Poetry: Vol. 2/ 153.) Fishers of Men . . .

Being taught of my capturing in the light

In the midst of a painted picture I stood...

The painter before me only just beginning

Being made of nothing and as light as air

It seemed I took up no space, nor yet paint

Nor did I appear to him applying the brush

Seemed he could not see me, nor did he guess

The wonder of the marvel was made for him

But I heard the painter’s heartbeat at his touch

Hardly daring now to see I glimpsed his brush

Working lightly down beside me a lovely green

And all along my side I felt his willow’s leave

I felt the brush of leaves and the tree he made

And swift the river where it seemed I stood

It was being painted all around me as I watched

At my feet, a fleeing fish appeared, but with his

Tiny brushstrokes sent out a fly on rod and line

And the leaping trout was snared, and I was taken

From his painted picture I was pulled and gone

Of the Fisher King of heaven all caught away

Sent, and sent again at his marvellous will: and the

Catch of Two! In his rejoicing-instant the painter sees

His own success and skill! The perfect picture painted!

Snared: he sees! Taught ‘his own’ capturing of the light!

                               

                             *

Poetry: Vol. 2 / 212.) The Trees Knew . . .

  

The trees knew...

Their watering streams

Had told them of it...

Brightness in the air above

And all around

Fragrant breaths in the low dew

Of the ground...

A brief turbulence in jars of nectar

Breaking out in sweetness

Passing beyond any prickling...

The sting of death swallowed up

In new liberty

What had not entered mind

Had entered spirit... and the sign

Melting in the sunlight...

Was pouring through the forest

Hints of it playing in the music

The streams had gathered from

The air, the dew, and the nectar

Watering the living trees

Teaching them knowledge

Infusing them with the hid wisdom

It had come... it was there...

But still they could not see it

                 *

Vol. 2 / 211.) Ends In Is-Ing . . .

             Ends in ‘is-ing’ the effective thing

The ‘thing-being’ the ‘being-thing’

Brighter and brighter to the full day

The path before them in whom

The sun is rising

Out of their treasures both new and old

Grow the growing things

That have their life in being live

But ‘about-ing’ doesn’t leave ever 

Them... they always find their

Unconscious need of it... moving

Onwards through the ruby labyrinth

First were their dazzling openings

And then their understandings

So Happenings... and Explainings

And Heaven... on Earth

Because life was a teacher

And a teacher loves to teach

And life repeats itself over and over  

So, life progresses... on... and on

The continual seasons... of the eternal

Tree of Life continually within them

Until Explainings had their Endings

In Happenings...

And Happenings never ceased!

And happy, the little bird flies on and on

Seeing from the differing seeing-levels

Of cliff and sea

      *

Vol. 2. / 210.) A Path of Surprise . . .

When all is said and done

When the tides seven times

Have turned

And mystery’s only open road

Lay bare ---

The patterns in the book

Revealed

LIFE, and the way of life was found

So simple; though hardly would he

Let himself be fully known

Nature is full of surprises!

All as easy --- as falling off a log

Happily they are all parts of a sequence

The inevitable results of a life of faith

Lived bravely

Delights awaited a second reading

A path of surprise

In the parts further entered  

For they win delight that gladly bend

To find it and finding rise to live it

                           *

Vol. 2. / 209.) When You See A Bridge . . .

Why do you know it means something when you see a bridge?

When you see a bridge, you know

Something you do not understand,

And though you might not grasp it

You know it means something, true

It was the bridge from here to there

That in another world found meaning

The missing connector the joyful magic

Spanning either side of the dividing river

In truth our ingress and egress is alike

For both ways a bridge can be crossed

In touching both banks at once:

There was a going in and a going out

To find pasture

Though the way across, was the laying

Down of a life for a life, one way of living

For another: the good for the best;

Good is the enemy of the best

    *

Vol. 2. / 208.) After Sunlit Days Of Airiness It Rains . . .

After sunlit days of airiness it rains

And after rain

More days of dry again

A thing complete

And the pendulum swings

The other way

When it strikes the other side

Then back it swings again

One voice in several different forms

Takes flight

In freedom’s simple sounds on

The ups and downs of the open road

All things to all men we’re made

And through the intervening walls

Pass through

As though they were not there

                            *

Vol. 2. / 207.) The Anchors of the World . . .

