The little centre spins,
sometimes whirling around
like a drunken duck.
Spirals turn inwards
drilling into depths
in order to find the
healing of peaceful waters.
The Inner Landscape
I hardly dare carve these words into this stone.
The thoughts come and go like those of the monkey mind,
bouncing around as if they belong to the moon.
Yet, all I can do is step inside my private chamber
and sit as quiet as the gentle rain on the lilly pad,
just noticing how I feel, what I sense, how I am.
One minute I am cradled by bliss and sweetness,
the next, tormented as I circle myself with bloody barbed wire,
ripping the skin off my psyche, in the grip of the persecutor.
But I know you now Mara. You no longer have the power
to wreck my landscape of loving kindness to self and others.
I know you. I wave to you. I smile and I say, I love you.
Then, when I look out through my eyes into the world,
my exterior landscape has also changed and I see
that I am in fact, free ~ a wild flight bird with a wingspan
for Life and Love….. I give you thanks, my Inner Landscape.
The gentle rain kisses my skin and reminds me I am Human.
There’s something about
the magic of a quiet
No rush hour traffic,
no manic struggle
to get anywhere,
the sound of the steadily
ticking clock on the wall
and yellowest of daffodils
brightening the darkwood piano.
Bliss is in the things which just ‘be’,
the things we don’t push,
the things we leave alone to live
their own purpose.
The clock on the wall
knows how to touch
the beating heart.
I feel perhaps I should explain this Small Stone today….. I used to love the crazy busyness of Christmas when I was younger. Now, all I really want is music and dear friends….. the excesses just fill me with despair inside; I just want to live quietly, knowing I am enough and my little world is enough and that all on this planet know what it is to have and be enough.
The Thing We Call Christmas
I notice excess on every level
but mostly energetically….
like nuts in a grinder…..
I catch myself
breathless in the panic
as if invasion is occuring
as some old, inner animal of mine
wants another bite of me….
Wise one takes charge
and the primal ceases its screaming.
It’s to be out of the madness,
back into oneself ….
Why would any sane person want anything else?
Tonight, coming to the brow of the hill
canopied by darkened skies, I gasped.
There, hanging low, like a rich red blood orange
sat the magnificent March Moon, meditating,
as if the song of OM were hers to sing out to the world.
If we who travel along the roads of chaos avoiding
the sink holes, could but lift our wearied eyes,
if we could genuflect with
deep respect to this Queen of the night,
we too would know how to sound the OM.
Now is the time to stop chasing that endless tail,
watch and listen to the Moon in the sky
and the Moon in our Souls
where, burning quietly, Peace does dwell…….
See her there in your third eye……
she glows with the burnished truth of the Earth.