Showing posts with label new life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label new life. Show all posts

Thursday, 25 October 2018

The Power of the Dawning . . .




                                    The Strength of the Dawn

Lightly---on the silver surface of the quiet sea---  
The sun arising leaves his lilac birthing
Fitly swift upon the sea’s-edge wild horizon

Below these shades of palest winter green---
Lilac strands of clouds in glowing topaz---
This fiery orb leaves trace of rising only quickly

Of the light within---each broken open heart
Knows quickened birth---
In all her fleeting colours of intuitive comings
And the strength of dawn in all her new beginnings




                                      *




                  The Power of Night’s Changings

And of the changeful night---
Violet drops of moonlight in deep weathered places
Purple palaces forming and palisades of turquoise
Mauve fastnesses in silver-lit moonbeams---
And all transparent their milk-white tincture
Crushed in black ink mixed with his spilt blood

These were piercing changes I know---
Deep inside me---
Held a moment in pressed currents of endings---
Ripe---through new entrances within

Yet of a single door---the fruit of death unto life
In darts of black currant and blueberry---
Threads passing through
In cream all dipped in amethyst---

Winged thought taking flight
And after a long and arduous journey---

In woken sleep alighting upon that star in you
Which---weathered by the light of ages---
Takes the feathered edges of the passing through         
And makes them new---




                                        *







Sunday, 8 February 2015

THE BUTTERFLY STORY: The Shadow and the Substance: a spiritual allegory




    As I moved across the boundaries light grew and grew....and I found out more clearly that there were two distinct ways of acquiring wisdom and knowledge; and the following short story is an allegory of these two different ways that we receive it. This allegory was written at the height of a period in my life when I discovered the absolute joy of learning and receiving everything by trusting in the spirit alone.

    Later, I found out, also, that this story had a strange effect on some people; and I saw that to reduce the offence, further wisdom was needed in order to understand the legitimate place that the other way of learning had. And so after a period of dying to all I knew, another story was given to me. This second allegory – A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS – follows on in the next post on this site.



                                                                           *



 To the Garden Returned

    WAY BACK IN TIME, BEFORE THE DAWN OF FIRST MEMORY there existed a most beautiful garden with a river of light flowing through it which watered it. The garden was planted in an unknown pleasant land, filled with all kinds of trees and herbs, shrubs and flowers. Trees whose fruit was good for food, plants whose structure and beauty was good for the illumining of the mind, and flowers so infused with visionary fragrance they would uplift the soul and fill it with joy. It was a glorious paradise of bliss and innocence, comfort and warmth, and all pervading delight. Its inhabitants lived and moved freely in the garden, drinking from its pools, and caring for its flora and fauna, and learning much from its many wonders. But upon the rise of an exceptionally beautiful morning a seemingly small choice was made by these inhabitants beside one of the pools of water. They drank from the only one which had been forbidden them which drinking from brought an end to innocence and the decline of the garden and its fall into ruins. These inhabitants were soon driven from the garden and out into the wilderness. From then on the garden could no longer exist upon the Earth; but only within the spiritual heavenly hearts of those who lived a life of love and who grieved over their just banishment.

   But, once again, in this inner garden where young ones played there were pools of water. One of which, if they should drink from would bring them blindness, aging, and banishment from the centre of the garden, and an existence of lifeless delusion in its outskirts. And, as before, this dreadful pool was exceedingly beautiful, and truly desirable to give one, wisdom and knowledge and the delight of knowing for oneself. Those children of Love which drank from this pool existed in the outer edges of the garden, blind to their exclusion from its centre, for they had no idea of their true condition, or where they were. The interaction between the youngest children in the centre of the garden and the older ones in its edges was fraught with difficulty, for they could not recognize one another: the thick curtain encircling the centre of the garden a barrier through which they could not understand each other.  


                                                 *


The Butterfly Story:  the Shadow and the Substance       

   A new butterfly had appeared in the midst of the garden. It had never been seen before; although there was rumour of it having been known long ago. The sight of its silvery wings shimmering in the early morning sunlight brought gasps of delight to the children; and they danced in the middle of the garden like butterflies themselves newly escaped of their cocoon! Tender hearts overflowed with boundless joy!
   The butterfly alighted upon the shoulder of one of the smallest children then flew onto his hand. The child remained perfectly still, lying in the grass his feet dipped in the flowing stream. Rewarded for his stillness, time melted away as he gazed and gazed upon the glorious butterfly, pulsating with life and light on his hand. It swept him up and renewed his whole being and he followed the living butterfly whithersoever it flew.
   Oh, how all the children longed to share with others this wonderful new life and liberty which the butterfly had brought them!
   Then some of the older children reasoned amongst themselves as to how they should do this. They came to the conclusion, that if they could just catch the butterfly then they could pass it around to their friends, so that they might all share in this glorious new joy together. Their idea seemed good to them, so they did it.
   They caught the elusive airborne butterfly dancing and shimmering in the warm morning sunlight. They pierced it with a pin.  Then they stuck it on a piece of paper. How eagerly they anticipated the delight their friends would have when they saw the beautiful new butterfly!
   So the children laid out the pierced butterfly, decently and in order, just as the entomology textbook had taught them. Then they carefully placed it, in a box. They were thrilled with it! Here was proof! Now at last all their friends (perhaps even their enemies!) would be able to study it for themselves and learn of the glorious life of the wonderful new butterfly, and come and join them in the garden. They passed the box around expectantly!  

                            So shadows come and the glory fades.

