Out of Nothing . . .

Out of Nothing                                         

There is no such thing as nothing

Out of nothing were all things created

More could be made out of nothing than something

For there was no limitations to it

It was as elastic as infinity

In the containing of everything:

Nothing rejected no, colour:

So---it was colourless

And 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 him---all things are taken

We are left not a thing.

And---for a long while---

Nothing feels like nothing:

And the unbelieving---feel cheated---

But to them that believe they begin again

Knowing they have all things and they do

Nothing is so certain as nothing

                                    *

-Written today, in: 'Arkiahh Dreaming; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume 3

Light Enters...the Essential Key . . .

Light the Essential Key . . .                         

Light enters---

The essential key---fit to turn---locked places---

Open pathways to the Brightness

That ever waits to welcome those

Not afraid of being, turned, to be released

They are not strong who hear and answer the call

It was the weak who were decided unto life in death

Who were not afraid of being found out in their dark

Pliable to the inner dream---

Loving light more than themselves

The few who didn’t run away

Found their island fortressed---

By the light that stripped them, bare---

Their very nakedness their armour

Their willingness to be taken

I found my island in today

Green and growing in burning brightness

Planted with cowardice’s destroyer

The joy which laughs at discomfort

For not the comforted are consoled

Take me all! ---Let not my cringing soul

Forbid its healing---in clinging to the same old way

Fortress me with new wine---death to my, self deceit:

Capture me---again and again---turn me by light

Let it pierce and divide betwixt joint and marrow

*

                                    - Written today in: 'ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland;' Volume Three

If you had eyes to see...and ears to hear . . .

All Things That Grew of Themselves               

All things that grew of themselves

All around me---would---

If I had eyes to see---ears to hear---

Take on another form---another meaning---

That could tell of the growing things inside me

Which were their parallel---

The crimson flower that hides behind the stone---

There at my feet:

I was afraid of the things I was called to do---

The stigma of it---the offence---

Yet the fragile speedwell that grew near---

Through---the hardest soil---

There at the edge of the flagged path---

Wandering through the lavender walk

Round the sundial:

I was touched of sky---

Given its part---made of its colour by faith---

Being drawn forth

In the power of the love of the son

Even through the pages of rock

And the darkness that presses upon my head---

Set meandering---

Amidst the near-lost fragrance of the journey of my spirit

Wrapped in time’s circuit through the heavens

Telling that time no man wishes to know---

Lest he lose all he has

For all he has ever desired and never known

And---in spirit---it went on and on---

The gift of knowing by seeing and believing:

One with heaven on earth the realm where we live 

*

                                             - Written today, in: 'Arkiahh Dreaming; The Ragged Writings of Everland;' Volume Three

Opened Everywhere to the Light . . .

            Held and Adored 

                               

Held---and adored

Opened everywhere to the light

These things go by me---as I walk

There at the edge where I am 

With yellow flowers in my hand

The suffering of my soul

Lifted in spirit---my prayer. . .

The cry of a gull

The call---upon pipes---

Of the heart of an oyster catcher---

A dart of iridescent blue

In the flash of a kingfisher---

And the surging Sea---

These things go by me---as I walk  

There at the edge where I am 

And the whole of it, sublime,

Caught in the Brightness

In Worlds of silver and blue and gold . . .

In Words that were written of me

Before ever I was

Held---and adored

Opened everywhere to the light

These things go by me---as I walk

There at the edge where I am 

With yellow flowers in my hand

The suffering of my soul

Lifted in spirit---my prayer. . .

                                                                 *

                                  - Written today, in:  'ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland;' Volume Three

All We Really Have . . .

   

All We Really Have 

                                                   

The living matter of the moment is all we really have---

Our creative clay to shape life in the moment

Nebulous impressions nibble at us beneath the surface---

Have power to mould the clay of us---

If left unchallenged---bring us down

See, from what a seeming-nothingness of thought

Our lives are made!

Life is difficult---

But if at each moment we deal with our besetting sting---

The unquiet thing that tries to swamp us with feelings of unpleasantness---

Let go of hopes and dreams---

All longing draining us of what we long for---

For what we haven’t yet---

Cast away fear, not let it grip

And rise above the insidious pull of gloom---

Then light is in the moment we are given to create with!

