When you let go,
when your mind is free,
when your ego is subdued
and there is no ‘me’;
you find
that everything
you really ever sought,
that shaped every desire
and every thought,
that convinced you to buy
everything you ever bought,
was an exercise in futility
and worth naught;
for everything that you’ve wanted deep down inside,
has always been there, just there,
deep down inside.
Artwork by TrollGirl @ deviantART
http://trollgirl.deviantart.com/
Seven drops of rain
land gently on my hand,
each one, I see,
has its own, unique beauty.
The first is so well groomed,
and perfectly round,
it looks like it’s seen the world
and traveled all around.
The second moves mischievously,
like a playful child,
naive and trusting,
but carefree and wild.
The third sits quietly
on my palm,
perfectly still,
content and calm.
The fourth is simply lovely
to look upon,
to mesmerize the senses
it seems to have been born.
The fifth seems awkward
but also has qualities rare;
it shields the others
with great love and care.
Number six appears to be in a fix,
for it knows not what to do,
but when it finds its niche,
it will surpass the others too.
The last, hollow and empty,
has everything all the same,
the nameless one,
to which you could give any name.
-Written in 2011
The mesmerizing, magical melody of music,
A song full of warmth, like a gently burning wick;
The sound of silence, full of wisdom unbroken,
A word of comfort and hope, well spoken.
Giant, dark clouds bringing the welcome rain,
A roar of thunder that dwarfs Earthly pain,
The whispering of tides on an ocean vast,
The whistling of the wind, full of memories past.
The comforting chirp of a bird on a lonely stretch of road,
A helping hand out of nowhere, to carry half your load;
A night lit up by the light of many a radiant star,
The mirror of self-awareness, revealing how lovely you really are.
-Written in Feb 2012
There is a land, don’t ask me where,
Filled with nothing; yet, everything’s there.
There is no sun or shining star,
Yet light and warmth are spread afar.
There are no oceans, no rivers or seas,
Yet waves do dance, with mirth, as they please.
There are no birds, but there is lilting song,
Sweet, fulfilling, yet for more you long.
There are no trees that may flowers bring,
Still it feels like the midst of a blossoming spring.
There is no work, yet no dearth of things to do,
Everything’s always the same, still every moment is new.
And if you go there you will hear the subtle, supple sound,
Of perpetual gaiety and merriment, and laughter all around.
Alas! They say I must give it a name,
‘For how else will it retain its fame?’
And so, with an upward glance and a little bow,
I tell them, ‘these are the Fecund Fields of Farlow’.
– Written in 2005
Where do these roads come from?
Where do they go?
For on and on, like time, they flow.
Like a stream of water on an icy slope,
They bring with them both despair and hope.
They walk on, far ahead of sight,
Like the depths of darkness, and the light of night.
So follow the path till it reaches its end,
Don’t linger long trying to comprehend;
For everything you must surrender
Before entering that world of wonder;
Where the light of love caresses the ground,
Where greed and hatred are not to be found.
Where the wind breezes through the trees,
Where flowers dance to the humming of bees;
Where the angels of joy don’t need wings to fly,
Where you can’t stop smiling, even if you try.
Into that land these roads must go,
For on and on, like time, they flow.
– Written in 2005
Dancing Tides 