Posts Tagged nature



I’d ached for a long time.
Waiting for a break.

One day I saw as in a dream,
a world about me that closed in upon me,
then crazed and shattered liked stressed glass
exploding in a dance of differing circumstances.

Then all became quiet and I opened my eyes.
Millions of people stood watching me, waiting.

The air was still and wet with despair,
the oceans stilled by flotsam and filth,
and the land was hard and lay stripped bare.

Then some spirit of wisdom rose up and declared
that love and respect and considered desire
was what was required.

I told them. I showed them.
And still they denied.
Driven by lust and short term want.

Now sighing winds
blow through their bones,
singing their epitaph.

A quieter world now
that when it sighs,
sighs gladly.



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Hot air cicada song thrum,

constant in the smokey heat.

Peach drips across sweat sticky skin

as orange sun casts long shadows over dying land.


I loved you and meant well.

A future once seen cascading like a waterfall,

became a trickle.


Birds dip in dusk light to chase fly by nights,

and land burns red in quickly blackening foreboding.

Cicadas still sing though. And I do too.


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why what is


What I find most fascinating about science is that, when combined with a natural human inclination to wonder, and therefore to invent religious perspectives – read metaphysical and contemplation – a real potential for true understanding emerges. true observation of what really is combined with intuitive understanding of why.

Science by itself isn’t enough, although it’s discipline and focus and precision are wonderful, and it’s ability to reveal actual process, and to show how the world about us operates. But it has to be combined with an open mind and a sense that anything is possible in order to deal with the why question. And for that to happen, you have to be infatuated with the puzzling, astonishing and beautiful nature of what you’re seeing, and to want to understand it, and the truth that underlies it. And to wonder why and how it’s beautiful, and what that might mean.

This doesn’t imply a religious – and therefore inexplicable and often nonsensical – requirement to true understanding. It means that science and the scientific method can take us so far at any given point in understanding, and to progress further, we need also to accept intuition and imagination as useful tools in determining the veracity of what we know, and how to determine a way forward. Sometimes intuition gives us a picture of scenarios that seem to be outlandish and unlikely.  Or they might suggest factors that are a result of process – for example, if math explains all process, perhaps beauty is an emergent property of a level of understanding that we should appreciate having been achieved as a result of process.

This combination of wanting to understand the process, but also needing to know the why, and to be willing to accept that beauty is also a significant factor, must surely be why intelligence has come to be. The universe must know itself, otherwise why is it?

Careful analysis and understanding of the process needs to be combined with a deeper knowledge, which is why what is is, in order to sum a truth that’s beyond merely factual. Because it’s only subjective experience that gives rise to factual experience. So where does that deeper interpretation of why that experience was possible come from? Where does objective understanding come from?

This is the thing that puzzles and intrigues me. Understanding how things happen is one thing, understanding why they are is something at a different level.

EDIT: Quote ” Something there is that can refresh and revivify older people: joy in the activities of the younger generation — a joy, to be sure, that is clouded by dark forebodings in these unsettled times. And yet, as always, the springtime sun brings forth new life, and we may rejoice because of this new life and contribute to its unfolding; and Mozart remains as beautiful and tender as he always was and always will be. There is, after all, something eternal that lies beyond the hand of fate and of all human delusions. And such eternals lie closer to an older person than to a younger one oscillating between fear and hope. For us, there remains the privilege of experiencing beauty and truth in their purest forms.” (Albert Eintein)



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Other creatures.


Humans tend to assume that they have a degree of intelligence that gives them awareness that isnt afforded other species.

Criteria that are used to justify this perspective include lack of evidence of empathy, of emotions including fear and sadness, and of gratitude. Or an ability to assess a given context, and to calculate an appropriate response to it.

Every day, visible instances occur that prove these assumptions are just wrong. They imply an arrogance in humanity that is breathtaking. Other creatures are sufficiently sentient to respond to both circumstance and to other creatures as we are. How could they be alive otherwise?

Here’s a small example: .

