writing

Acknowledge Life

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

Do not attend

To the negative mind

With its litany of faults

And endless tribulations,

For there is only calculation there

And the ceaseless multiplication

Of a seemingly separate

And beleaguered self.

–

Instead,

Acknowledge the life-giving principle,

For there is life in life,

Rich abundance

And love’s infinity

In the looking to it,

The looking in it,

The abiding in the self

That knows.

–

Acknowledge its presence

And like magic,

Be in presence

For the acknowledging

And being

Are the very same thing.

The one looking at truth

Is the truth looking;

And in this

The ‘so called’ negative mind

Is offered the most exquisite kindness,

A forever home inside the self

And the gift

That it need not be other than it is.

Chopping Winter Wood

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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

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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

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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?

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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

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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.

We Walked Through The Night

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We walked through the night,

The blazing sunshine

Of our hearts

Lighting the way.

–

Where is lack

In this?

Where are dark thoughts

And angst?

–

Exactly where they always were,

But untouched and allowed to be;

For the sunshine of open hearts

Allows, shines on everything equally.

The Artist’s Way

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Immersed in the landscape

Or fixated on an object,

This artist does not paint

What his eyes see,

Rather, he absorbs the sight,

Places it

In the cauldron of his being

Where life seeps

As the language of the soul.

It is this he paints,

This aliveness

Mirroring landscape or thing:

His spirit

And God’s spirit

Dancing as one

Infinite being,

And reaching out

To his poised fingers,

To transform the inanimate

And deliver magic on the canvas,

Every stroke of his brush imbued

With the inward spirit he feels.

When The Noise Stops

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When the noise stops,

When the machine of thinking thoughts

Slows to a lull

Or is brought silent

In a moment of

Concentration.

When the worker sets down his tools,

Rests a while,

Leaves his ideas alone,

Then,

In this pause,

This relaxation,

The love that was always there

Is seemingly exposed,

And Life,

Beautiful and whole

Is known in fullness.