in beauty’s placeless place;

In love with love…

–

Oh, I am….

–

Speechless ………..and wordless

–

Stripped of my meaning

And brought to my knees

Before God….

–

Oh, I am

–

Silenced

–

Silence

On A Balcony

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On a balcony

Breakfast set on a small table:

Strong, bitter coffee in paper cups,

A croissant, a white roll, milk

And jam in plastic packets.

The near world:

Weathered stone buildings

With Terracotta rooves

And balconies from which

An array of washing dries,

Narrow alleys webbed together

By cables and telephone wires,

And covered terraces

Festooned in succulents

And semi tropical flowers.

–

Ratcheting Cicadas

Unseen in the trees

Haul the just so-ness,

Drawing it with percussive song

Until it miraculously oozes

From the pores of all things,

No one

More or less steeped

In equality’s being,

Reality broad and encompassing,

Presence vibrating as a unified field,

Every tangible element

Totally equanimous.

Where To Dwell?

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You can dwell

In the world’s messy configuration

In the constant push and pull

Of competition,

In its hurts

And blame’s countless catalogues

Of responsibility

Reaching far too far back in time.

–

Or

–

Recognise that love is here,

The source and solution to it all:

Love in your being,

The very being of the world

And heavens inconceivable,

The being you are

When all else is stripped bare

And you are clean

As the baby you once were,

With your heart on fire

With truth unthought, unmade

And unblemished.

Why Look For The Cause

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Why look for the cause

When the cause is the whole universe

At this very moment,

Karma’s unnumbered strands

Fast in a knot

The shape of reality

Right now!

–

To look for the cause is madness,

When love stands by

Neutral and beneficent,

Allowing the knot

It’s imperfect-perfect life,

Accepting the conundrum

And shining through the unreality of it.

Questioning The Beach

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My eyes are closed,

And in that seeing

Waves wash the beach clean.

I can hear them

Arriving,

Surging and falling away.

A salt laden breeze caresses my skin,

My T-shirt flapping gently;

The air is warm as a polished stone

Rounded to a pebble over eons.

Who am I

Who perceives the beach flies,

The waves disintegrating,

The claiming shadow

Beneath the outcrop

Of crumbling strata.

Who am I

On the other end of the world,

Sensing through the body’s

Fine and tangible medium?

Perhaps sensing is a sea-ragged rope,

One end anchored

In the matter

Of things so various,

The multitude names

By which the whole us spliced.

But the other end

Where the mind cannot go,

Where it peters out,

What is that?

If I tug upon that rope,

Draw myself

In the directionless direction

To the seabed of my self,

Who will I find

Dwelling deeper than depth?

Who sees from the ocean of being?

Who is

Where silence is?

Who knows

The creation,

Blessed to my ears,

Broken as wavelets

Rolling over stones,

And saltiness powdery on my skin?

Who is

In this,

Who is?

Instead

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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

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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

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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.