We have to reappraise our relationship with the rest of the world. To imagine that we’re somehow seperate from it is folly. The whole system that we observe and are able to analyse because its systemic, includes us as a key component. As it does every other creature. This is what makes it a system. How to extrapolate this? Discussions about ‘universal conciousness’? Perhaps. How is a component within a system able to see the system from outside? We can’t know this external perspective. We can only know what we see and experience, and deduce. And we can clearly experience sentience and awareness in other creatures, even with our own emotions and intuition, as opposed to powers of analysis. And deploying this experience usefully, must surely lead us to deduce that we arent a seperate cognitive function of the universe but just a part of a mathematical curve that, if we allow it, will extrapolate. And this is the ultimate goal of evolution.

So, some compassion and respect is called for I think… and a little humility. Otherwise we risk compromising the very system that defines us.


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Original Source


Sitting in bath warm water,
waves lapping up my thighs,
leaning on one hand on the yielding sand,
watching the moon sink into the sea.

The natural world is all that’s real.
The rest is construct and hubris.

Watching that sinking moon
over the turning world,
and the whirling cosmos of a trillion lights,
all ticking step by step in time.

And then it came to be known
amongst all sentience
that the Original Source is me,
and we are the Original Source.



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A happy soul


A happy soul is one

that’s learned to let go.

Like a seed from a dandelion head

in a sunny breeze,


that let go

of its anchor point

and turned to face the breeze

and the skimming land below.


To arrive where what is.

is sufficient.



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You’re fabulous
You achingly dark spangled
infinitely deep universe

How does my mysterious sparking
Of elemental syntheses
Mirror your endless spinning rotations?

The qualitative universal components
That make my observations what they are.

So small are my thoughts by comparison.
Like splashing drops in an ocean wave
Crashing upon a shore,
Unrelenting in its logic.



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Place and process


The cigarette smoke world curls around me,
changing shape and fading away.

The present I see includes the past
as well as imagined futures.

The trees are bare now.
They had leaves and will have again.
The whorls and whirls of the wind
swirl remnants of the past year,
as beady squirrel eyes watch
the world move on.

Earth spins and moves and does its thing.
Fox and Owl make their noises in dark woods,
Jaguar prowls and Bat flits.

In some African savannah,
Kudu is eaten alive by lions.

Nearby, self obsessed termites
build webbed cities.

In the middle of this maelstrom
of whirling world things,
weather and wind and life passing,
I stand bewildered by the pace
and irresistible process
of which I’m a part with no control.

But mostly I’m amazed
by humanity’s contempt.
for everything.

And I play my part,
and wait to see the consequences.
May my sons forgive us.



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Danube moon

Silvered moon over the gleaming Danube.
Twinkling Budapest lights.

Where are you? Someone.

It would be good to nuzzle your lovely neck
Whilst seeing this.

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I think I’ll go for a walkie-poo.
Actually it’s something I really must do.
And as I do my walkie-poo,
I’ll do a dance, just for you.

In the spangled sunshine.
Under the tree
With spread-eagled fingers.
I’ll kick the golden leaves
And see the flighty clouds spin overhead.

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Multiverses, conciousness and life.

It’s rumoured that we live in a multiverse, comprising an infinite number of universes wherein anything is possible. Somewhere out there there’s a ‘me’ writing something worth reading.

But I don’t think the multiverse is infinite. We may indeed live in a multiverse, but the only universes that exist are those that, from the infinite number of variances of outcome from the Big Bang, actually comprised an outcome that could, by it’s nature, go on to persist and to evolvet.

Most of the potential ways in which the results of the Big Bang could manifest milliseconds after the event were not tenable. They produced results that pretty much instantly collapsed and cancelled themselves out. They ceased to exist, even as they came into existence.

So, whilst there may have been, perhaps still is in creation, an infinite number of events that could have resulted in a universe, only some succeeded. And we exist in one of them.

Therefore there is not an infinite number of universes. Rather, there are a few. Perhaps, just possibly, there’s only one. And the rest failed to achieve suitable stability sufficient to materialise and to evolve.

And then of course there’s the question of life. At the advent of the Big Bang, when all things were possible and all things were attempted, most things failed. But one outcome was a universe that happened to comprise the elements necessary for the material coalescence of various components that are required for life as we know it, and experience it.

So our universe comprises various forms of hydrogen, carbon and other basic elements, and it’s in the nature of things that as these combine, in all the various ways that they’re capable of, the process we know as life emerges.

The sophistication of this process has also evolved. Because that’s the way of the context in which life exists… a context and combination of interlaced processes that obliges the materials involved to tend towards greater degrees of complexity.

