I’m left cold by great exclamations.
The words of the prophets are well-
Intentioned and sincere,
For the most part honest, but…
I know the touch of my fingertips,
The magic of honesty,
The way a body weaves
Its story of life’s untold mystery.
I’ll take a warm fire and the
Shared delight of sunset,
The majesty of the rising sun
And the incredible wonder
Of arriving on this Earth.

I haven’t turned aside from anything.
Simply, things have fallen away.
You could say to me:
‘All the way to heaven is heaven,’
Or ask me if the dog has Buddha-nature.
Who is any the wiser?
I’ve watched a universe unfold
In my blood and I’ve
Carried Baba Yaga a thousand miles
On my back.
What have I got to tell you?
‘Look after the trees.
Spend time in nature.
Smile at children.
Keep your kidneys warm.’
Not much to show for
Thirty-seven years?
Perhaps enough.
Hafiz and Naropa and the
Countless dazzling saints
Have said the rest
And will continue saying so
Until the end of time.
I’ll sit by the river and
Marvel at owls and rats and falcons.

In your body and mine,
There is a scripture
That needs not be written down.
Quiet as an oak in winter
And as eloquent as Spring;
A voice of blood and wonder,
Of bone and grief and joy.
When I speak to you
In the holy wilderness
Of our lives,
Let us read together
From that book
And forget that we ever
Once thought we knew
A thing.

One day,
When all the mystique of idiocy
Has rubbed off life
Like gold lacquer from oak,
I’ll forget so wholeheartedly
(Or remember so completely)
That I will forget to not dance
And remember my home
Beyond memory and forgetting
- the place where you are waiting
With your hands of milk and stars.

I know you are waiting there,
But I’m too fascinated still
By the twisted mirrors in this hall.
I know the sun is shining where you wait
And the air is sweet as only
Coming home can be.

One day, I will go towards there,
But, I will not be there to arrive.
Only my dancing:
The footsteps of fire on water,
The everlasting bird that flies through the Earth.

Somehow,
There arose in you
A confusion;
You mis-placed the world
In these objects of desire
Of memory and
Obligation.

But
It is possible to walk away;
It is difficult, but possible.
It is discouraged, but it is possible.
It is possible and, ultimately, essential
To turn to these things and say:
        You are not me;
        You are not my life;
        You are not my home;
        You are not in my heart
        And you never were.
And leave them all behind,
Regaining your sanity
At the expense of all the things
You thought you owned,
But were in the end simply ballast
For the great being of your life,
Until the time came
When you were ready
To spread your wings
And fly.

The days of the great reptiles
Are numbered and few;
Now is the time of the rainbow serpent.
The skydancers are here
And invite your attention.
Look for the heroes and heroines:
They are waiting everywhere,
To be embraced,
To feed and dance
In the fields of your great freedom.

Yesterday, deepening into memory,
Swimming in the Goddess water.
Today, spiralling out in bright colours,
An explosion of Self everywhere.
Who is in there?
Who is in there?
What is your name?
I’ve been Tom, Tani, Coyopa.
Hirons, Alexander, a King – all of them.
Slept rough on concrete,
Buried my head in the woods.
Known my wings,
Felt the fluid centre of my brain.

One day, I’ll get it.
Before then, I’ll give up getting it.
Who is in there?
Great nameless madness of wonder;
Crushing gravity of Soul.

This morning the sun was warm on my skin.
First time since Winter began.
I was delirious with pleasure
And hope flew round me, dancing!
The wind changed and the clouds came over:
Now it’s icey cold again.

Buddhist, Taoist, Sufi, Christian.
Muslim, Atheist, Heathen.
Jew, Zoroastrian, Heretic.
Red, yellow, black, brown, white.
It makes no difference.
That first touch of Spring
Will make you mad for life.
If you don’t laugh with joy,
You’re already half-dead.

What had been locked in its chest
Began to push back out at the world today.
Soon, primroses and garlic will follow that
Path of life’s breath into sunlight;
Now, it is simply the shifting, vital moment
Between the inhaling and
Exhaling of the Earth.

The fingers of Winter loosened today;
That tight hand will become Summer’s palm
Where all of Life dances:
Myself and you and us and them
And all tomorrow’s children.

                Somewhere, in the centre of the Earth,
                A spark leaps to the hibernating heart
                And beneath the blackened leaves of Winter,
                That great, essential drum resounds.

Today, the earth began to smell again.
The sap turned around; life turned towards life.
The body of this great, wild woman,
This land that grows through my feet,
Shifted in her sleep and sighed.
She whispered something unmistakable.
Everybody heard.
The trees and rocks and the wild birds and me:
All Winter we were waiting
And, today, the earth began exhaling.

               
                Hold me. Say nothing. Just hold me.
                The road is too strange and beautiful for words.
                Hold me. The silence itself is a wonderful terror to bear.
               

Love meets love as two twins returning,
As the right hand greeting the left hand.
– It’s YOU! –
In that instant of recognition,
That flight of wonder,
Love is reminding itself
Of the great body of which it is part.