Hollow In The Grass

Sitting down in the long grass, now there’s a start
How often does one sit on the ground at the very least
And here one was sitting down in, the long grasses
They swirled in arcs accentuated now by the hand
Waving, pawing, patting, sweeping, grading

The counter-clockwise matching of body and field
Lying, sitting there like the girl from ‘Christina’s World’
By Andrew Wyeth, hip leaning into the movement
Torso twisting, right arm passing over the seedheads
Exploring the sensation, the symbiosis of being

Enveloped by this place, and now noticing the way
The stalks and long leaves folded in and further down
Disappearing into hollow in the ground, weaving
Like the pull of a hole, like a plughole and the water
Leaving this shallow land, seeing now the circle parting

At the centre and an open sky clear for miles below
Where a river wandered across a land quite clearly,
The banks where earth was exposed, the realizing
Of this second place, reeling with vertigo now, and
Definitely heading into this breathing of false surface

World and strength of landscape on flow of outbreath
Below, becoming part of this primal earth, what was
Before now just a show, mistaken identity, somewhere
Just out the back of a place behind a house by a road
Behind a picket fence and an old concrete path that

Lead out to a washing line and a chainlink fence where
One day one finds oneself on the ground alone, beyond
This, out on the backlot, the unassumming and forgotten
Field, with the world now just the intimacy of seedheads
And ants and the warmth of the past and the present,

And into this world you must go, one must, one finds
Oneself parting the grasses to the strangeness of the blue
Below, the open sky on another, prima materia, the body
Becoming the landscape, the river meandering, the sound
Calling one closer, folding in, enfolded, no longer hollow.

 

Grand Universe

You embody all beginnings at the heart of this place
The ever-slow, ever-fast pulsing of creation
From the core exploding outward, and there before the birth
The heaving contractions, the pregnancy, the Source.
You embody all beginnings at the heart of this place.

You know of the nature of this person and place.
Just as the stream ripples outwards, the dream streams
Into view, through an endless opening of beginnings anew.
You know the nature of this ‘worlds upon worlds’ universe,
And you know the nature of this hidden place too.

There you are the thought and the image and the word
And the name and the idea and the dream and the sound
Unheard – til in time’s many movements the manifest is music
Of the sounding of creation in multiple waveforms. Before
There you are the thought and the image and the word.

In this knowing we can imagine the harmony of God
As a voice and a breathing and a speaking of the form
Of the tongue and the dark mouth, cavities – the Void
That is pregnant with fullness, a plenum of ovum.
In this knowing we can imagine the body of God.

The God intersexual and omni and tri and multiple-partnered
The orgasm, the sigh in Love of all beings multiplying
The Void, the heart beating in two chambered harmony
In Love, in Love with any and all, all manner of being.
This God-soaked sexual thronging throe of Life.
30-5-16

The Rite of Passage Through the Unfurled World

(for Jessamine, and sourced from a visionary journey)

1. The Journey from the Cave

The front of the boat taps the rocks by the shoreline
As it dips to and fro on the most gentle of waves.
The underside of the wooden craft
Dances with the light reflected from the water
That also reflects from the walls of the surrounding cave.
In the distance the mouth of the cave
Is a dazzling flood of sunlight in contrast
To the deep black of the inner regions of the cave behind.
Only vaguely if you turned would you see
The lowermost steps of the winding stone staircase
From where you entered the cave to see what you would find.
And now before you is this vision,
The scrolled wooden prow of the sweetest of coracles,
The front covered over in painted tiles
And the open nest of the back of the hull
Surrounded by painted wooden petals like a crown.
The boat is wide and steady
As you clamber over the front and make your way to the back
Where on cushions and blankets you snuggle down.
With your weight like a pivot
The small vessel swings around,
The mouth of the cave is just wide enough
And the sunlight eats the boat like a long hot swallow.
Tall trees clash in many colours of green
As you blink your eyes fiercely in the expanding scene,
And behind playfully racing and overlapping waves
You and your coracle follow.
Twenty butterflies take flight from the banks of the river
And imitate your eyelids as in fright they deliver
Orange flashes of light above the cool blue of the water.
And with hands holding steady the smooth petalled sides of the boat
You look all around at the magnificent scenery
As you float to the sea my daughter.
 
