A PERPETUAL DREAMING
.
far away, among the mountains
that uphold the sky,
.
there are those
who forever walk on tiptoe
.
and only whisper,
so as not to wake
.
the sleeping god
that dreams the universe is real.
.
the lullaby of cascading rivers,
the jade clear ice fields,
.
the resounding sapphire sky
with silent wheeling eagles
.
and murmuring chant
from the womb dark temples
.
to keep that sleeper wrapped
in the folds of wonder.
.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged cosmology, creation myth, dreamer, dreaming, landscape, landscape photography, mystery, Poetry, progenitor, reality, time, Wales | 5 Comments »
PROLOGUE (dark druid arts)
I have sat down and tasted the words of the dead.
What do they taste of, the words of the dead?
They taste of the feathers of owls and the scent of old books.
They taste of domed silent libraries and the flow of a million minds.
They taste of iron and the flower of blood as it fills the mouth.
They taste of mud and rain and scythed grasses.
They taste of the forbidden, of the forgotten,
of the bitter and the everlasting.
They taste of answers and riddles and orifices.
I have sat down and watched them
As the old words make pictures,
As they attempt to communicate their forgotten truths
and the lying stories, and the power of breath and the power of song.
2
Let these sounds revolve slow:
The seed that sucks in water swells
Reaches out to worlds unseen
New airs moving, new sense, new scenes.
Becoming is leaving behind in darkness
That which feeds us still.
Moving out, moving out, peeling the familiar.
These fragments to be held without adjustment,
Without conclusion, as it were,
And if we were not shaping, as it were,
As if we knew somewhere deep already:
The old languages of the blood,
The old languages of potent dreaming.
—
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ancestors, art, awen, bardic, celtic art, Celtic coin art, imagery, inspiration, Poetry, tradition | 4 Comments »
N THE BLOOD
How long does it need to be in the blood
Before it becomes poetry?
How long must it seethe ‘til it yields
A single drop reflecting new truth the old way?
How long mirroring, remembering, discarding,
Disregarding its own and other fashions
Until it forgets the watchers and turns in
To be just itself alone?
A single gnat swims unevenly
Through a still midnight room.
That is what life is, usually.
The wind outside, a faint electric hum,
The tick of clock and cooling fire.
The words sink down
A mulch of debris.
Nothing can be returned now.
It must move on and feed others,
Seek new flesh, bend new tongues.
It will pulse,
A thin capillary pull
To go on its way.
—
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged art, consciousness, inspiration, night, Poetry, words | Leave a Comment »
CARN INGLI HAIKU
—
We are lost in its blue distance.
Carn Ingli praised by cuckoos.
—
A gathering of sunlight.
In the shadows of Carn Ingli
Even the near becomes distant.
Humming bees.
—
Some hills watch you for miles,
Knowing who you are, where you have been.
Carn Ingli, perched above the world.
—
A flock of blue stones:
Cracked open are their doors.
Crowned in heather and whin
Is silent Carn Ingli.
—
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged art, cuckoos, distance, Haiku, Haiku-ish, height, landscape photography, Mynydd Preseli, Pembrokeshire, photography, Poetry, Preseli hills, sky, the numinous, Wales, Śir Gar | Leave a Comment »
THE HEALED SKY
The healed sky
Blue as the calm gaze
Of the Medicine Buddha.
May all beings find peace.
—
The healed sky.
Wherever we go
The chanting of honey bees.
—
The healed sky.
A deeper peace creeps in,
Silence no longer a threat.
—
The healed sky.
Eternal mind
Ever returning to life.
–
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged art, empty skies, Haiku-ish, landscape, landscape photography, light, most sapphire deep, Mynyddoedd Cambrian Mountains, nature, plague, Poetry, sky, spring | Leave a Comment »
ON THE HILL OF ARBERTH
Shall we climb the yonder green mound?
Expand our view to the wide unseen horizon,
See wonders, see the unattainable brilliance?
I shall tell you a story where the darkness shines
As bright as the glory of day,
Where the horror shouts loud enough
To wake the doorkeeper between worlds,
Where the pictures come as clues to other strange things,
Where places reconstruct in cellular aggregations
Down the spine and the tides of new air
Tingles with the riddles of a new way
To lose certainty and find a better truth.
Rest now.
Time and space is full already with this world.
Watch as patterns shift.
In shadows and slowed moments
Other worlds can show themselves,
The other that is not the other.
