Blind

somewhere
in the dark alleys
of a bustling city,
blood flows
in the drains,
shots explode
into a ghostly silence,
voices tremble
with nameless fears
falling into a void
that swallows it all,
and a feeble voice
starts a revolution
to pump blood
into tight hearts
longing to expand,
to expunge
the darkness
with one fell sweep
of an unfelt love;
somewhere
in the same moment,
in the deep grooves
of a virgin earth,
vines suck on juicy trees,
rafflesias devour innocent flies,
dogs swallow their sickly pups,
birds abandon beaks
too weak to hold food,
mantises gorge on mantises,
with weapons
tucked under folded arms,
tireless armies of ants
eat up forests
in one giant nibble,
and we,
standing in the same darkness
stay blind
to what we cannot,
will not see.

Planted

There are cracks in walls of stone,
There are pores in stiffened clay,
There are sunbeams streaming
through the darkest depths,
There is starlight kissing
the night queen awake;
Often,
you learn to breathe
when you are stifled,
You learn to bloom
where you're planted.
Space.
Freedom.
Growth.
Love.
It's all inside you.
It's all you.

The Seed

I once held
a little seed tight
in my line-crossed palm,
waiting for the perfect time,
the perfect place
to set him free;

I watched the seasons
being born and die,
I watched the sun beat down
upon the burning earth,
I watched the flickering lights
upon a blackened sky,
I watched the storms
rage on and swivel by,
and held on tightly
to the tiny seed -
he couldn't go,
just yet, I thought;

until I saw a bird
drop a seed
while he whistled by -
where the sun and the stars,
the dark and the storms,
and the warm earth
where she tumbled
and giggled,
and cried and rested,
played with her,
shaped her,
and opened her,
so she could share
her gifts with them
and the world;

and I dropped
my little seed
quietly to the ground,
to set him free,
as I set myself free
from a tethered world.

Inspiration

in the silver trail
of cursive thoughts,
left behind by a snail
inching along,
in no hurry as yet
to catch up with life;
in the silent exchange
of unspoken words,
where 'being-ness'
is the prized piece
of sustenance
carried by oft-busy ants;
in the uncertain promise
of survival and celebration,
sealed by the marathon flight
of a mother who doesn't flinch
to leave her chick
in the frozen wilderness;
in the quiet fragrance
of a still wildflower
who draws unto her
vagrant hearts,
blind to their own
quintessence;
in these fractals
that drive life to its hilt,
Inspiration,
she explodes
from within.

Birth

I am no more your mother
than the dark soil
where you rest -
your womb, your coffin
until it's time;
I am no more your mother
than the flaming sun
that stokes your spirit -
reclaimed, rejoicing
at your arrival;
I am no more your mother
than the flannel clouds
that distill joy
filling your every cell
and breath;
I am no more your mother
than the agile wind
who carries you
to the moon and stars
every now and then;
I am no more your mother
than the dancing trees
under whose shade
you will sit some day,
where your eyes
will wander
to the sun and the earth,
to the clouds and the wind,
to the moon and the stars,
who called you
into this world
one fine day.

Peace and Violence

Peace is not a waiting or a knowing that the pendulum that swings now will come to rest some day, some time.
Peace is knowing the nature of the pendulum and watching both the movement and the stillness.

Over the last two days, I have been watching this truly amazing DVD with my son - "Earth - The Power of the Planet", for the billionth time! It is one of our family favourites. One that we never seem to get tired of watching. Every time I watch it, I see something new. Yesterday, we watched the part on 'Volcanoes' together, and my conditioned mind at first said to itself, "Oh God! How terrifying, how destructive!", and I thought about how it must be to be in the midst of an eruption, shuddering with fear.

Later in the day, I saw a conversation in an online group about how a negative post breeds more negativity and that we should focus more on the positive. And I asked myself : "What is negative and what is positive? Why do we fear facing life as it unfolds to us each day? Why do we want to run away from life that is teaching us in so many ways, how to live?" Another voice from inside said to me: "It is like the pendulum. Just chill. Just know for yourself what the pendulum actually is". :)

But that doesn't stop me from writing and sharing this :)

Here is what I feel....
Our reflex and our conditioning makes us close our eyes and run away from anything 'violent' and 'negative', simply because it brings up a fear in us. A fear that we don't want to see. A fear that makes us feel that we will lose what we have today. We don't think that it could ever happen to us. It always happens to someone else. Just like death. We push it far away from us, not knowing that it walks with us in this very moment, as our shadow.