Darkness vanishes---

Gloom disappears with the ease of a shadow when the sun goes in

Golden words---fall from air

Lifting light seeping in warms and heals 

                                                            *

                  -Written today, in: 'Arkiahh Dreaming; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three

The Rescue of the Shining Cuckoo...and Serendipity . . .

      You never know what lovely thing will happen next! 

    And ‘what happened next,’ after my return home yesterday was one of those experiences one treasures and never forgets . . .    

    I love birds. Every year I listen carefully for the first heart-stirring call which signals the arrival of the shining cuckoo to Totara North, New Zealand; where I live. It seems to be in the last week of September that I first hear it. It is now the 22nd November and I have been hearing its beautiful, memorable call, every now and then, ever since. 
   The shining cuckoo returns to New Zealand every spring from its winter sojourn in the tropics. I have always thrilled to its song; and I stop whatever I am doing to listen and pray that one day I might see one. They are known to be very difficult to see; it seems they like to hide. These unusual birds lay lay their eggs in the nests of other species and let foster parents raise their chicks.
    As I was walking along the path to the back door, I heard a strange rustling noise coming from my bedroom window. I turned and saw a bird inside my room, caught between the net curtain and the closed window. I quickly dumped all my packages and ran to my room.

     I had left the south window wide open. The little bird must have flown in and then tried to fly out through the other window. It was trapped and fluttering frantically; and it had a long tangled thread caught on one of its claws. 

     I waited a moment until it was a little quieter and reached up. The sun was reflecting the most beautiful green and blue iridescence on its wings; the flash of colour was stunning! It wasn't a kingfisher; I had never seen such a bird before. It was a little larger than a sparrow, but smaller than a thrush; and it had striped bands of brown and cream on its undersides. I didn’t know what it was. 

   With my own heart beating and fluttering along with the little bird I reached up and caught it gently in my hands. Carefully I untangled the 10 cm long cobwebby thread from its foot. It didn't struggle at this point; it was as though it knew it was being helped. Slowly I carried the exquisite little bird to the south window. And just as I had finally freed it of its impediment I lifted it up in my cupped hands, and it flew up from them, and flew away into the garden.

      Sometime later I learned that this little bird was a shining cuckoo!  

    I was touched by this experience; it meant a lot to me; and spoke to my inner life. I felt it was a gift, for I had prayed that I should see a shining cuckoo one day, and I did!

      You never do know what lovely thing will happen next!

  

                                                   *

The hidden wealth of secret places; the treasures of darkness . . .

PROLOGUE      

ANOTHER KIND OF MINING               

I THINK WE PASS through life mostly half blind; not seeing the loveliness in the things near us we walk empty and what we are looking for remains always future and beyond us.

True, we dig for what we know of inner treasure, but finding so little of it we think not to go further and mine for that which we seek, right where we are. For we walk through life in the deep ruts of a cart track, locked into a treadmill of thoughts which revolve round themselves endlessly and don’t escape to discover new things. Along this rooted path of thinking, we are on the same plane and scale as if we thought that visiting a real gemstone mine would provide us precious jewels handed out on a plate. Forgetting how hard and long and tedious is the work of excavating choice minerals and gems from the dark ore of a gigantic mine.

   We have become conditioned to things being instant and easy; but just as there is work in the retrieving of a miner’s bounty, so there is for us, though it be of an entirely different nature. For mining can be along other lines than in ‘rock,’ and the excavating of satisfying gems, from the rich ore of the things which are within our reach; even the living wisdom . . . the hidden gems . . . locked within the rich layers of the things we see every day, all so familiar to us we don’t even notice them.

   The profits of these two kinds of mining are essentially the same. Except one makes us rich on the outside and the other rich on the inside; and though the digging work in both seems so different, again, they are essentially the same. Except one will make our physical muscles strong and the other our personal ones: our inner spiritual muscles; those which shape us into the person whom we are.

   And as the work in a flash of illumination, making truth clear to you in the instant is more energizing and life-giving to your inner eyes than the flash of a beautiful gemstone to your outer eyes, so is inside mining more truly enriching than the outer kind.

   And the work: The opening up of your heart the deep mine inside you.

                                                       *

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