wellbeing

How Sweet

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How sweet

The sweetness within,

That effulgent broadening

Like a unbelievable dawning,

A bright remembering

Of how it is

To be me.

–

But how subtle

The return to darkness

As if the night drew in

Without my noticing.

Here,

That found sweetness is a dream

And I am lost in gloomy woods

Seemingly without my bearings.

–

Oh but,

How sweet the sweetness within

When I remember the key to my life

Rests in my hand always,

When I come upon the truth

That though I appear lost,

I am never lost,

That though it seems dark,

It is never dark:

Oh, how sweet is the truth

To know I am here,

Bathed in love and bliss

Throughout my life

Despite the appearance

Of my troubles.

–

Copyright Distilled Voice 2025

The Thoughts Of Us

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When the heart swells

And thoughts are glossed in wonder,

Coming to the world

Wet with love

As if they had drunk deep

Upon the source

And imbibed

A draft’s worth

Of that subtle, unformed substance,

It matters not

What these thoughts are

For all are equal

Under love’s law,

All are painted in love’s sheen,

All are born of love’s significance,

And none are higher or lower,

Weighted bigger or smaller,

Nor judged to be greater

Or deemed to be less than any another.

Like us,

They are materialised

And glossed in wonder,

Coming to the world

Wet with love

As if they had drunk deep

Upon the source

And imbibed

A draft’s worth

Of that subtle, unformed substance.

Like us

They come to life

Imbued with light,

To dance

For the fleeting moment

Of their being.

Old Lives

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Sometime the old lives rise

From where they lie,

Undisturbed

But fully functional:

Scripts we once called ourself

And followed unconsciously,

Ideas we believed

But forgot we believed,

Whose presence

Steers us

On courses

Now obsolete and irrelevant,

The machine trundling on

In a groove set

Years ago,

Thoughts we ceased to see

Guiding us

In the robotic program

Of our walking sleep.

Sanctity Beyond Arithmetic

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The past is littered with casualties:

And mind

Will go back

And count the lost,

And perhaps dwell there

As an unhappy accountant

To that which should have been.

–

But love is never lost:

The wise

Cast away the past

With all its woe and misery,

And hold only

To principle love,

The heart warmth

That tells of eternity

Beneath the messy arithmetic,

An inward wealth

To right all wrongs,

Solve hurts

And salve wounds,

A truth that swells

As it is acknowledged,

A truth that wholes

And reveals

That beyond and behind

The persistent ills,

Love holds all

In sanctity pristine

And being,

Ever perfect.

Fishing

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The Indian ocean,

In which the setting sun

Falls golden

To the wetted lips

Of waves infinite,

Speaks in white-water rumbles,

And the wind pulses warmly on my skin

And tussles at my hair.

–

These and much else

Call the mind to their sensational happening

And I feel my body in the world,

Sights and sounds

All around me.

–

But what is this me

In which the world appears?

What perceives

The golden mirror to the absolute west,

Laid upon the sea

Like an avenue,

The last light before dusk?

–

If, for a moment

I withdraw from my sun-warmed skin,

The buffeting wind

And my hair rustling like leaves,

What can I say

About being?

–

What can I say about the one

Who perceives these beautiful things,

The one who sees

The fishing boats heading out

To catch the night fish?

–

I try again,

Withdrawing from the worldly things,

Saying aloud “I am”;

Finding its resonance,

That to which the portal refers,

And fall from the sensational skin

And the light fading

And the wind’s playfulness.

–

I fall away into I,

Into dimensionless I,

Into love and well-being

And that which is indescribable,

That which defies the poet

And renders him

To nothing but inescapable warmth.

–

And then I open my eyes

To the perfect globe of the sun,

A ball of orange

Muted by the horizon’s haze,

And find being hauled with me

Like the fishermen’s silver clad nets

That come to the surface so bountiful.

–

Now, being seems wholly in the world,

In everything within earshot and gaze.

The waves are speaking

As if each drop were lubricated,

Each molecule part of the soft fluid whole.

And the wind too is a song

Of whispers gathered by the clouds,

Lovingly caressing

Those who’d be gladly touched.

–

Who is infusing

And who is infused?

It does not matter much

In beingness,

For no one but the One exists,

No one but the One

Is flushed by love,

No one but the One

Is as open as the universe is.

Boys In The Cascade

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In the falling freshness

We are at once

Energised and washed clean,

For in the frothing

We are nameless

And without language.

We know each as children

Playing in the stream,

Wet by the flowing moment

And doused

By ever-giving.

There are smiles

And gestures of friendship;

Locked arms to help traverse

The white water,

And brotherliness

In our shared refreshment.

All that we know of our selves

Is battered from our skin

By innumerable pelting droplets

And carried away downstream.

What is left

Is a thoughtless happening

Wetting us to oneness

And joining us

To the waterfall’s

Cool and cascading being.

A Wave Of Well-Being

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I am caught

In a wave of well-being,

Picked up

By the surge,

Borne upon its energy

Until I glow

As fierce

As if sunshine

Were burning

In the heart of every cell,

Inundating body and mind,

And holding me

Up and afloat,

Buoyant and light.

The Cow Shed

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She goes to the lowing,

Rustling, cud chewing shed

To absorb a bovine energy.

From their eyes she drinks

A liquid stillness, breathes

Their heavy succulent breath

And observes their due drop snouts

Nuzzling and inquisitive.

More than anything

She finds them quite, satisfyingly quiet.

Despite the constant chewing,

Neck rubbing, hoof stomping

And fidgeting on their halters,

They exude

The deep silence of the soul,

A calm watery expression

Of grass transformed

To sweet clover thoughtlessness.

She drinks this in,

Finds resonance,

Matches their quality,

Becomes equally

And sublimely still.

Dr Maya

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I do not really comprehend

What mysteries unfolded

In the heart of this place,

But what I can discern

Is that I am moved

In ways beyond my understanding,

My body and my mind

Touched by the work of love.

I feel it in the antenna of myself

And in the knowing

Where love meets love,

And in the opening to the greater union.

Some may let this seeing slide

And go unacknowledged,

But my heart swells

To say this truth out loud

And bow to the profundity

Come upon me.

I stand grateful before you

And thankful for the alignment of the stars,

Your lineage

And your guru’s touch

That saw you born as I am born

To the wonder of it all,

The blessed fall into the ground of being.

What Is This Love?

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What is this love

That firms the heart’s placement

And allows the lower guts

A secure knowing I,

For it speaks

Not in words

But in certainties,

Like deep roots

On which feelings

Draw support

For the body’s gross material.

–

And here there is knowing

That first in the world

Is the evergy body,

Like a current in the energy sea

In which all things are but component,

A dancing trace of a self

More nymph or laughter of light

Frequencing high, high, high

As electric thought

Transmitted.

–

This unshadowed being,

Swiftest eddie of soul untied,

Is our truth

Before the body,

Our elemental self

Free in the zest of freedom’s whole,

Free energy

Illuminating itself

Within itself,

Playfulness playing free

In all being,

The you before

Condensation in to form,

The lightest you

Unformed, unclothed and unprecipitated.