And the ways in which life formed interacted with, and came to observe that context. It thus became more complex in its perspective, and ultimately in its understanding. Until eventually, life evolved that was capable of seeing itself within the very context from which it emerged, and of questioning it.

This isn’t necessarily the same thing as consciousness. All living things are conscious, if by conscious we mean aware of, and able to respond to, the physical environment.

But this awareness was to evolve to such a degree that it became aware that it existed, and so it became conciousness. The universe had evolved a way of critically observing itself. And it did so as part of a natural consequence of its nature – namely its composition.

So we can say that life is as much a part of the nature of the universe as say, hydrogen atoms.Or any other component. Life is an intrinsic part of the nature of the universe. The universe we know comprises life as much as it comprises anything else. So given that life, by its nature, evolves to be self aware, so the universe is self aware. Life is part of the universe’s evolution. And we are the manifestation of the early stages of that evolving process.

So open your mind to the beauty of the world, and its complexity and intricacy, and see your awareness of these things as a separate component that you have a responsibility to nurture. Because a unique quality of conciousness, over all the other elements and components of the universe, is that it’s able to manage its own evolution, and growth, and the way in which it functions.

The universe is like a small child that’s starting to understand itself, its nature and its place. It has become self aware. And it is life in its multitude of forms, that undoubtedly occur on millions of planets, that represents that awareness. You yourself are the universe thinking and watching itself. No less than that.

So wise up. Take your eyes off the money, let go of religious dogma and bigotry of whatever persuasion, see that time spent pondering why and what is not time wasted. Disconnect as far as is practically possible from the world of people, think more freely and let yourself be what you feel inclined to be. Because that ‘you’, with all its potential knock-on effects in a chaotic system, is probably why you exist. To play a part in the evolution of the universe.


With thanks to Jostein Gaarder, and his novel ‘The Castle in the Pyrenees’, for inspiration.

David Kitching

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Two me

I choose to wonder why I am.
Seeking some value in me, relative
To the sweeping misted air that wafts
Over gentle hills

Whilst the birds and the other animals
Continue their dispassionate chat,
Being what they are.

But something in the way that I am
Makes this process too complicated.

As the world happens around me,
I ask too many questions.

There are two worlds.
The real and the human.

I think in one
And I exist in the other.

When I die,
I want to understand the difference
Between the roles I played
Within these two domains
And their respective values.

So I finally get to know where I fit.


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Wake up and open your eyes

Whether the majority of us know it or not, humanity is undertaking massive genocide of hundreds (actually it’s thousands) of species of other creatures. We are proactively creating the Sixth Great Extinction, the last one being of the Dinosaurs. In doing so, we’re destroying the very biosphere that supports us. We are without doubt, unfathomably stupid.

The last Great extinction occurred 66 million years ago. And it took at least a thousand years, probably several thousand. If you map the lifetime of the Earth to a 24 hour clock, humanity has been around for about 4 seconds. In this blink of the planet’s eye, we’ve eliminated at least a third of the world’s forests and hundreds of thousands of species. If we’re so stupid as to commit collective suicide through religious and political dogmatism and ignorance, that’s our choice (and it is a choice). But we have no right to take every other species down with us.

And all this derives from our value systems. The way we perceive what wealth is, and how we manage it. Money. Particularly debt based money. And the externalisation (leave the consequences for someone else to clean up) of the bad impacts of wealth acquisition. The conventional political right and left both maintain these value systems, and many religious perspectives, especially in the US, support and advocate them under the guise of ephemeral supposed ethical standards like ‘freedom’ and ‘the work ethic’. How many corporate CEOs and bankers attend church every Sunday? Did you know that the pay of CEOs has risen 127 times faster over the last thirty years than 99% of the US population? What do you expect the consequences of such greed and inequity to be, particularly at a global scale, if not conflict? And as this money wealth is squirrelled away or squandered on yachts and stupidly big houses, it’s unavailable for such things as building cities that are worth living in for everyone, for education and the encouragement of more enlightened perspectives, the protection of the very biosphere that contains and supports us, and every other crying need that the fruits of all our labour is supposed to allow us to cater for. Yet the religious right encourage it.