An earthquake kills thousands, destroys so much of what we have taken years to build. But we see only destruction. We don't see the power it has to actually create and sustain life and us. After one of the most devastating earthquakes, scientists measured and found out that the Himalayas had actually grown higher. That is how our magnificent mountains are formed. Without the earthquakes, which make mountains rise and provide the silt that rivers carry into the sea, our planet would be a water world! But we don't see it that way. Yes, we need to see what is, but deeply. We need to understand the essence of things, not look at them superficially.

We have to see that without the so-called 'violence' that we have today, we will not have non-violence and the paradise we hope to reach some day called 'peace'. Both are cries of children - two different, unique children of the Universe, yearning to sit on either lap of their beloved mother, who sees no difference and embraces both with love. It is not about waiting for one to take over or win over the other. It is about watching both play with and against the other and finding joy in that. It is about knowing and trusting their essence and the nature of things. The essence and the nature of the pendulum.

Peace is all about trusting life and the way it works.

Soul Burst

laughter
scatters through
a blue green day,
riding a dandelion
on a kiss of breath;
a soul breaks free.

Choices

Thoughts.

Feelings.

Actions.

Choices

are roots

that make me grow

as I grapple my way

through a hidden maze

of endless possibilities.

What I choose 

is connected to

and rooted in

what I don't choose.

A Walk in the Wild

there's a nip in the air -
enough to perk up
a sore, taut body
hanging in limbo,
soothed by the warmth
of last night's stove.

a soft padding of footsteps,
infused with wild wattle
and lemony eucalyptus,
and towering pine trees
looking down like sentinels
upon the narrow trail

carpeted with quaint seeds
asking to be picked,
tiny pods ripped open,
bare their darkest secrets
to a rich dirt trail -
the keeper of all secrets of yore.

wild strawberries, dainty clovers,
chilli tomatoes, jungle ferns,
passion flowers, and cherry blossoms,
lace the rocky edge,
to capture a fickle heart,
that's grown wings in the wild.

old friends walking an old path -
an old man leads his dog,
a barbet calls from the bushes,
a millipede rolls along,
cicadas go full throttle,
even silence becomes a song;

a walk in the wild -

she beckons me,
every now and then,
a wild heart
thrives in rawness,
a free spirit finds her home. 

 

Flowers

Flowers - a photo essay

Cloudburst

voluptuous clouds
lure a forlorn earth,
aroused from her
morning tranquility;
her blades of green
stand on end,
awash with love,
on the brink of ecstasy;
the smell of wetness
in distant clouds, and
woodsmoke rushing in
through still pine trees -
pheromones set sail
with the swell of the wind,
as the clouds make love
to a willing earth -
bewitched, and set free;
and then,
the drumbeats sound
as rain meets stone,
and rivulets join hands
in a joyous dance,
fallen leaves, and
flowers strewn,
carry their gifts
in a sacred, flowing trance;
a dragonfly braves
the gutsy wind,
setting fire
to fears of old,
a sudden cloudburst
is what it takes
for the earth to tremble
in an orgasmic hold.

In Waiting...

the whole world
is in a hurry
wanting,
waiting,
to get somewhere,
to get something,
and fast.

but waiting
must happen
unhurried,
like losing yourself
in the mist
which will roll out
just like it rolled in,
in its own time.

like the pine cones
are set free
with the fall leaves,
upon the cool breeze
of an ominous winter,
waiting
is a ripening of desire
beyond your need
to bite into the fruit;

yes, you have worked hard,
survived many winters,
stood up strong
through many a fall,
the winds of change
have constantly eroded
your sense of self;

but waiting is not
about wallowing
in the frustration
of no harvests,
it is about finding
and loving
the hidden harvest
in the most treacherous
winter or drought;
garnering a patience
that is grounded
in the stillness of uncertainty,
and the stark reality
of discontent.

in waiting, there is
a slow and beautiful
coming together
of all seasons -
born from
a deep friendship
with the silence
and impeccable stillness
of an inner winter
and drought.

A Walk with Myself

black tar sprinkled
with fallen leaves
carry stories
of yesterday,
a splattering
of pine cones
look to tomorrow
while they rest;
wood smoke
and eucalyptus
sneak in softly
to fill the heavy air,
purple petals kissed
with morning dew
stir a sleepy heart
from its nest,
tiny seeds peep out
from quaint, hardy shells
to catch a glimpse of the world
while they wait for a start,
bird song
and impatient honks,
lead me gently
into the now;
Silence -
she takes on
many forms
on a radiant earth;
the eternal home
in every seed -
a reminder of
life and death;
I walk back home
with a glowing heart
ready to take on
a resplendent world,
I walk back home
into myself,
silence lives on and in
the spoken, unspoken word.

