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Sunday, 25 October 2015

It is what it is.

Sun shining through hazy cloud.
Always there sometimes obscured.
Depends how you see the world.
The dream I thought I would remember seems to have slipped through the net.

I seem to find myself doing what dad did, writing out recipes, not recipes but gardening books. That's what I have decided my next project is. To make gardening journal. I always said they were formulaic when you have read 20 or so then you could recite one so here goes in a bit...
Cinquain first;

Cinquain

Aching
sorry for loss
comfort in memory
smell of the pipe in the kitchen
walk on.

50

Can it come upon me so late
dystopia
wondering where the word came from
let alone in time
hellish future landscape
driven to my shores by ailing spirits
seeking something
some expression 
a warning from the gods
communicated by
a loving father
to his only son
through the holy spirit.

500

Many have been here before me casting their eyes across the empty shells of highly prized concepts. Economics, religion, politics, identity, nature and technology all reduced to ash. The thinking must have led to what in it's wake would follow, where in its wake would the children walk and find something when hope had fled the box.
What would new hope look like and who would care to deem it necessary amid the ensuing carnage? Would it arise in me and where are its seeds? It would be best to find them now before it's too late and death wreaks havoc upon the world I currently inhabit.
Conscience consciousness developing here in this space time before the eschaton. Another world comes to mind exactly as the first and they are both intimately linked and perhaps reflect my reflections.
Is it a warning somehow of what is round the corner?
There is a feeling that it is so.
If I put myself in the way of it then surely it will come and make a home in me, just as surely as Jesus said, John 14:1-31 see especially verse 23-4 "If a man loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him." (RSV)
Notice with him not in him as I had previously thought. 
Making a home with...
A man cannot serve two masters Matthew 6:24. Therefore verse 34b "Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof." (KJV)

Where is all this going then, are you staying that I invented the whole thing?
Well to the extent that all life is and invention, a fiction, you choose the characters the world you in habit your parents and that you have to learn yes.
So it's all just an unfolding saga about which I can do nothing and in which I have no say; the determinists were right all along?
Not exactly. Determinism is itself a construct, part of a paradigm to which people subscribe once they use language and then use it in a specialist way. Effectively this provides a barrier, you have to cross a threshold after which the world is no longer the same.
So it's all an invention?
Well yes, really, unless there is something to which you can point that doesn't run that way.

Plato's cave and the myth of Er. Well worthy of exploration Plato's myths, and the myths of other philosophers and especially those to do with gardening or nature. Now there's a research project of note.

Discovered Charles Dowding's Veg Journal - that might just do the trick for now. 
Labyrinth or maze that is the question Borges or... who knows.
The excitement level is building to possible attachment, best go for a walk to cool my ardour.

Thursday, 22 October 2015

Morning Prayer

Introduction
Here we are then.

Gathering
The journey had taken a lot longer than either of them had imagined.
Better start thinking about supper and a shelter for the night.
The valley looked it's best at this time of year with autumn well established and winter coming on there was enough warmth in the colour of the turning leaves to keep the soul fed.
I'll get some branches for the fire.
Ok.
Meet you at the cave.
Perched above the river, about which hung a gentle shroud of mist, sat the cave which would provide them shelter for the coming nights. It would need a clear out she thought, after the winds had shaken leaves about her mouth.
That sweet smell of death hung around the stillness of early evening. He arrived with the branches, some kindling and the bark from a silver birch.
Within no time the fire was hissing and crackling with life and the entrance to the cave filled with warmth and light.
The unpacking of rucksacks and the ordering of sleeping arrangements took no time at all and before the light dimmed dinner was cooking.
In the open with no sounds except those of nature a panoply of stars twinkling inspiration light and a stilling of busy minds an easiness entered the mind and wrapped itself around them.

target
missing something
glowing in the darkness
something creaking in the distance
listen

She saw the worm
in the garden
maggoty mouldy smelling of death
sweet sickly story told under a bush
he heard the story
pretended he didn't
they shared the story
slippery slimy
needed nor wanted
for nothing that moment
worm headed off
back to the soil
moon
stars and sun.

