All Things Dissolve

In love

All things dissolve,

Coming to rest

In the primary nature

Of being.

All that is apparent:

The forms in the world

Are melted

In love’s crucible,

Love’s home-bound heart.

There is nothing insoluble,

No behaviour

Or state of mind

That can stand

The yolk of the sun.

Love is indomitable

Yet gentle as warmth

Passed from father to son.

It encompasses all,

Leaves nothing

But tenderness, acceptance

And a wealth of connectedness.

It is the foundation we share,

All of us equally beneficent

And wholly unified.

From The Ashes

From the ashes of my beliefs

Awakes the child of myself,

Born into the moment.

Can he remain true

To the idealess

Realm of his beginnings

Or must he age

In the world,

Heavier with each moment,

Each new belief?

Is the ageing process

And stiffening up

An illusion

In which we dwell

Stiffer and more unwell

In the hardening carapace

Of personality’s

Hard work and upkeep?

Or is the child unblemished,

Cocooned in the now,

Eternally fresh,

Ideas burned to ash

Under his gaze,

Illusions

Nothing but ciders

In the presence

Of his presence?

Heaven

We walk in heaven

Barefoot on the grass

Drinking dew-cool breaths

Or we dance on the burning pavement,

Our thoughts like shards of glass

Cutting us deeply.

Yet still we are heavenly set

Upon the earth,

Our gentle or angry mother,

Goddess or foe,

Living our lives in grace

And the freedom to choose

To make this world

A heaven or a hell.

A Dove Coos

A dove coos

In the the bell tower,

Soft and throaty

And warm

For the chicks

Loved in to the nest.

The Scots pine,

Lofty in the graveyard,

Stands still and magnificent

Exuding presence,

Shining with silence

And oblivious of time.

The woodland,

Dotted with ewes

And skewed graves stones

Chatters

In warble and whistle.

In the canopy

Birds flap and flutter unseen.

Being Beautiful Earth

I walk barefoot

Upon your back

Breathing the fresh, clean air

Cleansed by the trees,

Their breath in mine

As mine is in theirs.

And my eyes gaze upon all your wonder,

My eyes which are yours,

My seeing which is your sight.

To think I once walked separate,

High in thought

And fear

And confusion,

Yet still my bare feet

Touched the ground,

And what the soil bore

I ate, digested, made into myself,

Unyieldingly gripping

The fiction of separation,

Believing illusion

Despite the proof of my body.

The wind is in me

And I am the wind.

I am the earth

Momentarily raised into flesh,

Borrowed from eternity.

I am the being and the seeing.

How could I have maintained

The belief that in all the universe,

Only we, as humans,

Dwell outside all that is?

From Soil

February mizzle wets

The lights

Of snowdrop, crocus

And eager daffodil,

Soothes and lubricates

Their birth

Through soil

Mulched humus rich

And frangranced sweet

With spore’s mycelium.

To think,

Some slander this complexity,

Call it dirt and mud

Overlooking the quantum truth

Of gardeners’ gold,

Both foundation

And sustenance

For all.

Rest Awhile

Come thought,

Dogged and persistent,

Rest awhile,

For you have laboured

And toiled and tried

Yourself weary.

Rest awhile

For there is nothing

You can do,

Nothing you can improve

Or fix or even make right.

The world is as it is

And you are small,

A child in all of this.

Rest awhile

For the thoughts you think

Only momentarily eclipse

The love

That holds you in the world.

Rest awhile

And you will see,

You will feel,

All is well,

All is as it should be.

Way Home

There is a scented trail

Waiting upon the breeze,

That, like a dog

You must follow.

For the scent is a smooth ribbon

Of being,

A substance made of love

That calls you by name

And feeds your every need

Until there is only wellbeing.

Kindness flows upon this cord,

Energy to hold your hand

And lead you to effortless life,

A voice breathing away your fears

And calling you to your self,

Your voice,

Calling you homeward bound.