Factor in other emerging crises like the impending failure of our medical systems through antibiotic resistance, shifting and more extreme climate events, ocean acidification and the consequent destruction of marine food resources, desertification and water shortage.. and a host of others, virtually all caused by humanity, and there’s good reason to believe the better minds than mine that predict global ecological, societal and economic collapse within just a few decades.

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Summer’s night

On a hot summer night I lie awake and listen
To the still air.

Small insect sound from somewhere.

Then the air’s viscosity alters
As a call pierces the dark.

Something happening there
That makes no sense
From my decorated bedroom
But which affects my dreams
And appeals to my blood.


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Be careful who you are

You’re sitting on the shore
Of a glassy lake at dawn,
Surrounded by mountains
With tops hidden in cloud.

Behind you is the house,
With warm orange lights.
Your life glowing mellow
Against the blue dark.

Then a fog sweeps in over cold water,
Silent and ghostly.
And gentle and beguiling.

The sounds of the house fade away
And everything is smothered
In milky uniformity.

You sit alone in a space that has no echoes.
That offers no view.
That offers no perspective.
That’s silent as the grave.

What do you see?
What do you hear?
What do you sense?

You know nothing of where
Or when you are
Bar your memories
And your preconceptions.

So be careful what you hold to be true.
Because when eventually you face
The dispassionate silence,
You will need to know yourself better than you do.

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Bluebell wood and silent son
Walking together in a quiet space
Defined by delicate birdsong
And oceans of bluebells.

We sat on a bench and watched
Grass grow and real life happen.

A place where pretensions fell away
And discussion turned to issues
That were true and worth considering.

We never stop growing up.
The questions remain the same.

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There was a woman who stood beautiful

There was a woman who stood beautiful,
Who being made of stone and soil, was as tall as the clouds
And who looked down even as her legs were blasted to dust.
As she cried her imperious cry to the righteous,
Her voice was drowned by the sound
Of the driven masses.

As she reeled and collapsed into the swarming crowd below,
She pleaded with them to hear her dying message
As she shrivelled and shrank before her time,
And crumbled into her own sweet ground,
Reaching out to the plaintiff sound
Of her own kind as they died.

That the power of markets and democracy are two different things.
Power and voice like oil and water.
One floats upon, and smothers, the other.
That the land of the free has become the great illusion,
Corrupted by the greed of the few,
And allowed by the complacency of those
Who think they know better.

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Pleading trees

Leaves turn gold and die.
Trees now pleading with the sky
To bring warmth again.

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Polar bear

I’m disappointed by humanity.
If a power had evolved with the intelligence to see,
And saw something wrong and became confused,
I could understand.

But it saw and just carried on,
Leaving me and all those who see,
Bemused by its stupidity.


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Did you see that?
Against that rough hewn hill
Of rough textured tweed colours,

That swooping sliver of bird flesh
Slipping through grey swept skies.
On wing feathers spread
Like the fingers of a Japanese dancer.

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Those moments

Those moments,
When I’m walking through the beautiful world,

And I suddenly see the uniformity.
The same stuff and consistency,
Of everything.
Including me.

Those moments that last so long
And yet you always forget.

When you know with absolute certainty
The true nature of everything
And its contiguous homogeneity,
And that your place is so small.


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I’d ached for a long time.
Waiting for a break.

One day I saw as one sees in a dream,
A world about me that closed in upon me,
And crazed and shattered liked stressed glass.

I last remember screaming
As my world exploded into a glittering dance.

A dance of varied circumstance.

Soon all became quiet and I opened my eyes.
An ocean of people stood watching me, waiting.

The air was still and wet with despair.
The oceans stilled by flotsam and filth.
The land lay hard and died stripped bare.

Then some spirit of wisdom rose up and declared
That love and respect and considered desire
Was what was required.

I told them. I showed them.
And still they denied.

Driven by lust and short term want.

Now sighing winds blow through their bones
Sadly singing their epitaphe.

A quieter world now.
Where when the wind sighs,
It sighs gladly.


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Passing storm

The problem is that things that have no significance
Have overtaken those that have.
My phone bill sits here in front of me
Whilst soft rain falls outside in pashy drops
That shake bright flowers
And sends them trembling,
And small creatures run for cover
While I sit here watching and smiling.

I find my life is made small,
Like a leaf being whirled on a whorl
Of water spiralling down.

