If friendship is more than merely
The sharing of ideas,
More than agreement,
More than a likeness of thought,
Then,
Am I,
Like you,
In our being
Friend to all upon the earth?
poems
Sometimes I Get Lost
Sometimes I’m lost in thought
Whisked away to darkness
And imaginings
Fraught and perilous,
But always I find my way back
To the sun, my heart
And the light of love inside.
–
And so
I too and fro,
Losing myself
And then re-finding
What cannot be lost,
Ever the sun, my heart
Ever is it shining.
Love Fills
I am lifted upon a cloud
As light as love
As playful and transient
As love,
Making no mark upon the world
But indelible significance.
For what else lifts us
In the body?
What else
Conveys the clouds,
Makes the moon the delicious moon
And the sun magnificent?
Even when we are down,
Crowded by thoughts,
Living beaten
By the throng of our thinking,
Still we are lifted
And still we are born
In the world and of the world,
Love in everything
Despite our tenacious denial.
How long can we hold
To absence, and the idea
Of heartless universe?
A lifetime, perhaps?
Or perhaps,
There is instantaneous recognition
That loves fills
And always has.
In The Feeling
In the feeling
All that was future
And past
Is gathered
To the beautiful, unfolding now.
You,
Withdrawn from scattered self
With eyes only for the world
And the things in it,
Are returned inward
To yourself,
Finding that you are whole
As you have always been,
And full of love
For every wrong turn
That lead you to the truth.
Never were you parted
Never were you alone
Never were you distant
From wisdom’s place
And the heart song
Singing
Life’s simple authenticity.
You are the outpouring of self,
Fresh and new and crisp
To the world
And joyous
In the living of it.
No Need To Love
You need not love the self
For the self loves you.
Relax, forget about the work
Of loving, it’s not yours to do,
For the self loves
Your every limitation.
Stop attempting the impossible:
You cannot conjure love
Through will and the toil of thinking,
Just chill
For you are loved already,
Wholly and infinitely,
No part of you left out.
See you are bathed in love,
See that, only see,
Then sit back
And do absolutely nothing.
Don’t Delve
Don’t delve around in the mud,
Searching for the lost parts of yourself
In a quagmire of regret and loss.
The lost parts of yourself aren’t there,
And nor are they lost,
For the self watches you over your shoulder
Aware of the mud on your face
And the oily stink between your fingers
As you dredge up your shameful
And sordid past,
Offering yet another ugly
Memory for memory to feed upon.
Instead, climb up upon the bank,
Sit in the sun, allowing your mind
To drift free from the sludge
Of past chronicles.
Your lost self was never lost,
And sits, enjoying the sunshine
Smiling kindly upon your tribulations.
It was you who was lost, not yourself,
Who’s love for you
Was never in question.
The Path
In the ever present now
We find ourselves
Expanding
In knowing –
That we are infinite being
At the crisp edge
Of happening:
Becoming ourselves
In the unfolding of the universe.
And sometimes we forget,
Dawdle lazy
On the road
Of our making:
Obstacles scattered
By our own hand
That make the journey
Seem tiresome and long
And effortful.
And sometimes we remember
The ever present now,
And step inside ourselves
And the universe,
And the being
That we always were,
And see
We too are always infinite,
And the road
And its obstacles
Are but illusions
On an illusionary path.
Idea number one hundred and fifty-two: Hold Firm
The limited one
Who’s listened and learned
And thought
In all manner of spiralling pathways,
Listing reason, rejection, and facts
And one hundred and fifty failures,
Leading to failure
Number one hundred and fifty-one,
Says: you’re just not good enough.
And chatters, chatters, chatters on.
–
Yet, the one unlimited,
Says: speak
For your voice
Is a voice to be heard.
Go on always forward.
Write with the wind behind your pen,
Unleashing genius upon the page.
Let your life flow in ink
For the joy
Of ideas metamorphosed,
Ideas grasped from realms ethereal,
Buzzing alive in your head
And conducted
Into the matter of the book
That will be read
If you but put your whole mind behind
The creation of it,
Knowing the limited one
To be a friend enlisted,
His chatter a misused tool
Not a hindrance,
His ideas, gold,
If only directed,
His creative urge
Your own wand
Through which the magic unfolds,
Emboldening your life
And the script you must be
To be wholly yourself,
Holding firm to the pen that you love.
Tell Me There Is No Heaven
As you recline on the freshly mown grass
With your eyes closed
And the sunshine
Warm on your face,
Tell me there is no heaven.
And with birdsong
In every angle of your ears,
And the sweet breath plentiful
And touched by the scents on the breeze,
Tell me again, there is no heaven.
Passenger
I could sit on the train forever
Going somewhere
Going nowhere,
My heart an empty space
Through which love travels
Carrying me as passenger.
distilledvoice 