2. Across the Sea

Entranced by this enchanting land,
With firm cushions below and a steadying hand,
It doesn’t surprise you to find that the boat expands
As the distance to the banks grows wider.
From the place where you sit she lengthens and deepens
And tall masts grow like odd trees
Til they’re furnished with pale sails to guide her.
The sides of the craft heave left and right and several sections extend
With long oars dropping down dipping into the blue.
So like a salamander sliding the whole ship comes alive
As she flexibly weaves her great length through the waves,
The oars digging in like toes as the wide open sea comes into view.
The crown of wooden petals that surround your living quarters
Have become burnished with gold and silver and brass and other metals.
They’re like pointed shields to protect the deck
Where you gaze with adoration on the horizon beyond
Where on the wide open sea sunlight settles.
Your sailing ship glides on an outgoing tide
And continues to creak and grow
Such that the sides lift high with overlapping plates
Like a dinosaur’s hide but jewelled and glowing.
The bow of the ship leads the way
And the other sections sway til the end like a tail follows the bending trail
Of this ship that seems to know where it’s going.
 
3. Arriving at the City

As this ship grows does too the wide-brimmed view
Of the curving horizon and banners of land
That recede on the edges of this world.
And in the distance you see the tall spires of the place
Called the Infinite City growing apace, til the points seem to fan
Like an opening hand with welcoming flags unfurled.
The wharves of the port are also like fingers of hands
Fanning into the water and past many points of land,
Where coloured lighthouses stand, your ship and you pass
Til you realize at last that this city covers miles of coastline.
The ship knows the way, and past balconies arrayed
Like overlapping scales of giant fish facing skyward
And other such fat towers of light,
It finally finds a curving berth and from its own wide girth
Throws ropes to be on its posts tied.
There are welcoming beings of light,
And as others arrive they hold their hands high in greeting
To nearly touch at their fingertips.
And when two meet in this way a sudden large Orb of light appears
Touching both their hands, and in ghostly images
Are seen all other’s waving hands too, a flickering solar-flaring sphere
Affirming the unity of their kinship.
As you step off the ship you see a large, long wheeled vehicle
With a huge enamelled eye rolling slowly
On its pivot at the front of the open-topped conveyance.
But this must be for dignitaries, as you feel to make your way
To the left along courtyards where great shafts of coloured light
Break through the tiles revealing that down
Below such ground are more infinite levels and layers.
 
4. Finding the Dancers

Between the many levels and connecting the overarching towers
Are curving bridges with elegant balustrades and lightposts.
As you walk over such a one it seems to notice your steps
And stretches and grows in infinite details,
That you suppose that, as with the beings of light,
Even the architectural elements itself are your kind hosts.
And other tall beings smile and greet you in silent ways
And the streets widen to meet you and in the multi-faceted alleyways
Doorways grow under arching doorways
And broad steps become terraces with changing colourful tiles.
Alongside a windowed wall on your right one such alleyway
Reveals the sight of a welcoming guardian standing to the left
Of a series of entranceways in various styles.
Perhaps the evening here comes in fast, for from the entrance
Comes such a blast of warm friendly sound and radiating light
That it seems natural for you to pass under the arches
And enter this place as though arrived at last.
The space opens up under canopies of light
With tall fluted columns stretching up beyond sight
And the sound is the music of dancing in pairs
And among friendly faces you are cast.
The men dance with the men, and the women with women,
But also there are many intimate couples lining the spaces
Between marbled columns in this ceremonial play.
All of the pairs have their hands stretched outward
And palms and arms touching and some with their heads,
Such that the overwhelming effect is you feel that the very air
Seems to say ‘I will find my partner’ in this way.
 