But then a warm wind blows through my hair
And thunder rumbles and rain falls
And something of a natural order
Passes by my place.

And in the aftermath
I ask why that felt so different.
So much better.


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As I pondered the madness of the world
With its discordant harmonies that jar my senses,

A small moth alighted on the wall opposite.

Such exquisite perfection in shape and form.
Beautiful and pretty and small.
And perfectly symmetrical.

And more complex than anything
I could ever conceive
Or worry about.

An instant component of my view
That wasn’t there a moment ago.

Shame. I’d thought I’d understood just then.

But this whirling thing of such complexity
Flitted quietly by and landed there.
Just like that.

And changed my view.


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So slowly trudged my river
Laden with brown and stuff
That it smelled like something dying.

Under the bridge
Where the big cars ran past without looking,
A bedraggled duck swam.

Past sorry meadows ran my river,
Watched with saddened eyes
By creatures that couldn’t know
Why the sun no longer sparkled as it used to.

And as they saw and knew,
Their song died also
Because there was nothing left to sing to.


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Amidst bleak English fields in February I walked.
Past copses and crooked fences and blackbirds that talked
In repeating sermons of foxes and hawks.
And turning a corner in the deep mud lane
I saw a flat field that was empty and plain
Save one single dead tree that stood there alone,
Crooked spine curved by unending wind,
Wizened arms twisted and bent all ways
And long twisted fingers that curled like snakes
Round unseen currents of air.
I stopped still for a while and watched.
The blackbirds grew quiet and the wind grew still.
Grey clouds hung low and swept overhead,
Bellies pregnant with wet and depression.
The witch tree twitched and a single finger curled,
Suggesting I draw near,
And as I did some crows rose,
Cawing and fluttering to rise into the air.
They flew round me in circles.
The spirit of the tree,
Scattered and laughing at me
And challenging me to move closer and see
A more true view of me.
In that windswept field I stood small
Against open grey space and blackbirds and cawing crows,
Rushing clouds and blowing wind that sighed
Some language I failed to understand.
As I grew closer, my vision melded with that of the tree
Such that my view was mine but was also that of the tree.
And the crows that circled grew quiet and watched
Even as they followed their wing twitching way round my head
And the witch tree’s fingers writhed
Like a pianist playing the sound of the blowing wind.
Then I stood next to her and I turned to look
At that bleak landscape I’d just traversed.
I saw a world that disdained her and that took
Fright at her for her difference and now ran from me too.
It’s something to be different.
It means standing alone with crows
In fields with wider than usual views.
But the blackbird’s sweet song gives hope.

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Snow perspective

Such white is this
That I don’t deserve.
My soiled life does dirty this snow
Wherever I put my feet.
Wonderful that I
Should be allowed to know
Such purity.


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Snow bird

Snow falls quietly.
Trees and land become silent.
A bird sings its love.


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Snow and yellow

Today the sky was blue.
And the snow that lay round about seemed so too.
Yet my mood was warm yellow.
Like a daffodil poking through.


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Broken branch

A broken branch crunched underfoot
Next to the bole of a massive tree
That rose like a sign from the sodden earth,
Alive and being and strong and true.

And I knew in a flash something deep that slid
Away from my grasp as I moved on.
Einstein said that energy and matter
Are all the same and are one another.

Some smooth and seamless confluence then,
Of all existence like endless ocean
That drew that tree to be growing there.

But if its stuff was the same as light
Then what was that which was its life?

Is life just coincidence of energy as form?
Or is it something beyond that source?

Is life independent and something else?
Or are light and life and the motion we see
The same seamless singularity?

You, me and the tree
That blossoms and bubbles and forms on a whim.
Some chaotic prompting that just happens to be.

Are our pain and love and the suffering we see,
The same stuff as stars and infinite space
All happening at once in the same only moment?

I saw real truth in that moment then.
That life-force arises like anything else.
It’s part of the same seamless energy state.

We’re all one thing as we see ourselves
Alone and frantic and striving to make
The small universes we see as our own.
Foolish illusions that make us our pain.

We’re just meant to be and the energy
That sits like a god doesn’t know,

He sits and he farts and he pleasures himself
By causing the trees and the galaxies
And laughing aloud at the curious thought
Of mankind being made in his image.

