spirit

When The Universe Speaks

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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?

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.

All Things Dissolve

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.