I Dwells There

All things are drawn

To the crucible of the heart:

None are immune

Or impartial to its force.

And there

The matter of it

Is dissolved,

Brought to equality

And equanimity

By love’s dominance.

All are relieved,

All are forgiven,

For I dwells there

And yet dwells elsewhere

In the same instant,

Covering the whole of it,

Every dimension

And all far reaches.

I, the lover and the loved,

I, the being being,

I, the one and all,

Star-bright and all consuming,

Dematerialising that which it touches.

A Loving Moment

For a moment,

I am in love

With the world

Dancing before eyes,

The whole and beautiful spectrum.

My heart

Has broken the bounds of my body

Escaped the cage of my chest

And gone free

In the sphere

In the space

In the being.

Oh, how there is warmth in this,

Warmth in it all,

Myself mellow in my finger tips

As it it is mellow in the trees

And distant fields.

How broad is gratitude?

Broader than the flawless sky,

And deeper than seeing,

The yolk of my heart tumbling out

Until there is nothing untouched,

Nothing unglazed by light,

Nothing that isn’t dripping

With love,

As if form

Were some bizarre

And delicious flower,

Pungent and exuberantly expressing

Such divine fecundity.

Truth

These days the truth seems elusive:

The certainties we took for granted

Are dissolving into a mix of twisted

And frightening realities.

Who to trust now

When all around are pushing

Agendas and fake news?

Trust in the inner truth of self

For there is a wellspring of energy

Beyond the realms of ‘not enough’.

Always and ever present

The heart’s voice speaks

In fearlessness:

The now in which we live

Is safe,

A flow of abundance

And ever-giving wealth.

Know this as being

Know this being as yourself,

For in being

The noise of fractious multitudes

Quietens and ebbs,

Even their voices

Are imbued with love.

The truth is never elusive

When we dissolve

And trust in trust,

The truth is always,

Always in love.

Chopping Winter Wood

Last night

Brought a frost,

A coating of crystalline white

Drying the air, stiffening every leaf,

Crisping every damp thing,

Stilling all life

But for the sparrows.

Into this

Plooms my breath,

Brought momentarily

From the invisible;

I feel wonder at the breadth

And reach

Of the ether if my being.

I select a log,

Choosing one with flawless grain,

Straight lines, unknotted,

Placing it upright.

I lift the axe, aim

Half heft and half let it fall.

If it is true

My kindling spilts with a snap

Akin to the most beautiful synchronicity,

The grain parting

As if only a thought’s worth

Cleaved it separate

And clean.

I cut more,

And while I swing my axe

And watch my basket fill

With rough cut pieces,

I listen to the sparrows

And the stillness,

Enjoying my breath

Realising wintery all about me.

It Need Only Be you

No matter how the world evolves,

Whether true to life

Or spiralling in madness,

The life principle

Remains pure and untouched.

Invest your life

In its sweetness

And disregard the rest,

However seductive and convincing,

For only in love

Is sweetness manifest.

And if the world descends

Wholly into madness,

Still, life’s truth

Holds fast.

And if all obey the call to anger,

But your mind left last

And abiding in love,

It will not matter

And will surely be enough.

The Moment Is Fresh

The moment is fresh

As dew-lubricated leaves

New from the womb of the world.

Oh, this sweet, empty moment,

Virgin as the first born thing,

How can I describe your unresistance

With but the clumsy word?

For you are nothing:

An endless, friendly nothing

Holding me in your arms,

Tender as the loving heart

Welcoming all that is.

You, who is no you,

You, who is everything

Seen and unseen,

Everything unformed or dwelling unchanging

In that which is not yet made.

The moment is fresh

And alive with infinite spirit,

And while the dogged mists and moods

Of false thoughts,

So seemingly bonded and glued,

Drift upon me from time to time,

Obscuring your brilliance,

They too, are born in you,

They too, arise in the light

Of awareness’s presence,

Taking their life

From the very light that you are.

Who Is The Leaf?

Leaves drawn of their vigour

Yellow in the chill light

And flutter down

With each stroke of the breeze.

Dying is a beautiful thing

When life’s sap is safe,

Eternal

In the trunk and the root,

Withdrawn from the world

Like an in-breath

Or tide, or season’s

Planetary oscillation.

Who grieves the leaf

Its turning or its loosening

On the branch,

Or its earthward mulch

Settling into new form?

No one grieves,

For the life in the leaf

Is not gone

But hides behind bark,

Gathers against the darkness

Of the shrinking wintery days,

And awaits the pull of the sun

And the soil’s warming

And the osmotic urge

To express itself again,

And again, and yet again.

Two Men Of The World

One man

Is an individual,

He walks in the world

As a separate entity – of course,

Carrying his loneliness

Like an ever heavy weight.

There are things in the world,

Things that might draw

Attention from that dark void

In which he must not look.

And so he desires those things

For the momentary peace

He receives in their procurement.

Another man

Is joined to the world,

All the things he sees

Arrive to him

And in him,

Endlessly passing

And dying away:

Yet he alone

Never dies away,

For his watching

Is container for the world

And all within.

And if there is loneliness

It is brief as the seasons,

And if there is a void

He does not fear it,

Accepting all within the bounds of himself.