The anchors of the world no longer hold

Beauty can no longer be controlled

Or be set up and parcelled in man’s formats

Beauty and truth have kissed each other

And they shall never again be parted

Stars out of place shall shine abundantly

In all unexpected places unknown orbs rise

The world will no longer curb their lines

Despising their aspiring unto instrumentality ---

Which, never ever have they thought to do

But the world’s great, jealous of them unto death

They that look to themselves never see life

Those that shine in their own eyes see not stars

The unseen are unknown they are all hid

Deeply hiding from the world they have left

The day dawning declares them, they will come

 *

Vol. 2. / 206.) A Child Questions Why . . .

Why does a baby cry in the night?

Why does every rainbow mean something to you?

Why does it rain when you don’t want it to?

Why do bad things happen to good people?

Why when you see a three strand cord do you feel safe?

Why when you see broken glass do see your heart broken?

Why was this book given to you?

Why do you see hidden meanings in every created thing?

Why is it that you don’t find what you are looking for?

Why is it that your heart is heard?

Why do you know it means something when you see a bridge?

Why is it that you look for the one whom you have never seen?

Why do you fear when there’s nothing to fear?

Why is it that you notice when a single bird sings?

Why do you never question why?

                *

Vol. 2. / 205.) A Child Questions How . . .

How did the first sparrow learn to fly?

Because how could it learn if it had no mother?

If it had a mother, from where did she come

Being as she, was the very first sparrow?

How did the first migratory birds, first find

Their first, and perfect, far distant home?

Who told them where it was because

They had no parents?

Or else, from where did the first parents come?

How did the first bird know it would have babies?

How could the first bird know, to build a nest?

Who told it, why it needed it?

Or, how did it know, that it needed one?

Or, was the nest already there, and built

Before the first bird?

If it was, how did it get there? Who put it there?

How did the first bird get its colours?

Who was it, told it, what colours it should be?

And from where did, colour, in the first place come from?

And, truly, what was it? Tell me if you know---

Have you seen? Were you there? If you weren’t then tell me

How do you know? Who will you believe, if

They weren’t there, either?

Will you trust in the infallibility of those you believe?

                                                         *

Vol. 2. / 204.) A Child Questions . . .

Where was the first tree that ever was?

Why did it grow there? From where did it come?

If trees came from seeds from where grew the seed?

Not from a tree, because a tree first grows from a seed?

So what came first was it the tree or the seed?

Where was the first grass that ever waved in the wind?

Where grew the first flower that ever was?

What was its name? And did it have pollen inside it?

Why would it need it, if it first grew without it?

How did it get there? Did anyone watch?

From where came the water that watered the seed?

How could a seed be without water first?

Who grew the first seed? From where did it come?

What was it inside of, if it came before the first plant?

How could there any questions without answers first?

     *

Vol. 2 / 203.) Carried Over The Threshold

The heartbroken believe it

Waste places celebrate it

Flame flowers fill the field

Carried over the threshold

If for a day lit butterflies fly

Hold nothing back

Enter the incomprehensible

Life cannot be fathomed

Lives of victims are ashes

Brave the weak ones thrive

Not in sinking but arising

Turning away from self

The last shall be the first

And the first shall be last

The least where heaven is

And heaven here on earth

Liberty lights a fourth side

Amaranthine lines are born

Happy are the kings in life

They dig for joy and find it

Doors of mystery unlock

Love held the hidden key

Truth in the inward parts

The searching beam sees

Sweet the arbour of tears

Diamonds born of breaking

Caught in the school of life

Of lessons in the making

In spaces in the midst of

Places where one could be

Carried over the threshold

Across the lines of death

         *

Vol. 2 / 202.) In Every Atom

All things are held together

By the word of his power:

In every atom is his presence.

And being nothing in him

I know nothing

But that he is in every atom

Of my being.

And in every atom that I am

He has split me asunder

                      *

Vol. 2. / 201.) The Searching Beam

The searching beam goes out into the world

Passing through all its inhabitants ---

And generation after generation

Moving through all their works

Looking for any who would not hide

From its mirroring light

Searching for any who might understand

Its light and what it had come to do

And who would welcome it

And not be afraid

But there was no one, no one could

Embrace the searching beam and love it

They would not have their every thought

Sifted and exposed understanding why

And so he took upon himself to take out

One inhabitant for himself and entered her

And she saw that every imagination

Of the thoughts of her own heart

Were only evil continually

And she rejoiced in the exposing light

That took her

And in the truth and glorious liberty

Which he brought her this way

As in it he gave her himself to be her life

And hid her away in the clouds of the air

                                *