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small stuff



Earth photographed by the Voyager spacecraft from 3 billion miles away. Still within our solar system.

One small planet in a solar system. Trillions of solar systems in our galaxy. Trillions of galaxies in our universe. Earth like a grain of sand on a very, very big beach, with seven billion atom sized entities clinging to it, all proclaiming their importance and their opinions and their understanding of the nature of things.

If we’re not alone, we’re pretty insignificant. If we are alone, we’re still pretty insignificant. Even collectively as a species, a phenomenon. Never mind as individuals.

I don’t know whether we have meaning, or what that meaning might be, but I suspect that either what we perceive, vis à vis this photograph, is illusory and we actually stand a chance of meaning a great deal in some unappreciable way in a different kind of universe that we can’t imagine, or it’s not illusory, in which case we’d better get our heads out of our arses and grow up a bit, because no one is going to give a shit if we decide to cease.

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Great Baboon

In a dream draped with dripping palm leaves
I saw Great Baboon combing his golden hair.
He paused and returned my stare with an air
Of authority that didn’t invite a challenge.

He laid down his comb and sat down there
In the damp dawn grass in his jungle lair
And considered me as a refugee
From something he knew nothing of.

He saw a pink beast that looked at him
With unseeing eyes that hoped for nothing
From this mere ape in my arrogance.

And the Hoopoe howled and the elephant screamed
Laughing at my preposterous intrusion.
Pompous fool with glowstick jewellery.

Then all went quiet and drip drip went the drips
And I squirmed in the silence as a row of bees
As still as full stops considered me.

They spoke together in buzzing song
Then turned as one to Great Baboon
And he smiled and laughed the ripe rich laugh

Of the wiser man I really knew him to be.
And the Hoopoe shrilled a gleeful sound
And I became known as the one who watched

With no comprehension of the world I saw
As I chose to stand and to stake my place
In the hierarchy that shall not be spoken of.

I knew that place would always be
As a fraud and usurper of the real beauty
Of that night of the Great King Baboon.
The god that was to die as my kind and I

Moved to take all for our own.
His laughter still rumbles in storms in the night,
Residual echo of a more natural might
Than our filthy uncaring machines.

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Relative value

In shimmering sun splashed green today
I saw a sultry purpose rise rebellious
And quietly loud in a sexy way.
Blossom that sought to outplay
The general green lushness of everything else.

And then a bouncing robin plied its way through
The increasing volume of life
Just making some goal of the moment
But playing its part in making
The most magnificent of paintings.

Worth nothing apparently.
And the crows cawed their silly noise
And the trees moved in sympathy.
I lay there and watched and wondered
What part I played.

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I gorge peach becomes human.
I breathe air becomes me.
I breathe out my body.
The water that makes me
Once ran down the Nile,
Once formed a crocodile.

Where is the edge between this world and me?
All is contiguous,
One blended entity.
We exist as a drop of water
In the sea. No distinct identity.
Our sense of self then is immaterial.

This is the greatest proof
Of soul as a truth,
Which allows us to feel whole and discreet.
It exists like a permeable membrane in water
And contains us. Defines us. Each.
But the atoms and stuff of the universe we see

Flow through and between us
As we eat, live and breathe.
Our bodies are bubbles of identical matter
To the earth and the air and the trees.
It’s only our souls that allow us to care
And to know and to love and to see.

And when we move on from this liquid domain
And become free of illusory form,
We shall see what we are and meld yet again
To a more vaporous medium by far.
Where all of us join in one uniform sphere
Of pure harmonious joy.

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Emotional shapes

If emotions had shape,
They’d look like clouds.

Happiness would wander across deep blue.
Small and fluffy
With no grey hue,
Just bright and white
And light with the joy of it all.

Sadness would be dull and flat,
Covering all with deadpan still.
Heavy and low.
An oppressive pall
That stills and removes the reason for all.

Anger would billow up mighty and high,
Both screaming white and threatening black.
Flashing and roaring
And threatening the world,
Diminishing all in it’s track.

Love would be smeared across calm grey blue
Like watercolour smudged with tears.
With tints of orange, pink and red
As the fiery sun finally calms
And leaves us to be content.

Hatred would be roiling low
With turbulent tones of black and grey.
Rumbling past at tree top height,
Spitting and glowering
And dulling the light.

