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THE SEER WITHIN
The growing mind - impostor
distorts a sacred
vision,
clings to the body
as ivy to the growing tree,
as using the strength of the bole
stifles the
flowering soul ;
as the witness within
with the true branch, reaches
for nothing but the light;
it thinks - to
walk on its own ground
set on concrete, but alas,
its self -deception
is composed to decompose,
when it
will find its true self
or die, - as the tree does.
.....
DO WE ?
Memory and amnesia -
to pick out two
villains of the plot !
In order to inwardly grow I must remember what I am
but I must also remember, to become what
I am not,
a perfect recipe for total insanity
which is the cultivated, condition of man !
So like Alice
in wonderland-in the garden,
questioning the laughing hatter !
‘Its a party, we are all playing our parts
so
what is the matter, -we are party to the lot’!
Now you see it, now you don’t -
two sides
to the same proverbial coin
and who gives a toss how it falls
on the mad hatters table,
and by the way, who
is the March hare
if not us-
do we ever stop to think about it ?
.....
ON MY GARDEN
Conservation - me and you -
staying put is all
I do !
July sky, a pristine blue
and round the house the swallows too,
like darts with flight paths everywhere,
seem
there, to celebrate the air !
Think subtle painters understand
how purists may delight the eye,
the watercolour in
the hands -
the lightest touch to catch the sky,
but high up in the atmosphere
I witness the divided mind -
who
fiddles with the biosphere
is mad, and leaves a trail behind ;
we are the stewards of the world
and we demand and
we insist
we leave an unpolluted air
so that the children may exist :
And now, my friends, I beg your pardon
the
sun is setting on the garden.
.....
TWO FRAGMENTS
Preconceptions paint their pictures
on my window
to the world,
like scraping paint, I try
to clean that window for the eye;
on William Blake they must
rely
who do not want ‘ to live the lie ‘.
. . .
Did my cloth destroy the moth
which was a cleaning
duty !
And then I noticed, how it sings
from those unfolded wings.
There is no strength to compare
with
the vulnerable beauty there.
.....
LAO SHAN
Old Lao Shan said ‘ life is flux,
follow it, and
with trust
travel light, and be grateful to the moon
that draws your spirit from your dust,
and
on your shoulder
let dangle from your staff
what you would prize the most
winnowed as grain from chaff,
and
when your sun breaks through
it will gong the morning.
If you try the mountain, laugh
for the mountain will
laugh with you ;
follow life for you are life
as the flow of water to drought, -
a trickle to a pool dried out
-
cup your hands and be thankful.
Do not desire, -
you are the bread of life,
your ancient mill still treads
the
way the world goes round.
.....
WARNING
Grey, the cratered moon -
I read her counterpoint
but
not too soon,
constant companion, haunting,
mourning her dead body,
through phasing, to full
lifeless
luminescence,
cloudless and clear tonight,
her barren message
warning a troubled earth.
.....
ANOTHER GOLGOTHA ?
I think of that old tree,
( still dear to me,)
like
God’s fingers, clutching the earth -
feeding below the canopy above ;
but what have we made of it
with
man’s inhumanity,
slicing the bole, felling as timber
to have lost a canopy of love ?
What have we made of
it since then ?
What have we done ?
What shall we ever do -
in the same vein
when the whole forest has gone ?
Plant
for a sapling and hope
for someone to kill and deify ?
.....
ONE SACRED LOVE
Drugged by time, time is the high
the illusion of more
than one,
our addiction - to be fixed -
defined as individuals,
as egos, many Gods
leading to duality, to hell
!
And here we dwell to withdraw,
cast out as victims in space
with symptoms of our own longing,
yet fear not loss,
for here
in each and everyone of us,
each second trips to the eclipse of time
when sacred love will find and bind
us.
.....
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TO MAN
I saw the gaol in old Bodmin,
the inmate dummy in the cell
and for a while I knew the hell
there, and thought, what better way to tell
the
cruelty of bygone days ;
to steal a sheep would get you in
though you might scream or shout
but would old
Bodmin let you out !
And some, no doubt would end up there -
the gruesome gallows with it’s drop,
their
broken necks beneath the trap ;
our best excuse as we restore
‘we do not do that anymore’
though we,
innately proud, display
the brutal justice of the day.
To understand - one never can
for still in our day, see or
scan
man’s inhumanity to man.
.....
RED EYE
(Conventional self)
The counter change ahead
from many air - miles
made,
there is no tomorrow
only the light and shade ;
descending from above
the landing lights look strange,
my
astral empathy
is ever out of range
and if I really am
invisible as air,
the stamp is
ignorant
the passport doesn’t care ;
to satisfy custom
with that which isn’t there
am
always in the green
with nothing to declare :
I mirror back my face -
cold water to ennui
and wonder
why I have
this false identity.
.....
TRUE FRIENDS
Kindred spirits like the photon
swiftly travel
from afar,
time and space part with sorrow -
here today and gone tomorrow,
doors are always left ajar ;
those
who little understand
love’s mystery of two as one,
save old hooks to hang their coats on,
friends
until their lives are done.
.....
HIS LIFE
Old nails protrude
beyond the rude symbol,
spike
the very air we breathe,
the mind to snare the heart -
to stop one thinking from the start;
to thrust his cross on
old despair
was this the whole truth, hanging there?
Who built his house upon the sand -
some ancient politics,
perhaps,
some early plot as sleight of hand,
but will we ever understand
his one great truth of merit
that all
of life transforms to spirit?
As I turn these holy pages
I see his life betrayed, abused
yet see him smile in many
sages.
.....
BREVITY OF LIFE
That old beech held me high
when I was a young boy,
but
with these brittle bones
I cannot climb her now,
and still she stands, breaking
through my lifetime’s
weather,
sturdier than ever ,
her gnarled, transforming boughs
once mine, twisted skyward
with all my childish
dreams;
old hands touch her bole now,
feel that numb resistence,
impervious
to me,
my wise, old age to her
a mayfly existence.
.....
COMPLETE
Following the droning bee
to the open wings of
the red admiral,
and the seasonal buddleia
waiting as a perfect host:
Uniting the two
beautiful and complete,
-
the cause of this, I know
is even more so.
Somehow ghostly, light as lace
sensing no before and after,
peace
- that password into heaven
far away from time and space
yet just a breath away, from Eden.
.....
MOVE YOU
The whole that plays us-parts, pro rata -
covered
in millennial strata,
a mosaic of bits and pieces -
duality that never ceases ;
we are many - the conclusion,
we
are slaves to the illusion,
wash clean away then, see the part
dissolve into the whole, one heart
that
dances our plurality ;
whirl you to your sacred still point
move you to your non duality.
.....
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