Emotional to the point of rationality
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.
I remember the day I realised my body
– what luck to find it attached to my head.
Nobody bothered to teach me to live in a body
– only that using the head would help.
I seek now the absolute from within this here body
(human experience from dualism saved)
as mind cannot dwell without body
neither is body truly separable from its mind.
How futile to seek hypothetical vacuums
where rational reason is said to exist.
Abandoning vacuum for the human lowlife:
body to mind
as mind is to feeling
and feeling back to the body and mind;
circular schemata a center connecting
penetrate through to link each one up.
No separateness in totality, and no isolation
only varied dimensions indissolubly linked
where as soon as we deem one more than the rest
we are lost on pursuits of confusion, at best.
The absolute inseparable
as thoughts from the body and feeling rising the thoughts
learning sensation to create sense therefrom,
that absolute center where futures still grow.
Wild flowers out finding
space in cracked concrete,
taken by running
hot then wet torrents
through people so tender
sunned back to life from
winter caked in the heart.
Summer of love
with strangers’ smiles beaming
back
heart’s open feeling
love and desire
out
spilling and healing.
Seeds of wild flowers
the nights dancing sowing
coming to life in intensities filling
breathing life-love
in blood winter still holding
breath in two chests
by wild winds caressing
moving it warm
to hearts that crave pulsing
the flowering hearts of two wild ones so found.
My heart throbs with wisdom
of a thousand moons weaving
past into future
, now ,
moment deceiving
, holding totality ,
, holding all being ,
being through feeling alone
(is it pulsing?)
love-grief, and all that’s between
the self-reaffirming
surfaces gleaming
(grief cannot be where love was not prior
and I’d rather grieve love
than neither at all)
Love-grief fills us with being
pulsing cells feeling consumed
drunken with bliss, formidable after
arriving through all which one sense
and so heavenly drawn.
Speak out to me lovers, the language of grief
through hearts broken throbbing
, holding together ,
held together by light
of all the stars in the heavens above
together to shine
in love-grief’s might
boundless in depth
as the height we may rise
together in bliss and sorrow combined
embraced by this vastness
and by it brought back to life.
A caged heart once
forgot how to love
loosing its skill under
thought, distance and time.
Who and what deserves love?
The world is hardly the place for a person with principles;
an environment where the ugly proliferates
and acts of kindness and love are treated as risk
but no risk is seen in losing love,
the lifeblood of the world I want to see.
Love lives deep in our being
so deep in fact our surface stiffens
– use it or lose it –
and lost it we have to calculating minds
which sever mind from heart
and elevate mind beyond recognition
in a world that needs heart to survive.
We claim that love comes,
treating it as granted inevitability
when in fact love is a practice;
to be practiced in each gesture,
word and the treatment of others.
We are trapped because our love is trapped
in structures that tell us
how to love one another,
who to love, when to love, for how long
what appropriate love is and what isn’t
and where love belongs.
Everywhere!
At home, in the street, in school and at work
(did you recoil when you read this?)
(did you recoil at my image of love which differs
from the twisted idea of patriarchally sexualised love
which we hold as the only Love?)
We must un-twist love,
reshape and form ourselves to its untwisting
so it may flow through us,
– the great torrent –
which flows through each of us
should we permit it.
Traffic of humans and ducks
by the water
filling, bulging the buds
hanging in strings,
pearls
off branches of willows
weeping for friends long unseen
and lovers unlived.
Smiles from strangers
and laughs at the dogs;
life in the air of a city
losing, lost
longing
to leap in the arms of those strangers
and return to admissions of lust.
The surface in shine,
sun and friends there no longer unseen
emerging desire and welling up spring
in traffic down by the water.
I found myself in the love you
would not give me;
like the smallest bird on the branch
which only sings its vast song
if left unobserved.
Spring in the Bud,
Scent in the Flower,
Song in the Bird,
the Leaf and the Flower.
Spirits in Spring
new Life in between
transitions, the middle,
transforming unseen.
Spring in the Bud,
Scent in the Flower,
Song in the Bird,
the Leaf and the Flower.
Deeper still
(snakes shedding their skin)
restricted, no longer
existence through spring
expansion demanding from
(inward to outward)
the self,
my-self,
your-self,
breadth it-self.
Childlike, I fear
the unknown
ubiquitous vastness;
all the knowledge not known
all the prior unfelt
all the felt unseen
no longer unseen.
The arms of my fear cradle me
surrendered
to swelling,
(it all starts from the base)
free in the fire that burns in that base
which life begins and existence contains,
raising the world, vision and might
child to child, the cycle passed through
forces prior unfelt
now felt unseen
no longer unseen.
How may reality turn so palpable?
How may it have been not so before?
How may we live through it all
expanding in spirit,
bathing in light,
like nature in spring
existence by fire so bright
permitting it swell past fear’s shell
wound ’round it so tight?
Notes From Afar 