In beginning at the end of me I saw twice as far . . .

 When I am old I will write a pearl.

The pearl will be 25,000 miles wide

Because it will circle the world

In one second.

It will be the smallest thing

That can do that.

Small as a pea under 20 mattresses.

That is why it will be a pearl.

Then the World will know

What it has lost and forgotten.

And I will be gone.

                

                                          A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS

                                         FOREWORD

IN BEGINNING AT THE END OF ME I saw twice as far. But I was so used by now to coincidences happening almost continuously---synchronistic ‘chance’ seeings happening whenever I looked out at the World around me, and wherever I was in it, that in my stories here I take it completely for granted. It was only, today, some while after I had finished compiling this small book from my larger one, The Light Tree Journal that I suddenly realized that I needed to add some perspective to what was happening in my life in most of the stories. I saw I needed to stand back a little and explain my filling-up process which was constantly going on replacing all I lost of me through the flow of insights I was given.

   Simultaneous with the losing or the taking away was the filling-up---the rushing in---in the exchange of my dross for high energy delicious inspiration---life; which was more than doubly replacing all I ever gave up of me---hence, seeing twice as far. This instantaneous process had become so second nature to me that in my stories I didn’t often stop to give an identifying perspective on what was happening, which would have, perhaps, enabled the reader to more fully partake of the life going on in this---exchange.

   Like many people, I had become so connected to the source of all things that in the living world around me I was aware of what properties they had within them that would tell me about myself: in order to help me grow in light and understanding in my inner life with him. And this, that I might be one with him, who is love, forever. ‘For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made; so that, the world, so imbued, had become my mirror---to show me myself, as I really was!---to bring light in my darkness---for I knew I was dark where light had not entered.  And the exchange was all entirely personal and had become delightful.

  Long ago I had discovered that not only was the living world made to provide us with the physical necessities of life---for our outer body---the air we breathe, and food and water, and warmth etc., but with the spiritual necessities of life, also---for our inner body---the dynamic ‘upside down’ provision of the natural world in its spiritual equivalent of ‘air,’ ‘food,’ ‘water’ and ‘warmth.’ …I had been given to understand that we were not complete with just the physical things given to us from the natural living world, we needed its inner gifts, too; which were always abundantly supplied.

   I enjoyed an extraordinary interaction with all created things, being as I was nothing. And while they would always tell me, only the inner truth, the truth which went against my natural earthly self: against my pride and ego---it was always entirely enchanting to me---because I loved the truth more than I loved myself.

   The stinging-points---of humiliation where I felt something to be against me, showing me up, challenging me toward change, became---the living-points; where I found life by light in action. And they became the most exciting places in the world for me! Only at these places could you see the way forwards on your intimate journey in light and life. They were the seeing-places where your life lit up in love and energy, so as you could see beyond. They were the gates to inner growth and greater meaning in your life in the ongoing revelation of your deeper purpose upon the earth: lifting you from the first, natural sphere of life, into the second, spiritual sphere---and from first sight, to second sight. …Intuiting the higher meaning in the unfolding world around you, that undid you a little every day, filling you with all you needed of happiness and love. It was all in quick turnings-again in inner cartwheels of joy, in a deep and secure knowing of your direction and purpose in him to whom we are intimately connected in glorious liberty: love.

   And now as I rewrite this FOREWORD, a confirming perspective of all this comes to me---that, somehow, when we walk through life, the way that is described throughout this book, that mystically and impossibly, we actually own the earth. …We had inherited it. It was incredible, but true. Not only had we been given ears to hear, and eyes to see, but we had been given to experience---live out---this truth within us: ‘blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.’

   My heart yearns that these simple inner-life stories of light, fill you with all joy and peace in believing---that you are known and understood---that all things belong to you---for you were loved unconditionally; and that not only heaven, but the whole earth is telling you that---had you a child’s eyes to see and ears to hear!

                                                                   *

The Door to Beyond . . .

The Door to Beyond

It was the way of entrance waiting to be found

The chink of light in every turning round

The glimpse of beyond---

In every dark thing overcome              

A glimmer of hope---                                                                That what was promised was near 

                                                                         *



                                                   An illustration from: A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS; A Circlet of Inner-Life Stories

                                                  (c)  Judith M Evans Deverell, 2019

NEW PIECING TOGETHER: In calming the quivering earth, the watered seed, accepting the suddenness of its dreadful blessing, draws from it a sense of settled place, in which, in secret, to swell and then to split . . .

