The flower of my heart
Blooms on a stem
Of gossamer energy,
Upsurging from the world
Behind the world,
The space that is formless.
My heart smiles on me
As the heart behind the heart smiles,
As love comes
Like a river from the source:
Like a river from the source
Provided endlessly.
Like a tide
Or the first sun-rays spilling
On the turning earth
At morning’s leading edge,
Warmth comes upon the famished
The starved,
The bankrupt
And the deprieved,
Changing them wholly,
Altering them irrevocably,
Illuminating
As they are witnessed.
Moving in the garden
My body is free
As new expectant air,
Mellow in the coming.
The push of bulbs
Rises through my limbs,
The sap called by the source
To come and become.
Is there better than being,
Just being?
The gnats know,
Ascribing their wisdom
In choreography
Written on the breeze
Where the afternoon is nothing
But a pale yellow light.
If at the core
There is violence
Of the self
Against the source
All the health thoughts
Conceived
Or applications put,
Won’t alter
Or bring life
To the body,
Who’s passenger
Rejects
The fundamental
Principle
Of love
And murders instead
The energy
As it emerges
In free form
Child emotive.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
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