5. Journey to the Lake

Is that how you came to be walking the next morning
With this compelling awareness in your head –
That everything around you seems to be paired,
Your dreaming head cleared of all thoughts but this one?
Is that why you walk by the banks of a stream,
The sides a similar height and sheen of pastel rocks
Embedded in brown soil under mossy green grasses
And the arms of the trees dividing the soft light of the sun?
The air seems to fill with the trilling of birds
That spill from the branches in spiralling twos,
And even the daisies nod in pairs from clusters in the earth
By pebbles and rocks that coupled touch shoulders together.
A dawning awareness grows of how you chose to journey
To this land to seek out one here who’d understand
And who could show you where to find your partner –
Not man nor woman but inner companion, companion in any weather.
To find your inner companion, the ‘other’,
You must first find the ‘one’, the Queen of this land
Who lives far from the city in the hills of the countryside.
So you wander old roads past the croaking of toads
And the rustling of grasses and rushes and flaxes
And your mind now relaxes around the thought
That you have no idea where she might reside.
White mountains in the distance spread their arms and their fingers
And you look out for signs of the twoness of things.
Then round a bend you are suddenly met
With the magnificent scene of a lake
Reflecting perfectly the mountains above
And with the vision of this final ‘pairing’ you hear your heart sing.
 
6. Meeting the War Queen

On the side of the lake pale green trees reflect
Like a fringe around a collar of rocks and the earth rises up
In broad ramparts leading to a courtyard of stone.
Behind this is an irregular and angular doorway
Vast in its measure such that when you draw nearer
It is easy to see deep into the structure
To the golden War Queen seated on a throne.
In front of her a fountain is set low in a pool
Where a broad silver sword is laid in the water,
The image rippling rapidly spilling light in the room.
So that when you now enter
You can see spindled threads of light dancing on the tiled dome ceiling
Amid clouds of incense thick with perfume.
You follow the rich carpet that curves around the pool
And the Queen warmly greets you like you’ve always been expected
And tells you not to be dejected that there’s a war going on.
It’s true, she says, that we’re in a difficult phase
But there’s never been a day when the war wasn’t raging,
And the conclusion of battles is always foregone.
We always win as is the way of things,
So there’s always time for a feast and welcome celebration
Now that you’re here at the end of your quest.
And there will never ever be war in this place of the palace
Where I sit on my throne nor ever in this land out through the doorway
So please put your mind at rest.
 
7. Knowledge of the Other Worlds

Sitting on the soft circular carpet by the pool,
The Queen dines with you on a range of sweet treats
While her battle shield leans on the throne behind.
Looking around to the distant points of the room
You see several stairs leading down through openings in the floor
Like to far-lower doors full of dirt and grime.
And you know there’s a world through those thick wooden doors
Where the dark hills are surmounted
By thousands of crosses for those who have died in war.
But at this the Queen touches your shoulder and says that all such beings are One,
And though that they may pass they return again and again,
And for every one that dies as many more they are reborn.
We die freely, she says, to find we multiply,
And as related brothers and sisters we live again as many more.
And indeed many more different worlds there are too,
So we pass through experiences vast
Like the multiple arches in the Infinite City you explored.
For the swords we use are never abused
With the stain of dirt or blood because each warrior has their own
And it is kept shining bright with a special polish.
The weapon is only used in battle
To reflect the wondrous light-filled Orb of Oneness,
Such that by such sudden flash the opposing dark beings are transformed –
That’s the only reason the swords are flourished.
 
8. Meeting the Companion

And with that the War Queen hands you the broad silver sword
From the pool at the centre of the room and asks you to look up again
At the wide dome ceiling which has now changed its view.
The fountain has lowered to below the surface of the pool
And now it settles til still, and above your heads
Is a circle of light stretching flat and level, pale blue in hue.
Your task, says the Queen, is to keep this horizontal plane of light
Level with the natural power of your mind and will,
And to help you is a companion from my realm who will battle for you.
When you sail in your craft back to the furthest shore
You will pass by the giant trees of plenty,
So wait for a while til the fruits drop by themselves –
Like we, be patient to be given to.
Eat five golden fruit from these trees
Such that good fortune will take root
And your craft will grow strong wings to add flight to your flow.
When it takes to the skies remember your companion warrior’s cry
And passing over the mountain range below,
Remember millions of snowflakes multiplied make up the purest snow.
Like millions of leaves that make up a tree,
Where each leaf is unique like the partner you seek,
Your companion will battle for the One in our land.
And with that the Queen stood up and moved to a door
Hidden behind the golden throne,
And when she opened it up,
There was your companion and partner and warrior
Who reaches out now to take your hand.

