Emotional to the point of rationality
take your passions elsewhere
from streams leading inward
not out
as out of the sky-dreams
do drip
as fickle as rays passing clouds
and rainbows that shift
freedom, the road
made solid and safe
(material,
to carry each step)
so heavy
(not rain)
to soak up what’s left
those passion-illusions in squander,
contained.
The day’s quiet joy
of a heart in bloom
held in peace (at last)
at the very centre of it.
Fanning out
to catch those whispered vows
fully
at the very centre of it
streaming desire to mix in the pond
where love meets itself
and I dive right in.
There truth lies in its kernel
breaking
to reach out
and ’round
holding a centre which lives in the chest.
That centre there raises a Flower
filled to the brim for those who surrender
as in from the back
something stirs in the stream
at last!
the waters flood in
to the widest tide
rich to the Flower which knows
of the Love held in surrender.
S.
This here rain drip
cleans the wounds of hearts so tender
damage-shattered
by words of illusion
– the one tender hearts are prone to believe.
Come back, then
pieces bleeding at the seams
to be replaced
and / or forgotten.
Sweet,
surrender then
to the wounds tender hearts yearn to believe in
the rain drip-dripping in vessels which carry
truthful devotion
the one tender hearts ought to believe in.
Heaven
sits by the side of a pool in the mountain
covered in Sun and sleeping the mind in facts of the body
lit
as passion or want sinks in the skins of those resurrected
out of sleep fruitless
of waking to blessing
thought not to touch
now felt
surfaced
over
(self)
doubt
and the depths in which it drowns.
Down to the darkness we go
to surface again resurrected
as desire may rise and with it
ascension
choosing to linger where happiness lies.
Pass through, as ease to some it seems
and loss-release of lives lived hardly
in search instead of softness.
Forth from softness only love may spring
grounding tender darling dreams
where scars guard wounds from rupturing themselves
gushing inward, streams of being
stitching marks unhurt
and born of boundlessness and trust.
How many days
have drawn you past
without your tears
the set grid’s lapse.
How many days
have felt skin strained
and locked your spine
the mind’s reach pained.
How many days
till deep you lay
release the bones
let force decay.
I think
I know
but whether I know
I shall know
only when I know.
Trickles build floods
dripping tears being
drifting up close
besides wayside scattered.
Filling that
self feeling
pouring in not all in one day
holding dripping together,
self-shattered contained.
Fall-inward slowing
curling the center tender
wrapping the body by folding the mind
– in cradling feeling, inviting the bind.
Where beyond do words lie
to grasp open meaning;
scattered past
fractured
beat in bluff visions
where singular truth was thought to prevail?
From literal bonds breathing relief –
minds breaking thoughts in open surrender
cradled eternal, by symbol beheld
Unnamable Fullness
– expanse rounded felt.
Notes From Afar 