Who will notice the light on the flowers,
But for the quiet ones?
Who will think of the green we need,
But for the dreamy ones?
Why then is the world tilted loud?
Why doesn’t love trump fear?
When will the healing come?
There is an edge to hope,
That even when it floats away,
Clings as a shadow of wonder,
To the corners of the spirit.
Let it flower within you today,
Let it rise.
Smile at hope,
And hope will smile upon you…
Who knows what the two of you can do?
From afar I watch a mansion crumble,
I watch the inconceivable take shape,
And somehow, I am strengthened in my self.
Somehow, I feel the essential taut granite in me,
The one that holds up the truth.
Today I know that if there is to be any hope,
We each have to ascend.
Find our power, flex it,
And go heal this earth of ours.
We do a great disservice to the world, when we describe it, perceive it, classify it only through an evolutionary paradigm. All around, there are birds flying for the sheet joy of it, looping across the sky; monkeys whooping and playing and taunting dogs; there is a cow and a cat making friends… And the sun, great fiery ball of hydrogen though it may be, is smiling across to us from that unimaginable distance this fine end-of-summer day.
Even in our ‘modern’ ‘scientific’ minds, surely there is some space to expand our perception of this Earth, this Universe, to include love, the play of the spirit and sparkling, connecting joy?
Irrespective of species?
The mind extends beyond the body, it has to. If we can accept wi-fi, why can’t we think of our brains as being able to transmit waves of thought and intention? It’s all the co-mingling of matter and energy and vibrations, isn’t it?
What if the purpose was not to merely ‘evolve’? But to experience? To add? To feel?
What if each life, each rock, each drop of water, was an end in itself?
Glimmering sunlight liquid in the treetops,
A friendly crystal drizzle.
A huge sigh envelops the world…
We steal hummingbird flowers,
For the Gods.
Wings flutter in question…
Flowers bend and sway,
Hummingbirds divebomb the other,
What is there within me today, that is deep and dark?
Complex chocolate foamy loam,
Worm dwelling, corporate shelling,
Ruined lives buried in glee?
What in me was dark is grey under siege,
In moments of such madness as these,
A poem is a silent angel of futility,
Parading unpretty in the hall of shame…
What is this world of melee?
What is proven if anything of fire?
There is but a chink of gold,
In each pearly sunset mound of flesh.
What is my glory, my honor?
Through words hot and cold,
I fly in incomprehensible circles,
And make my futile art of—
My phone made a movie all by itself! It’s got the most amazing yellow roses in it!
Please watch: The Beautiful Yellow Roses (Real Beauty Series, 3)
Today I have no words but those arranged before.
Today darkness crawls into the crevasses of me,
Today I wish for a different me,
One not so wounded, one not me!
What right has the light to entice?
What broken vision of perfection it peddles so unashamed?
What utter lie will ‘normal’ next tell?
Your healing, it fails—
Your promises, they fail.
Your bond frays.
Your words are charred wool.
There is no sense left in our electricity.
When you slip into the void,
When you rip open to the dark,
When blood pools in your hollows,
Is it not an inevitable relief?
I wander in waste,
I shout out in haste,
I cry when I could laugh!
And reach out, still I reach out—
Video 2 of the Real Beauty Series is now live! It’s a lovely moment of mindfulness, with swaying boughs laden with flowers!