In Glory, Be

Dance on, 

though you cannot

always choose the way.

Rhythmically spin, 

bend then sway

this way and that,

coming around again

to feel the subtle

pulse of the heart

alive with song,

leaning then cleaving

to the intense fire

building within.

In An Instant

Desired impressions

magnify visual connections

within the flow and play

of consciousness, floating

free in their unfolding –

innocent slices of life.

See how the eyes

serendipitous affection

centres there, as if bent

toward some personal

alignment – alive

as never before.

A contemplative patience

hidden in that untraceable

trail of white – existing

in the quiet briefness

that is, right now.

Where It Leads

I see my path, 

but I don't know

where it leads. 

Not knowing

where I'm going

is what inspires

me to travel it.

 ~ Rosalia de Castro

The Experience Of It

So You Could Come Back

In the Beginning

Sometimes simplicity rises
like a blossom of fire
from the white silk of your own skin.
You were there in the beginning
you heard the story, you heard the merciless
and tender words telling you where you had to go.
Exile is never easy and the journey
itself leaves a bitter taste. But then,
when you heard that voice, you had to go.
You couldn't sit by the fire, you couldn't live
so close to the live flame of that compassion
you had to go out in the world and make it your own
so you could come back with
that flame in your voice, saying listen...
this warmth, this unbearable light, this fearful love...
It is all here, it is all here.

~ David Whyte

Every Day

THE INVITATION


It doesn't interest me what you do for a living

I want to know what you ache for

and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool

for love

for your dreams

for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow

if you have been opened by life's betrayals

or have become shrivelled and closed

from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain

mine or your own

without moving to hide it

or fade it

or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy

mine or your own

if you can dance with wildness

and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your

fingers and toes

without cautioning us to

be careful

be realistic

to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me

is true.

I want to know if you can

disappoint another

to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal

and not betray your own soul.

If you can be faithless

and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty

even when it is not pretty

every day.

And if you can source your own life

from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure

yours and mine

and still stand on the edge of the lake

and shout to the silver of the full moon,

"Yes."

It doesn't interest me

to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up

after a night of grief and despair

weary and bruised to the bone

and do what needs to be done

to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know

or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand

in the center of the fire

with me

and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom

you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you

from the inside

when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone

with yourself

and if you truly like the company you keep

in the empty moments.

~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer 

Arriving There

Behind Your Image

Behind your image, 

below your words, 

above your thoughts, 

T H E  S I L E N C E

of another world waits.

. . . . .

So at the end of this day, 

we give thanks
For being betrothed

to the unknown. 

~ John O'Donohue 

The Soul's Momentum

Fortitude

Where To Begin

Outside the window I begin to ponder a stranger’s discourse, modest laughter, wrought memory, the timbre of self, foresight garnered, faith that comes in different guises, an unfamiliar space, the wait between words, the earth’s hum, the risk of getting lost, the philosophy attached to letting go, the wealth that exists within, disjunctions of time, a child’s smile, I-You-Them-Us, the currency of memory, things real and things imagined, the wax of the moon, a sorrow that endures, an impatience with the dark, the long walk home, a broken heart that now bursts into song, states of metaphor, if timing is everything, the whiteness of a winter day, the way things are, slits of light, the cursive sway of a butterfly, the bike ride taken earlier today, connoisseur’s of form, a poet’s thoughts, benevolence revealed, a sense of place amongst strangers, the tight dry seal of self, the mind in spring, a puritan will, the basis of melancholy, the beauty of repetition, thoughts steeped in poem, a sense of self, what it is we can’t quite put our finger on, if infact we’ve misjudged the weather yet again, abject poverty, the tattered white cardigan, how to fill brief stretches of time, what it is to believe, how the body relinquishes its hold on things, why it is that memory buckles, habits of mind, why sometimes life seems verged on the edge, why it is we belabor the point, brief beginnings, everything distant and abstract, why tears demand their spill over things abandoned, why our eyes are drawn to new perspectives, if ever there was a more perfect moment, the photograph’s pose, blotch’d musings, all things eclipsed, divine annunciation’s, how circumstance feeds our mind, the pulse of emotion, the soul’s flourish, undefined boundaries, the seductiveness of sleep, the well-versed pages of a book, the breaking of dawn, the mind’s volubility, laconic expressions, the kindness witnessed in a stranger’s smile, a unified body of work, allusive textures, seemingly fixed predicaments, how whispered gratitudes uphold us, the bird on the wire, imagination’s fuse and flame, the shape of things, freedoms we love to protect, the exposure of our weaknesses, expressions of hope, a decent place to stand, why the light is so strong, incalculable distances, profound humility, the shelter of happiness, life in the open air, a permeating silence, all things invisible, the spirit inside all, LCohen’s commanding presence and his sublime gift of song, a recovered sense of equilibrium, any kind of truth, unexpected trepidation’s, an association to a particular word, a hand letting go a dove, dreams coming true, the basis of my song, the omnipresent impulse of human life, how things resume their previous pitch, the beggar’s stark reflection, the depth of true friendship, a waterfall’s flow, the essence of colour, disfigured hours, the transience of things, an optimistic gaze, fond remembrances, the splash of a snowflake on the tongue, nature's influence, the process of forgiveness, the quiet reverance found in the everyday, ironic gestures, a passionate allegiance, how to speak poetry…

Scenic Precincts

Take A Moment

Time will teach you otherwise, they say.

Your thoughts begin to sink 

as your shadowed figure rests,

stretched out along the coast 

of a secluded bouldered beach.

You take a moment to think, 

inhaling the cool unimpeded air,

and with every long exhale

comes a feeling that deep inside, 

something tangible is lacking.

Yet, somewhere in-between

the tattered pages of your book,

undiscovered words lay in wait – 

each sentence ready to instruct

the voice to sing aloud the poem

your heart begs, today you write.

…..

Straight away your emotions butterfly

in their urgent desire to find an escape 

as the mind busily scribbles in silence, 

here in the extraordinary light of day.

Elaborate Beginnings

The vast expanse of the day

is lost to me –

adrift somewhere out there.

Yet I hold this life

as one might a prized trophy,

endeavoring to understand

the contextual way I fit myself in

to its small sacred spaces –

ever conscious of its continuance

as knowledge floats free of anchor.

. . . . .

Tomorrow

I hope to speak

of elaborate

beginnings.

For now

I draw on vocabulary

in an effort
to figure things out.

The words – 

some of them give

while others 

remain a mystery.

A consequence perhaps,

of their design.

. . . . .

These lovely lamps, these windows of the soul.

~ Guillaume de Salluste