Jealousy would be hazy and thin.
Oppressive, confusing with Turner sun
Corrupting the light,
Distorting our sight
And leaving truth limpid.

Compassion would settle gentle and still.
A quiet white mist
On the valleys and hills
That makes us stop
And consider the ills of the world.

Hope would be high and textured and white.
Bright lacy ribbons stretched across blue.
Threads of potential
With definite shape
That hold new promise of change in the wind.

Fear would be fog, silent and dark.
Obscuring the truth, sly moving stillness,
Drifting around us to get round behind us.
Sinister spirits that steal our judgement
And make us like fools, lost.



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Churchyard rainsound

I hear the dead whisper in the trees
As raindrops shatter on quivering leaves.

Dead buried beneath
Long probing roots in soft flesh earth,
Where the dead of man and plant
Merge in compound harmony,
Watered by the juice of clouds,
To rise skyward through woody sap
And raise their voices in sibilant rainsound
In praise of the God of life.


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Peach light

I saw peach light flow
Into sparkling silver brook
To run twinkling
Between earth and air
To nourish life there
With the fruit of the sun.

I saw clouds tumble roughly
Over rough hewn hill,
Drenching and quenching
With precious liquid,
Sustaining broker,
The source of life.

I saw limpid waves
Flow in silken grass,
To climb trees and rustle leaves
And dry the earth.
To lift the source
That it might fall again.

I saw flowers bloom of every hue.
Whose natural wisdom
Made one red and
The other one blue?
One living God comprising all.
Beauty, good and evil too.

I saw you there.
Of sun’s sweet nectar,
Earth’s rich texture
And sky’s cool moisture.
Stroked by the gentle hand of wind.
One living creature, one seamless creation.

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I woke this morning as the white milky light
Was turning to butter
And the air was thick with birdsong.

That buttery birdsong drifted over my quilt
And soothed and refreshed me
With sweet air I could taste.

I was drawn into the world
From dreams disturbed
And was calmed when I saw this truth:

That the world carries on and is beautiful too
What ever my mind does become
In the depths of the night, with fretting and fright,

The sun and the air, the beauty everywhere
Can chase those ghosts away.
We’re all so lucky to be able to wake

And see this natural way.
That nature renews our life each day,
And that nothing is sure as we plan our way

With so many assumptions about each day
That ignore nature’s nature
To give us a new chance

To start things right again.
Every day.
If we’d see that each day is brand new.

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On this cold and frosty night
I walked through twinkling fields
And saw an orange moon rise
Like a goddess peering over the edge
Of the bed that I lay dreaming on.

As I walked alone through
Frozen land of still sheep,
This goddess rose slowly
Over the world,
Tinting all with her golden light.

But as she rose and came to know
More of what she saw,
She started to reveal her
True hue.

And it was silver.
And as cold as the grass.



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Uncommon thing

Today I did an uncommon thing.
I moved slowly through
The English countryside
On my bike.

It was only six hours ago
And yet I look back on those views

As though they were an age ago.
Timeless fields and small houses,

Homes and sheds
Discreet from everything,

Passing by shimmering
In the afternoon sun.

Then the evening pub,
Talking of too much commercial nonsense
Pleasingly terminated by
An insight into

The actual nature of God.


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I saw a swallow dive tonight
For a fly that it needed
To survive.

It dived against
A backdrop of swirling clouds
And cerulean sky.

It lived the life
Of a swallow
Without caring why.


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What are you doing?

This is all bollocks isn’t it?
All crap and bullshit.
I mean, you’re not telling me you take it seriously?

Do you?

The mortgage and the bank balance,
The terribly so dinner parties,
The right sort of suit.
The right badge of car.


This is your life?

Or are you perhaps more earthy?
Your domain is nuts and bolts and things that work,
For other people.

Earn a wage,
Don’t make money.

More honour in that perhaps.

Yet still…
As those sparkling stars turn slowly overhead,
And small birds sing their small part
On quiet, still misty mornings,
And all creatures wake and do their thing
So naturally,
Is your contrived vision really worth their beauty?

What are you doing? And why?
I don’t think you know,
And if you did, you’d surely cry
If you had any awareness of the place of your soul
In the many dimensional universe
That you think you know.

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