SEEDS
The seeds of sorrow
and joy
Are always present.
.
Take a little time
To cultivate
The seeds
of joy.
–
Posts Tagged ‘awareness’
Seeds
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, awareness, consciousness, landscape, metaphysics, perception, Poetry, time, Wales on August 8, 2022| Leave a Comment »
Cymru, If I name them.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awareness, belonging, blame, landscape, Mabinogion, Poetry, Wales on September 21, 2021| Leave a Comment »
CYMRU, IF I NAME THEM
If I name them shall I make them mine,
Those hills that rise and fall in cloudy distances?
Shall I take them into my folded self,
Safe memorised and belonged?
Will they, then, wake enough
To acknowledge this time’s short passage,
Allow a fleeting sun-warmed moment of life
To be counted and valued?
Is there then enough silence in them
To quench the rabble tides of complaint?
Enough sobriety and bliss to dismiss
The well-worn excuses of failure and exile?
We are eagles weeping in the crowns of eternal oaks,
Waiting for the one who made us thus,
To come and set us free, to give us,
One last time, our form and status,
To let us die loved in our own place.
Golden Meridian
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awareness, consciousness, deep ecology, dream stream, metaphysics, mystery, myth, perception, Poetry, the numinous, vision on June 11, 2021| 1 Comment »
GOLDEN MERIDIAN
“Here at the centre of things.”
(There at the centre of things),
“We see everything and hear everything.
How the chorus of dawn is continuous,
How the shadow, like a wave,
Retreats from the light around the world’s edge.
How the light, like a wave, retreats
From the shadow and silence of night
With owls and thunder.”
There is one here,
( there is one there),
Dressed in liquid gold
Like a summer river,
Like a wood filled with birdsong.
He says:
“If you wish to be more
Than you are now,
You must learn to suspend your knowing.”
He says:
“Your in breath is the outbreath of another.
Your outbreath is the inbreath of another.
She says:
“Look. Listen.
The birds of dawn
Forever singing.”
She says:
“Look. Listen.
The eternal stars
Forever resting
In cool midnight silence.”
He says:
“Beginnings and endings are words.
Life and death are words.
To travel beyond words
Is a road few follow.
All those here are dancers.
Movement comes before sound.”
She says:
“There are no questions
That cannot be answered
With more questions.”
He says:
“Eternal sunrise.
Eternal twilight.
We admit those
Who have forgotten their names,
Only.
What is your name?”
—
Gatekeepers
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged admittance, ancestors, awareness, Bardic rant, bouncers, consciousness, continuance, doorkeepers, extinction, future, landscape, landscape photography, metaphysics, myth, Poetry, spring, time, Wales, weather, Winter, worthiness on March 31, 2021| Leave a Comment »
GATEKEEPERS
Sometimes, sometimes, and maybe always,
The doors can be so big
That they cannot be seen.
There is, they say, a wall
At the edge of the universe
So far away, so far away
That light from there has never reached here yet,
And never will.
It is neither winter nor Spring.
The year is a troubled child, roaring.
You know how I write:
I wait for words to come.
I do not send in dogs to flush out the birds of dawn.
I wait, to the souls of rivers and owls, to the world’s breath,
‘Til one by one, they come, gathering lightly,
Bright buds, whispers from the old roads.
And they may dissolve again.
They may dissipate, the offerings of time and waiting,
Just not enough to stay or settle.
The giants were called obstructors.
You might say, doorkeepers.
You might say, guardians.
Huge enough to carve out universes from their skulls,
Rich enough to give a thousand conflicting cosmologies.
It shall be storm all day today.
Waters bubbling down
From the cauldron of the hills.
Clouds dark and eloquent as Afagddu,
Dark as a cormorant preening on his pylon.
The layers of darkness arranged
For a perfect dive into silence.
The world has tipped.
Its weather spills out across the globe.
Excess and extravagance
Eating the hearts of the poor.
We await a new inoculation against greed.
But all our heroes of success
Only hasten destruction.
And so, I bow to the obstructions of giants:
The doorkeepers who block the way
And ask the riddle.
What skill do you possess
That you think would allow you to pass?
What quality, what virtue, to ensure
Any continued existence here?
What is the art that will not destroy?
What is the craft that we have never encountered?
What reasons can you make sound reasonable,
Sliding your guilt out of sight as if it were not yours.
Can you learn harmlessness?
Facing the storm you have raised
Can you abide at ease in the flickering light
Watching the helpless ones be swept away,
Swept away.
—
They are Beyond
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awareness, consciousness, landscape, mystery, Poetry, the numinous, thought, time, Wales, weather on December 6, 2020| Leave a Comment »
THEY ARE BEYOND
They are beyond reach, beyond the wall,
Beyond the chattering sparrows in the cool mist morning.
.
The hill mutes its gold and silver.
In the valley, old men farm regret.
.
It is beyond, but hinted, by the soft fall of rain,
By the slow southern breeze,
By the pale light and waiting.
.
It is curled about the sleeping cat,
It’s breath a whisper in the room.
It goes out and comes back
Dressed in notions, disguised in feelings.
.
It is inherent, yet escapes from
These eternal passing moments.
It becomes a word, moves air, shifts the sight,
Then disappears.
.
On the Hill of Arberth
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 on May 19, 2020| 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.
—
Crazy Old Man
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ancestors, awareness, consciousness, distractions, dream, echoing halls, hidden mind, memory, metaphysics, Philosophy, Poetry, psychology, religion, the real on April 25, 2020| 2 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.
—
Plague Poems
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awareness, continuance, coronavirus, deep ecology, lockdown, mortality, new paradigms, plague, Poetry, time on April 18, 2020| 1 Comment »
1
YOU WILL STOP
Green veins
Of sunlight
Take you to
The silent abiding light.
Within the within
Where voices
Are breezes
And waves, and
Scratched starlight
Arcs.
The smoke
Tells you
Who you are,
And from whence
And from where.
—
2
THE MESSENGER
What did it whisper?
That you were never going to live forever.
That this breath now,
Is your only road, in and out
Of this world.
That fears are seeds of infinite patience
And will push through the neatest pavements.
That time is all you have,
And you have no more time.
That we do not begin, nor end,
At our skin.
That all barriers and boundaries
are children’s games, lines of chalk.
That when you take,
You take from yourself.
That when you talk,
Silence would often have more honesty.
That you stand upon
A web of silence.
That you come and go
Like a breeze between dawn and evening.
That your footprints wash away
And the stars shine brightly.
—
3
SAPPHIRE SKIES
We contemplate more sapphire skies,
Breathe in and watch for pain.
Whether we will last or not
Is not the question
We should be asking.
–
4
UNSTITCHED
These most sapphire skies
shall see us stitch by stitch
become unstitched
and standing naked,
wondering how it was,
and why, becoming
took so strange
a gentle slope.
Tides and waves,
a change in the weather,
a blackbird’s rain song.
How could we have forgotten
so easily?
All is absorbed
becoming benign,
a honey sustenance
for new sunlight.
—
Shards
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awareness, Haiku-ish, landscape, Poetry on October 7, 2019| 5 Comments »
—
Cuckoo sings to cuckoo.
The morning is a still lake
Reflecting silver light.
—
I give the mountain my breath.
The mountain gives me back silence.
We rest motionless.
—
The river has a poet’s mouth,
Meandering and easy,
Called by sunlit and dangerous horizons.
—
Rain dissolves the view
Sitting still
Surrounded with birdsong
–
Resting in silence
We become the view.
Who holds this bowl?
–
simonhlilly 