It is, Loving that Matters

In calming the quivering earth---the watered seed

Accepting the suddenness of its dreadful blessing

Draws from it a sense of settled place

In which---in secret---to swell and then to split

And the pressing darkness that had been upon it---

The veiling shroud---now understood: 

The essential part in its inner growth--- 

And the pain of the stretching was unto the uttermost

Death of it for life must rend aside its earthen skin

And the true dividing of its heart in two parts

That it might live that life---above---rooted below---

For another life it had hardly dreamed of

And never seen

Of what it might become

It had no knowledge

It could not see

The perfected flower---its future destiny---

Un-imagined in such compacted darkness

Yet the sun---reaching in---drew out its heart upwards

What it could not understand it trusted

For all within---responded

Moving beyond itself for joy of entering warmth

It is, loving that matters                                                                   Making all the difference in the dark---                                                    New piecing together  

                                                                        

                                                                        *


                                     Illustration from: Volume Three; 'The Ragged Writings of Everland; Arkiahh Dreaming'

An episode of swirling seas . . .

                         Illustration from: 'Arkiahh Dreaming'

Wheels within wheels, time within times where was no time, moving in four directions all at once . . .

Wheels Within Wheels

TIME within times where was no time

Wheels within wheels

Moving in all four directions, at once

Where the fruit of perfect answers were

Priceless returns of lost things found

The heart’s first dream and least hope 

Was seen and held there---

In all the pear tree’s travels to distant places

In other times

Ground by windmill stones beside the sea

Those tiny pips in pairs the pear tree grew

My answers lost and found

Made bread and meat

And I saw what it meant to be loved in the Lover

Taken with him there---where life was---

Crushed and bruised for the food of life

 

                                       *

                                               Illustration from: Volume Three: The Ragged Writings of Everland; 'Arkiahh Dreaming' 

NEW POEM: 'There is no such thing as nothing; out of nothing were all things created . . .'

There is No Such Thing as Nothing                                        

There is no such thing as nothing

Out of nothing were all things created

More could be made out of nothing

Than out of something

For there was no limitation to it

It was as elastic as infinity

In the containing of everything

‘Nothing’ rejected no, colour

So it was colourless---

But pregnant---with endless possibilities---

Until the brush of one’s imagination

Painted it with what was desired

In the containing of everything:

‘Nothing’ held all, miracles

All that was ever needed

Came of it---by faith

When---in perfection---all things are taken

We are left nothing. Full stop!

And for a long while

Nothing feels like nothing

And the unbelieving---feel cheated

But those that believe---begin again

Knowing they have all things and they do

                                                                   * 

                                              from:  ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three.  

                                                

N.B.   All my artwork is done completely by hand....(No ‘Photoshop,’ etc.)....I create on paper with pencils and erasers, and different sized ink pens, (and sometimes brush and watercolours,) and a tiny sharp craft knife, for stenciling. Afterwards, I scan the finished picture into my laptop; and from there into my books and this Blog.

NEW ILLUSTRATION: 'The tread of our aching heart's blind dreaming is never forgotten; imprinted our footsteps upon the sands of time's glad use of us . . .

            The Tread of Our Aching Heart

The tread of our aching heart’s blind dreaming

Is never forgotten

Imprinted our footprints upon the sands

Of time’s glad use of us

His crystal glimpses---will softly tell

And forever---of all the stories hid

Within the places we have passed through

And are yet passing through---

Their bright footsteps are never lost

Indelible the mark we leave behind us

Upon time’s shoulder:

Our story perfectly told

The whispered secret-gold within them

Is---heard and seen---our being infinitely loved

In love’s own deep working in us

Pressed---infused---and forever held in his keeping

We are not unloved in any of our secret thoughts

Neither do we go unseen in any place

Where we have trodden down the grapes of wrath---

Our footsteps---a pattern of light in time---were kept

And when time closes his book we are whole:

Our story seen a perfect gift of unmerited love

                   *

                      Illustration from: ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three

NEW POEM: 'I think we travel through our lives half blind . . . We see! And so we don't, for it is our eyes with which we are seeing, and they are yet of earth, seeing not that which isn't, and 'things which are not' . . .

                  I think We Travel through Our Lives Half Blind

I think we travel through our lives half blind

We see! ---And so, we don’t

For it is---our eyes---with which are seeing

And they are yet of earth

Seeing not that which isn’t

Our eyes can never see in darkness

They are dark to the light there

And so they call it darkness

Not being made of the right substance

With which to see 

We think we come to the light

And that we do not cover our heads

From its reach---down into the depths of us

But we hide below the surface of the Sea of life

Not knowing that we can be seen

Yet the Water above us

Is become as clear as crystal

And there is no where we can hide

Why do we run from the light?