I Look To You

I look to someone
to love me as I am,
I look to someone
to show me they care,
and in that moment
when my heart
throbs and is painted
a deep deep blue,

I forget I already know
what I have to do;
to look to you -
the wind,
the ocean,
the shore,
you're always with me,
wherever I go;

and so I look to you -
to feel your blithe fingers
ruffle my unkempt hair,
to see those blue eyes
that hold my share
of the pain and joy
of solitude,
to hear you whisper
those three words
I so long to hear
but from another -
'I love you';

you're the wind
beneath my wings,
you're the ocean
who holds all,
you're the shore
for all seasons,
so why look
elsewhere at all?

What is Flow?

What is flow? 

What does it mean to flow with life?

These are questions that I have often asked myself in my long-drawn, never-ending process of self-inquiry.

The images that flash in my mind repeatedly when I think of flow are those of fluids moving from one place to another, sometimes slowly, and sometimes fast.....like water flowing from one place to another - the rivulets, ocean waves, rain, mighty rivers, cascades, water in a pond or lake, dewdrops, teardrops....everything that is water....I also think of more viscous fluids like honey, oil, molten lava and the like.....and then there is the gentle breeze, gusty wind, or the still, cool air that hangs over a mountain top...

And yet, when it comes to life, one is often made to stop in one's tracks to ponder over something that is happening, or something which is not happening the way one wants it to. Our path is often strewn with pebbles or pits that we usually mistake for obstacles that are slowing us down or making us stop or change course. I am now learning that they are only changing the way things flow....altering the pace or the course to open up countless possibilities.

And that realisation has made me wonder again about what flow actually is....what does it mean for me? Looking at the same things with new eyes, I now see everything, fluid or solid as flowing. So then, does a mountain flow? How about a tree, the earth, a flower, the stars, darkness or a tornado....do they all flow? I believe they do, because I have now come to understand that flow is "to just be"....when everything that exists is doing what it is supposed to do, in tune with its nature, it is flowing....flowing in harmony with the rhythm of the cosmos...and that I believe is what "flowing with life" means.....to be ourselves in this moment....for in being myself, I don't offer any resistance, I don't struggle...I just am....and so there is peace. That peace comes even when I find myself in the midst of a storm, or when the whole world around me seems to be crumbling. It comes from a complete surrender to what is before me now, without any expectation of a desired outcome. It comes from a trust that the Universe knows what I need. It comes from a space of knowing deeply that all of us are held in love, and are doing exactly what we are supposed to do now, and are in exactly the place we are meant to be.

So then, with that kind of belief, if I were to look at flow once again, what images would come up in my mind's eye? I can see towering mountains, still ponds with crystal clear water, huge boulders with jagged edges, giant trees that hold up the sky, tiny shells glistening on sandy beaches, a fast-spreading forest fire, or a volcano spewing out lava......one does not want to become the other...they are happy being what they are...and doing it with passion....how then can we feel that they are not flowing? Why do we as human beings find it so hard to flow? Perhaps it is because we don't know who we are. Perhaps we don't trust the Universe or ourselves. Perhaps we are often caught up in the race to be something or someone else.

Here is a poem that I wrote earlier on Flow .

I speak.....but will you listen?

a weary tiger
kills a man.
the world conspires;
a mad hunt is on
to silence it
forever.
"I speak", says the tiger,
"....but will you listen?"

the living soil
sheds a silent tear
every time
an ignorant farmer
kills as he tills
centuries of love.
"I speak", says the soil,
".....but will you listen?"

a little weed
finds space
besides a lily,
uprooted as it sprouts;
a hushed cry
to live and let live.
"I speak", says the weed,
".....but will you listen?"

Deafening silence.
But will you listen?

A Silent Procession

A silent procession
in a wild forest begins;
trees - old and young
shower their leaves -
a silent offering
of green and yellow,
gently bowing and waving,
as I pass by;
the wind whispers
an ancient hymn
of love and peace
from the hills beyond;
the distant sun
touches me softly,
warm speckles of light
on a lustrous sheen;
the flowing reeds
bow down with grace,
making way for me
to move on;
the soft, rounded pebbles
pave the way -
stepping stones
to my destiny;
tiny fish begin
their dance of joy;
the steadfast earth
brings me gifts
of a fragrant soil -
memories of sweet union;
and I flow on to touch
another forest,
in another time,
holding precious memories
of a celebration,
in the silent procession
of endless love.

Give and Take

Like a bee gives life
to the flower
that holds sweet nectar;
Like the clouds decorate 
an endless sky
that holds them light;
Like the sun rages on
as the frozen ice gives
on faraway peaks;
Like the rain from the heavens
is given form
by a parched earth;
Like the birds in flight
move the wind
that sets them free;
Like the lonesome trees
open their branches
to friends that sit beneath;
Let me be inspired
to find myself a tune,
and give of myself
as I hope to take from you.