Outside The Window Snow Was Sailing Through The Sky

Outside the window snow was sailing through the sky.
The slope of the side of the mountain dissolved before the eye.
Clouds came crowding down while wind carried the flurries high.
The white surf washed against grey granite bulks til nothing there was dry.

And this was a scene in a dream.
Tinted window went from floor to past eye.
The scene was a scene in a dream.
Like on a screen of a world beyond I.

The strength of the mountain was like the slope of one shoulder.
The head was in the clouds above reach.
And the rolling snow caught by the wind was a spirit.
Waves of light pouring down and along a shining beach.

The height and the light and the cold and the cloud.
The flurry and the falling and the rolling and pouring.
So where was the heart as this weather made its way?
Where was the watcher inside in the foreground?

What company did he keep in warm room by the window?
Did the fire in the hearth tint the window and surrounds?
I remember the distraction of the beautiful scene.
The softness and the swirl and the whiteness and kindness.

The slope so smooth like some tilted horizon.
The slow-motion presence of this world beyond mine.
But I was listening to the words I was making in response.
Feeling utterly unable to trust in their labels.

What conjurations I could speak could compare with this beauty?
And it cried out for justice for at least one or two words.
Dissolving inside in the challenge of this beauty I spoke.
The words something ‘awareness’ and ‘consciousness’ too came out.

And a feeling inside multiplied just behind the words and within.
Not talking ‘about’ but being the very words that came forth.
‘Awareness’ and ‘consciousness’ filled the room like a wave.
A warm-coloured ocean radiating and carrying smiles.

And the eye for who I was in the dream expanded outward,
Becoming a circle of friends and the window and outside.

3-9-11

Awakening to Memory (1980)

(Note: refers to a time when, awaking from chaotic dreams of medieval chaos and ruin, I recalled a happy memory to calm me. I remembered a time at the lights in Newmarket with my lover, when she asked for her ‘drug’, and I kissed her, thinking impulsively she meant ‘me’. Two guys in a van behind us clapped – such romantic spirit? My lover explained after that it was a cigarette she meant. In the poem this memory is translated into medieval garb from the dream traces).

 

Carrouselled past Shavian
Flowersellers, to days of when
Medieval knights and damsels
Fled from evil sights to castles,
And past bombardment of quaking towers
The last enchantment, for waking now,
My dreams have gone, and I’ve lost the battle,
And streams of consciousness now grapple
With thoughts of sleep and safety’s shore
For fraught with deep pangs greatly more
Of love and loneliness, my mind
A dove on a lonely quest to find
A memory
Of when we
Were carefree
And laughing
Reminisced when, on trusty steed,
The damsel was kissed, when just such a deed
Was requested of the prince, who confused the words
In the message rather, since it amused the bards
In the minstrel troupe behind, who clapped for more
And the damsel looked blind to what the kiss was for.
Not a kiss was the request for the task, nor a hug,
But for Turkish cigarettes when she asked for her ‘drug’.
And awakening to memory, I welcome reality.
In taking you with me in my dreams, you are in me.

 
1980.