( the woodpigeon’s grey cool song
And the deep green wind between the hills).
It is so full, so full.
Let go the river downwards.
Just below, just below the known
Are the vast halls of golden brocade,
The sapphire cool pavements, as it were.
Wait, unframing, un-naming.
Roads are small patterns of consistency.
Mingle the words of in and out.
Lay one on another without choosing.
Climb the green rise and see what might be seen:
Distance, shimmer, dazed,
What is there is elsewhere.
Soften and dissolve the sight –
That is the way, ( a voice says), to see outside.
The mirror ripples, water turns to rock.
The slow creatures stop to dream,
The warm air chants with bees’ hum.
One step without moving.
There is an art to it akin to drunkenness and despair.
Waiting, not wanting control, dissolving slightly,
Wavering a haze of possibility.
Silence. The deep is the dream
That dreams you here.
—
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ancestors, art, awareness, consciousness, dream, First Branch, Hill of Arberth, landscape photography, Mabinogi, Otherworld, Poetry, strategy, the numinous, time, vision, Wales | Leave a Comment »
The Stones Of Words In The Rivers Of Meaning
‘Sacred’
Is the most precious thing.
That which is unpartitioned.
That reaches roads longed for.
That unfurls sky landscapes unbounded.
That is the most precious.
That fills and empties and makes whole possible.
That wraps meaning in glory and silence.
That goes beyond meaning to mean more.
That flows beyond edges still singing.
That is utter silence enfolding, accepting.
That swells and feeds and gives succour.
That cannot be defined by limitations.
That is beyond and within.
The engine of breath,
The longing to exterminate failure.
To awaken, to sparkle, to feel more, to perceive more.
To stand on the edge of a precipice,
To leap and let go and not care.
To recalibrate, to forget.
To sing eternally.
To be welcomed home.
To be unsullied.
To become the story.
To be magnified.
An infinite expanse of meaning,
A means to go beyond here.
The awen – an inflowing and an outflowing.
Exhilaration.
It can possess but cannot be possessed.
That which carries us away.
Exponential expansion of fractal geometries.
Everlasting metaphor.
Edge of the mysterious void.
Extinction of destruction.
Edges dissolve
And we expand
Into the sacred more.
—
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged art, awen, bardic effusion, definition, fluidity, landscape photography, language, lesson, meanings, metaphysics, Poetry, the sacred, un-naming, water | 2 Comments »
Two bowls
The wind blows out the daylight
Which, anyway, was grey and blurred.
The rain coming and going
And the logs keeping us warm.
The way time starts and stops
Depending on whether
You are looking at it, or not.
A world tree and a spell,
Two bowls that I have carved today
That I will feel in my muscles tomorrow.
These dreams are my offerings to a world
That dreams.
—
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged art, consciousness, Poetry, stillness, time | 2 Comments »
RAINBOW WINGS
When the cloud is not down on the hill
there is no magic.
When everything is so clear,
nothing is seen.
The sound of the river,
what voices does it carry?
How can it be unravelled?
I shall tell you a truth
that is mine alone,
a truth of gold and silver
as pure as dream
and as radiantly unscathed.
A truth of rainbow-sheened wings,
roofing a golden palace,
dispersed by a breath,
by a doubt, by a breeze.
The truth no one believes –
that is the way to touch the Real.
The truth that cannot possibly be true,
that is laughed out of every hall,
that truth is the truth that can change the universe.
—
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged bardic, Celtic ambiguity, interpretation, meaning- making, metaphysics, myth, perception, photographs, Poetry, reality, riddling, silversmithing, Taliesin, the numinous, triskele, Wales | 3 Comments »
CRAZY OLD MAN
We will not know
how great or small
our gods are
until we have searched
through all the rooms
of this house, uncovering
all the angels and monsters
that live there.
What we are,
in silence,
in the bright darkness
of the eternal starry night.
Whether nothing
or everything,
a spark or a whirlwind
or a bitter flaming tree.
They have left ripples
carved in rock.
They have put up
gateways of stone.
They have veered the hills
around the sunrise.
They have left songs
in the soil
that shepherded
the seeds there.
Dreaming, dreamer, dream:
a dream of awakening
does not bring any
dawn closer.
—
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ancestors, awareness, consciousness, distractions, dream, echoing halls, hidden mind, memory, metaphysics, Philosophy, Poetry, psychology, religion, the real | 2 Comments »