Lest we be seen and have to change!

Not realizing that the piercing eyes

Which see into us---love us utterly

Yearn to take us out of night and into day

The eyes that see in darkness                                                    Are those of the substance of day

                                                                       *



               Illustration from: ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three

In the quiet cloisters of my soul bright quiescent streams flow in silver lines . . .

Illustration from: ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three

A Portrait of a Lost Door . . . A New Ragged Writing . . . New Section Written . . . A New Poem in Three Parts . . .

Portrait of a Lost Door                                 

It was from a far country I had come---

Where endless illumination came out of darkness:

Out of what wasn’t understood---till one did---from it

There, one was of no age, neither, young nor old

One just was and always had been

And of no size, large or small, but the right size

Perfectly fitting that place where one desired to be

Here was, no language or wisdom

That we could understand

Some say we lived here before ever we were

For we have ever been

And say, too, that we knew this country

When we were very, very young

But should one not have retained

The slightest memory of it

It would not diminish, even so,

It was within one not as memory but as life

My ability to cherish it now and tomorrow

A fact---a gift---

In all my yesterdays it was in me already and ever is

There, the smallest child

Was wiser than the wise and prudent
Another kind of language was there
Thought strange and foolish here
As incomprehensible as snow is to fire
And as a jewel is to the blind

The more I have of the wisdom of this world

The less I have of the other

For it was of a quality
That cannot be measured by gain

But by loss---because it was without end

A bird can fly by

And I can see it as a dart of dark or light

And it is gone

But there I am not separated from the beauty I see

I am with it---

And no matter its speed---alongside---

One with its---life

Leaps, that are, here impossible

There are, a matter of course---perfunctory

I was with all I saw and had always known it

  

In the touch of beauty

The sense of sight took on a look of---

Having---possessing---because one had nothing---

A sense of knowing what couldn’t be known

In dwelling in the source from whence it came

And as for sound---

The site of it was ever in the midst of love---

And sight in the centre of peace---

And all that was of their marrying there            

Was as back-to-front as dark and light

And no man knew it that had not life

It was from a 'far country' I had come

Where endless light came out of fearful darkness

Darkness---because total light could not be understood

And so would not fit him who had not life---

Yet beauty had once been his to give as he saw fit

He only returns to life and light who only knows 
He is dead and dark

               *                           

In the breath of loveliness

There were no shut places in my country---

No places where the taken-air could not escape once

Its beauty had entered in the living open heart---

It flowed out in measured lines of airy darkest Light:

Truth---that having worked its life---within

Went everywhere---and on and on, so,

Gathering---in its gifted freedom---

All of solace that it could ever meet

And so sure---the laden breath---of no shut place

The loveliness never faltered as it went on

To enter every rested heart it met

Show the taker’s face---reveal the giver’s heart---

The influence of beauty reached more inner-homes          

Touched more inner-souls of men

Worked more wonders in each and every one                                  Than we could ever imagine
                                     

                                    * 

And of the door

No man yet had entered through it

That of his, own volition

Had tried to enter in

It was the mystery and paradox

Of the distant country---

Its door was not made of any      

Substance comprehensible to the world

And visible only to them that took the trouble

To let down their wings---

Their tightly held selves---and let go all pride

It was the nearest door and the one most distant

That was the threshold of the inner glory

And the beginning of the way of life---     

Once opened---

But the door before us the hardest to enter in

Love alone would reveal it and open it inside

Of silver---refined in a thousand fires it was made

Inlaid with gold---sealed and purified

Of the substance of down----light as snowflakes

It would seem to be wrought

Such as could be plucked from the breast

Of a goose---

One of ‘foolish’ trust---and with a broken wing

Led home---held in a child’s arms

Of its hinges---

It pivoted upon one’s cross---

The door swung on joyful expectation

Balanced in a cup of faith

Imbued with patience

Its handle---

True courage in adversity---

That turned tragedy to glory

And made of every difficulty

An opener of gold---

The possession of the weak

Made strong in surrender . . .

               * 

All my simple portrait of---a lost door---

The door in the tree of life

That took me through---

That opened in my loss of me

It was the way of entrance waiting to be found

Drawn in pastel upon every sunset cloud

Painted in sunrise---the oils touched within---

In every drop of silver mist

Its reflection shone---

Its picture in every blade of dewy grass

            And upon every lip of truth it kissed 

                                    *

                                                    From: ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three