 

Being Under and Down

Knew that sensation of being under and down
Shedding light skin rubbed smudged bunching dull edges
Infinitude left in the moment carries right right the way down
Inner thighs the bruised breath the head rests near the bevel
Undone beneath brow ridge the eye suns in the sundown
Cast arcs reaching far past the cave where heart gauges
Thumps fear beats the loudest the darkest is down

Prise prison til lengthen the sentence lies down
Narrow scent sent long long hallways serious sound
Check echoes of memory the trail follows the ground down
Shoulders relay it follows rolling train of the serpentine spine
Phantom arms yearn for knowledge from every ledge down
No hips hold such blood vesselled in delicate harbour
Sorrow shifts levels tails ripples in destinies down

Marrow and morrow and endless days laying down
Subterranean terrors near carefully sharpened sense
Eyes are streaming dreams in the darkened way down
Shutters of shadows flashing light waves listing in rhymes
Borrowed burrowed furrowed the body smoothes it down
The groove grows the road ploughs rows tossed in dust
Childhead turns in undertows mid time laid down
  
30 – 11 – 10

Talk of Such Things

Talk of things where one holds one’s breath.
Walls of citadels dusty with the desert’s wrath.
Face of fear, and death is stalking the streets.
I cover my heart now aware it is heaving red meat.

Night is swarming with locusts and lies.
All appearances wear a disguise.
In darkened doorway does my body give in,
Disappear in my chest and grow thin.

Eyelids shade like a camel’s wisdom.
I ride on the storm from my fabulous prison.
A troubled genii in a bottle’s throttled torment.
But the blood clutches the feet on the pavement.

The singular eye turns a gurney of gyres.
Golgotha is its claim and desire.
What witness am I that I’m caught in this web
While the light of the world rose into red?

The wash over me clears my mind of illusion.
Such imaginal memories seem not a delusion.
Wouldst my heart drip with red and the light lift my lungs.
Wouldst my breath give away and such speech light my tongue.

Past Life Memories With My Father

1.

We sat upon the temple steps
Overlooking the marketplace.
Casual, side by side, on the uppermost step,
So that neither would presume to sit higher.
And yet still the dark mystery behind,
The large doors, the smaller one inset like a jewel.
Only at times of great festivals
Would the larger doors be opened wide.
Then the crowds jubilant and wild
Would bridge the distinction made
By these soft low steps of stone.
In my hands, forearms resting on knees,
I finger a stalk of straw, blown by winds
That gust occasionally through the city gates
Lifting feathers and dust from the streets below.
I turn the stalk as I turn my mind,
Sifting the dry contents of fields forever turned to hay.
You too are unsure where to look.
But your hand gestures to stay my meandering
And point out something that occurs below.
Ah yes, this stalk is yet no cryptic key.
I stab the air in vain and flick it away with my wrist.
Whatever, we must stay present with this.

2.

Maddened fireflies assail the lanternlight.
The envy of these motherfuckers might
Come to grief with little distinction
Other than their own extinction.

3.

Bearded we might
Scuttle down priory hallways,
One leading the other by the elbow
As though in flight.
Cloistered amid the booklined walls
We try to recall where we have read
What might beckon the other from the night.
Something seen when the moon was passing
The leadlight window framed above.
The hands turn thin sheaves of manuscript
As though we know there’s little time.
And who could say what was discovered,
How much the two friends dared to share,
The ages lost and yet in passing,
Who now knows what’s next in line?

4.

Sorry, the train began on time.
The words were planned that were to rhyme.
The sense is now what’s left behind
Once thoughts have been committed to line.
Some missed the junction, went astray,
Like you and I from day to day.
What use regret and guilt and shame,
The many thin grey shades of blame.
The most is what is left today,
To bring it forth else fade away.
  
28 – 11 – 96

 

A Dream About Counselling Work

My brother, Steve, and I, talking to a guy.
There’s some work he wants to offer us.
(Steve’s been struggling around work issues too).
The guy’s a brilliant young biologist.

He’s been working with trout, growing them large,
He says, up to eighty kilos.
Wow, that’s one heavy lifting job, I joke,
Imagining giving them the heave-ho.

The guy knows my joke, but knows me better,
The cap-tipping banter of one anxious about work.
Of course, I’m working with them when they’re lighter,
He says, and I, in a sudden realization, know my quirk
Of finding in images the heart of the matter.
I look inside again to what my soul calls me to.

And sunlight flashes on scales of silver,
As I lift heavy fishes and pour them on through,
To slip into streams from their large holding tanks,
And I know this is the work I will do.