spirituality

These Words Belong To Us

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

These words belong to us.

As I write these words they belong to me.
As you read them they belong to you.

I write them from a long time away.
You read them from an equal distance.

I feel satisfied as understanding reveals what I didn’t know.
You feel the feelings arriving to you.

If you see light: the light belongs to you.
If you see darkness: that too is yours.

If you see beauty: you are beautiful.
If you see ugliness: you have found your troll.

In the mirror between us on which my pen rests I see my face.
In the mirror between us on which your eyes rest you see your face.

These words belong to us.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

The Wealth In Self

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes I just want to write
something beautiful: to conjure the
mood, to call the feeling, to be the
beautiful pen as it translates the
energy of self and brings something
new to my world, and the wealth
found in being it.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

In A Parallel Universe

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

A spell of introversion has settled upon the land and humans are gardeners of the heart. Human needs are met in the home, being small and easily administered to. Happiness is the peoples’ occupation and time is their friend. Space is a fluid and is known to expand. No one really travels much because of the comfort of home: so many are artists and musicians. The world is a village. There are unnumbered country roads, beautiful grottos, silent places, sanctuaries of mind, laughter filled spaces. Nature abounds in colourful denominations of kind.

Each human mind is a node of abundance and creator of wonder. This is the world’s equality. No place is the same or even different. There are just endless wellsprings and outpourings of creativity. Much is manifest and much more is left to the imagination. Wholeness is thought important beyond other principles but no one speaks of such matters of fact, as fun’s subject is more pleasing and much more interesting than that.

Every day is richer than the last. Every day understanding widens. Every day appreciation warms and grows. Everyday the sun rises and allows all the wide open eyes to see the true reality of things.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

WordPress And My Mind

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

Each time I Press
I take a step
And reach out
Far in to the mists

Of the unknown.
For Me it feels
As though the cutting edge
Of art arrives

And happens now
As I reach
In to the mists of mind
And bring back

All that I find there.
And then I Press again,
And wait.
And just like the mind

Beautiful things emerge,
Personalities materialise,
Worlds unfold,
And I realise

The myriad forms
The myriad souls
The myriad stars,
A billion hidden constellations

Out there,
Awaiting discovery.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

The Dream Of Her Self

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

She finds the dream
On spring days, in old villages,
In gardens and in flowers.
Something happens
As if reacting to the sun
For she shines like yellow petals
And smiles, her face upturned
And her eyes closed.
She absorbs
And then offers back her radiance.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

As If The Brain

~ distilledvoice ~ 4 Comments

As if the brain
Could know the computations
Of the Universe:
The sum of all
Somehow divined.
The infinite equation
Of all things,
All actions,
All time,
And the web upon web of
Interactions between,
Somehow catalogued and counted!

This is control:
The thought of the petty tyrant.
The madness of the expert
Who pretends to know
But waits to to be dethroned.
The modern mind
Floating untethered from the
Grounded nuance
That to be human
Is to float untethered on love:
In the nothing that is everything,
In the space that is filled,
In the unknowing that is trust.

The complicated brain understands nothing.
Yet the simple heart knows it need only understand itself.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Risen Early

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

Risen early with spring dawn;
Light is at the perfect golden angle
And the air is newly formed.

Footsteps on the cool, dew touched
Lawn and ears filled with bird chatter
And twittering: a wood pigeon cooing
With sweetening purr.

Where the sun has made a glade
Among buddlia foliage a hover fly
Alights a leaf and basks for a delicate
Moment: then again to the
Shimmering air.

God is near
Not in the far flung heavens.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.