   While some saw nothing but a decaying, common garden ‘Cabbage White,’ and thought they had quite lost their senses ~ these lived on the outskirts of the garden, others did see a beautiful butterfly and became fascinated with its exquisite markings. They spent much time, and many a happy hour, examining it with magnifying glasses, making careful notes of the detailed patterns on its wings and then comparing them with the textbook. They uncovered many amazing things about this new butterfly! They found exciting messages encoded in its lovely markings, which they were most earnest and diligent to teach to one another. Those whose interests and passions seemed similar gathered themselves together in separate groups in the garden.
   Oh, the myriads of messages as fascinating things to learn! They took great delight in these things! With them, they were fulfilled and content; although there never seemed to be quite enough, and their search for more was endless!

                          So shadows came and the glory faded.

   Then one of the smallest children, who lived in the centre of the garden, came and looked at the dead butterfly in the box. ‘What have you done?’ he cried, as he held the lifeless thing in his hand; and he threw it down to the ground and wept in brokenness of heart.

                                        

                                     *




Sunday, 2 November 2014

(Poetry/ Vol. 1. ) One Single Dot of Seeding Earth




Metamorphosis

One single dot of seeding Earth
One thought which brings another
And from the underside of the written page
[EGG]

What was on it hatches out
One worm, one active creative idea
Which crawling through, brings another with it
[CATERPILLAR]

What was there ties me up and ravells
And in my own wormy thoughts
I spin my own darkness 
[CHRYSALIS]

I wrestle in the strengthening dark
Given to form me there, where I fight to turn
And of my own dark I am born anew
[BUTTERFLY]

I am made a new sharp threshing instrument
Having teeth; I fly; I eat, I scatter
Old threads of darkness to the four winds
[AIRBORNE]

I fuse with Love; I lay my dots of Heaven                               
On the underside of the written page
Where hid things are
Baring secrets waiting to be born
[REPRODUCTION]

I am fragile, I fall to Earth
My wings were made of light
My heart of deepest destiny
That in death I live 
[DUST TO DUST]

I rise again, no spot or dot
No wrinkled thought-cases for wormy content
And mine by grace, things which are not
To bring to nought things that are
[ASHES TO ASHES]

Eight are left me . . .
For of Love, eight were given me . . . 
[ LIFE! ]





Tuesday, 28 October 2014

The Tree & the Lake of Colour


‘And the light shined out of darkness
And the darkness comprehended it not’

Truth out of the unknown
The earthly mind would not understand it    
Out of fear the light and joy the terror
And all the territory of the weak
The gentle strong
           
A vast level lake of brimming light is there
All silver-shine grey in translucid movings
As still as still yet hovering
On the surface

A single tree stands amid centre
The translucent enigma translating
Braving the homeward colours
Hidden in its appled isle
Of veiled Avalon

Out of that inner lake the vision the door open
Out of apple seed black the un-blinding light
All harvest moon white the gift unveiled
In story filled hues the quest’s end
All wrapped in these shiny tight seeings
           
Deeply helped, deeply freed, deeply filled to the brim
The colours the telling-things the gold of the seeker
Speaking in the peace light giving in its filling
Life filled hues hidden within this lake of colour

Books of grey, but prism turned and understood
A lake of given words the heart of Avalon
Ever present the seasoned light savours the message
While the underlying spirit waters the inner palate
And the tree above speaks out her own fearsome light

Out of spilt-blood red her fiery flame of Orange
Out of rich gold-yellow her harmless apple green                   
From dead-of-night indigo, horizon’s shimmer blue
And all her velvet purple pansies turning vermilion red 
           
Making of the tipped out space, flowerings of the rainlight
Forming from her emptied midst ecstatic bravings of the terror
           
The dreams will fit
Buried hopes beneath the lake of colour rise
All the brave of the King of Kings are here     
As Love’s arm pierces through her shining opal lake

Offering a new sword of twoedges made and true
A flaming sword of light cutting both ways at once
Truth’s discerner ever within my hidden parts 
Dividing me first to win of Love her endless life





Saturday, 18 October 2014

Stretching

People like form and a perceived order delights
If out of some chaos of incompatible lines
Any pattern appears its gifted ease will soon appeal
No eye likes to be faced with what it cannot fathom
Understanding life’s piercing swiftlight can only come
Through belief that in it is some unforeseen beauty
Waiting in seeming complexity to be found out simple
In simply believing here was something greater 

For out of darkness God commanded the light to shine
That the best of any knowing come only of faith
So that what it chooses to love without understanding
Can have an inner working greater than any straighter thing
In the end it will be those who have dared who win
Those who swallowed walls and were willing to be stretched
It is all in the stretching my spirit’s capacities expand 
Left without it I think I’m right and tied stay shrunk 




Tuesday, 14 October 2014

Angled Perspectives

Carved cherry doors in crystalline insights
Castle prismed glimpses in blood red ripenings
Going of an inner fire, all blazing charged with red
And sliding by a former feelings’ captured things
Long held of sovereign battles up in shining spires

Mullioned windows in proud bearing spaces
Crestfallen testimonies in swift caught breezes
Flowing of an inner learning, all fused with green  
And passing by an earlier musing’s hoped for things
Fast kept in liquid runnings lining ivory towers
             
Angled perspectives caught in mirrored images
Shaped inverse lines in fragile coloured forms 
Growing of a higher thought, light all hued with blue
And floating by a summer-knowing’s precious things
Much preserved of warmer days in rounding heights

                         *
Wreathed in mystery’s keep the better part of knowing
All swathed in ruby words bright with emerald lines
Gained of broken pathways in all sapphire understandings