POETRY
DIARY:
PART THREE:
When I
first tried to write an explanation to help people cope with the strange language
that came out of me, it sounded rather antiquated and strange in itself! But
much of what has come out in this book (and
in this blog) is not exactly what I had intended; a hand other than my own
writes deep inside my life.
(I have written more on this in: THE LIGHT TREE JOURNAL: Portrait of a Lost Door:
Creative Memoir.) Anyway, the following is what I first wrote after I
assumed I was rejected and had begun calling them ‘ragged writings’ instead of poems . . .
A piece of ragged writing, which upon first reading appears
incomprehensible, will, to the diligent searcher, slowly render its secret
treasure upon each subsequent reading; enlarging the faculties of the inmost
being to taste and eat of a whole new kind of fare. If we will but let go the
incessant demand of our intellect to understand something before we can enjoy
it, we might develop the spiritual capacities that are within us instead – the
ones which make us who we truly are – the exercise of which will bring a more
satisfying reward than we could ever imagine.
It
is hard. But narrow a river and it will flow more swiftly. All our lives we
have thought that it was the nurturing of the mind that was the way to
knowledge. But over feeding the intellect has hindered the heart. And we have
been frustrated, albeit unknowingly, in our longings for what was beyond and
never finding it: for the way of knowledge, by heart and spirit, is the reverse
of the way of it, by mind. And anything in reverse in us is hard. To turn
around is hard. But help a butterfly escape from its cocoon and it dies. Its
wings never develop. It needed its struggle to fly. And so do, we!
Read without wanting. Read as though you were being read, yourself. The ‘ragged writings’ are as looking-glass
stones, reflecting back at you whatever you see in them. You could work them
out, with some mental effort; or, you could soak them in, with no effort at
all. In both are joys! Most of all you will discover that you are given, out of
not demanding to understand; and you will find surprise and delight in it!
*
THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND: Volume
Three: Arkiahh Dreaming: (Vol.3 / 28; 21; 16; 7.)
28. A Splay of Light in an Assembly of Letters
A SPLAY OF LIGHT in an assembly of
letters
Prisms in shining rain taking form in a
book
All that was poured in one falling of
sunshine
A shaping of radiant life light as a
feather
The furtherest beacon from an arbour of
booklight
Isles in written rain building lands in
leaves
All that was shining in a breaking of
heart-light
A sculpting of sacred life bright as a
fire
*
21. A Run of Light in Silver
A
RUN OF LIGHT in silver
Rain
in sun from leaves
Lit
lingering drops fall
Bright
pages spring back
Dawn
dreams awaken
Eyes
let in the daylight
Looked-for
things come
The
set-apart see them
Birds
are gone beyond
The
flighted find them
The
broken live in air
The
picked plant dies
Snatches
take the stand
Grasps
nearly get there
Only
letting go we find
Unbroken
hearts hold on
A
fall of light in gold
Dust
in sunbeam paths
Life’s
chaff held secure
Books
of vanished sound
*
16.Set Against the Light
SET
AGAINST the light
I see
through my fine bone china cup
Facing
the light---
I see
through my delicate flesh---
Find
there the level of that which fills me
Not
running from the dark amount I see
Embracing
the whole of me---there---
Where
there is a wealth of reality
To
wrestle with---
To
hear the tiny sounds in its substance---
The
sweet dark---the light I haven’t seen yet---
In
the struggle---before the distilling---
And
then the joy in tipping out---
Pouring
out my light---in its silver streams---
Freeing
me from the hold of dull living
Accepting
and not rejecting all I see---
Within
my fragile brittle cup
*
7. Trickling
Down the Lines of Sight
TRICKLING
DOWN the lines of sight
Bright
beads of raindrops, dripping, meeting
Falling
sight in mirrored window eyes---
And
light---in rivers running---
From
a sky of tears that never asked for them---
Never
dreaming they’d be needed
Though
nothing truly good
Was
ever made without them
Even
those that outwardly never emerged---
Locked
inside---were the secret channels
Of
true perception---
Lines
of sight that could come no other way
Though
we tried every other means
And
went through every outer-part of knowledge
No
other way worked so well as sorrow---
The
un-thanked-for gift---the other side of joy
The
un-looked-for dark in tomorrow
Which
today was bright
*