There's a kind of knowing that isn't to do with reason. It has to do with rawness hunger and life. It often comes in moments or reverie, times of suspension and those off guard moments when love reaches out and touches us.

i
Moments of holiness inbreaking of the kingdom, if that's what you believe.
epiphanies tiny wonderments
threaded on life's silken thread.
giftedness
deliberately ephemeral
smoke and mist
dancing in the minds eye
looking inward
catching the light
momentary glimpses
fragments of the eternal
half heard
gone in a flash
lasting forever
taint
something
stain
something
vision of the grail
sustaining
mumbling thank you
stumbling construction
failing
falling
helplessly into her arms
melting hopelessly
the pain of separation

ii
"She loves me she loves me not"
and the weary daises woven crown
upon her head
grace those moments
lily of the valley
star of the sea
rose of sharon
fountain of life
trapped in the broken fenced
stained glass window of hope
east window
welcoming dawn

iii
Evidence of something
etched into the oaken floor
lines of compassion flowing
through time
bearing witness
crafted by eternity
polished by curious pilgrims
who
encouraged but not overly confident
wait and watch
linger long enough to know
allowing some muddling faith
to breach the unforgiving
nature of the day

iv
Piles of stone
sitting in the river
rejected
downcast
water worn
noted by no-one
once served another mistress
in a time when events moved slower
space seemed thinner
grace flowed in every moment

Epilogue
Tomorrow the sunrise, but before that dreams delivered by timeless sleep, and a world in which everything was possible and nothing existed but this amen moment.

Wednesday, 21 October 2015

Consciousness



Dreaming
forgetfulness
yesterdays manifests
stored somewhere in the consciousness
glowing.

Wondering again about consciousness
that somehow I know what I am doing
yet I have done things I would not do knowingly
what takes over
what rips the dam wall down sparking the deluge
am I one or am I many
why do birds decide to take off
awareness
consciousness.

Perhaps there is a softwiredness to it all.
An amorphous connection that at times accrues sufficient energy,
given necessary conditions,
ignited by a spontaneous combustion.
One half of the brain then closes down
we appear to be in a heightened state
where anything and everything is possible.

Tuesday, 6 October 2015

Wren questions.

How do we fly
dear mother dear mother
How do we fly
through the air with such ease?

'Tis the way of the feather
dear crow and dear robin
the way of the feather
dear wagtail and crow.

What keeps us up there
dear mother dear mother
what keeps us up there
in the heavens so high?

Why, the air keeps us up there
dear sparrow and kestrel
the air keeps us up
in the heavens so high.

And what of the fallen
dear mother dear mother
and what of the fallen
in the ditch there below?

Of that ask your father
dear pipit dear woodlark
of that ask your father
dear king of the birds.

Saturday, 3 October 2015

Morning Discipline

Cinquain

asking
what are my gifts
how may I serve the world
what is my purpose being here
patience

50 Words

early morning discipline
asking upon waking
observing the answers
watching the pattern
using the senses
gently coaxing
fragile fragment
remembering
that already know

trying
without forcing
bribery or coercion
discerning by some other
yet to be discovered muscle
reflex action
lovingly encouraging
activity

clear pathway
shining light
smiles behind clouds.

Friday, 2 October 2015

So here's the thing...

thats what they say these days
indicating import


and so it goes
ceaseless rounds
endless speculation
necessary conditions arise
rising
attention to the breath
noticing attachment
letting go
this too will pass
falling
relinquishing attachment
pain and joy inevitable
suffering optional
let them go
things become what they are because of me
and so I let me go

becomes through Google translate Hindi Chinese and back again
then I 'translate':

On and on
repeatedly
always wondering
about the necessary things
for growth.

Breath is helpful like music
coming and going
sweet water dripping
letting go of attachment
seeing that
athough pain and suffering are inevitable
suffering is optional
because of how I see things
and so I let myself go.