Tag Archives: meditation

Unreasonable sadness (28 March 2011)

11 Apr

I wake up and thank the window
for my dusky view

I wash – tenderly – the milk jug
that pours creamy soy into my tea

I offer a smile and prayer
to the birds stealing my attention

I bathe supine in the sun
at the open window

I breathe deep the fresh air
I watch the butterfly dance

I taste the sweet homemade cakes
and muffins delivered to my door

I say aloud
I am so well cared for.

And in all these moments
I am crying.

There is an unreasonable sadness
an unwarranted grief, an unknown despair

here and even the pink flower


Unreasonable joy (28 March 2011)

3 Apr

There’s a quality
a sensation
that keeps me company

I sit with it
I lie with it
I disconnect from it

I feel numb
the essence of my pain


this tear running down my cheek
reminds me where my body meets
the world

where the boundary
between my skin and the air
and the air I breathe


this is my unreasonable joy

welcome the whale (20 Jan 2011)

22 Feb

It’s fast, the rhythm jaunty
there’s nothing foreign in it
but I can’t breathe
like my lungs are craving
complete submersion

and I am drowning, as a fish drowns
  in air
the pulse of life has sped up
and I have slowed

my rhythm

the more I try
  to join in
the more I
drown, the muse is pulling

I can feel another pulse
it is deep



it is the speed of sand
the texture of ocean
the ripple of one century
after another

it is a forever more wish

it is the silent pulse
the youngest throb of an ancient whale
as she holds the calm
and claims the surface

for a wandering moment
she sees me struggling

you are not of them today

and guides me
I navigate my slowness
my steadiness

I pulse languid on the radar
these small eyes
still rhythms

to those up there
I pulse alone
the surface ruffled by wind and
the chattering white waves

aah but I pulse not-of-them today
   I pulse deep

these sounds give space away (Oct 2010)

18 Nov

A man is shouting outside
  down the hill from me

it is an autistic sound
like an argument with the wind

the voice is strong
and tunneled

A soft sheeng of a bell
peels the distraction away

I close my eyes
and lean back into my spine

My mind
  holds space together

dependent on my ears –
constructing what is still
    or moving or hard or distant

These sounds give space away

The fireplace tinkles shiny metal
within a room.

The carpet sounds old, little filaments
stuck to attention. Rubbing.

A bird reaches a tree – wood and song – soft
like a diminished presence. Closed windows.

The man is shouting, heavier –
climbing stairs – words becoming clear:

    if you are going on a journey

I am sitting on a cushion, eyes closed
and I know there’s no one with him –

this man is shouting at the air, which does not contract
like a disagreement

there is no rebound

there is momentum

there’s inspiration, singularity
forceful  conviction

a cat pouncing
a shag diving

a man running
a red light

    if you are going on a journey
     you must look at the signs

My meditation teacher giggles.

dancing air (3 Aug 2010)

27 Aug

soften your gaze
let it blur and hover
  in its own shadows
let the light behind
  leap forward
let movement wash away
into a glisten
a sequinned dress
  hanging on the line

allow your iris
  pins and needles on your mind
rest your heels on the floor
  stop stretching so far
gaze at the whole thing
at once
think how happy you are
and then see the air dance
like a spider web
lost to the wind

the billows of the mind (1 Aug 2010)

27 Aug

the billows of the mind
  and there are many

are a subtle refinement
  of all muscles

poised and holding
  speech, memory, anticipation

and the visualisation
  of this

the billowing of the organ notes
  flutter out in subtle ease

a terrace of trees
  caught in a breeze

Mediterranean washing hanging
  in the courtyard window

a bee coming to check out the pollen
  of a tiny bud, of a tiny bud

dissolving into the eyelids
  far gazing horizons

spaciousness held
  by a wafting tone.

And when has that muscle
  the organ mind and all its notes

relaxed, ever, dropped wind from sail
  dropped cargo of letters and

leftover love, risen skyward
  for the free fall tumble

everything. When has it stopped, if only
  to allow the backstage pass

on the inner most subtle workings
  to view, heels relaxing to the floor

  (finding support there)
and the best view in town

  not in the clock tower, not the cataloguers
tower, nor the ivory tower

it is immediately in front of
  closed eyelids

  the warm air at your nostrils

centred (20 March 2010)

29 Jun

meet me here
keep coming
  as often and as always

glide in, sail
  embrace and love
this self

hold nothing and everything
  in these arms

take no time
to resist

yes, meet me here
as often and as always

this light is coming
this tree is dancing

  now, drop your seed

%d bloggers like this: