Walking in Our Love

Excuse me my confusion, my moments of the doubt of my uncertainty. I walked out today, still carrying your words beside me, in my head, and when I walked from you, I knew that I couldn't really ever walk from you. And the day for me broke late, I came alive with it. And even if I wanted to escape from you, I couldn't escape from you, and now I discover that you can feel how I feel in a psychic moment, and we differ in a moment or two, and it is nothing more than adding breadth to our love, and when you go your way, I believe you take me along with you, and when I go mine, you are there with me too. It seems like love has cast its net over us, and there is no escape, no ultimate freedom, there is just the truth of our love, and it is in everything that there is of us, and about us.

Today

Today? I will just let it come at me, and gaze into its face, and have the usual argument with it, and then we'll see who wins.

Transition

Orchestral music soothing the day, and dreams of distance flicker on the equator of decision, when the smile of summer has lent itself to autumn, and within all of the midst, stands the real, defying definition and conclusion, and the distance casts shadows on the soul, and the heart is wild, as only the heart can be, and the separation of the warm air and the cool air, breathing within the same as one, and the present feeling of it being too soon for memory engages the spirit and the spirit urges present action, and action turns to ask itself if it is going in the right direction, and it seeks the earth and the sun and the moon for its answers, and there is slowness, and there is speed, not always a matter of choice, and then there is the quiet dictator, the mysterious quiet dictator, before thinking mind relays his thoughts to the self, and the question arises once again: 'am I really a person?' And how much am I the marionette, of a bigger player, so who is this marionettist, and what is his purpose and where does he come from, and why does he hide in the spiritual shadows of humanity, and then another day begins, just like the last one, only to be faced with another tomorrow, and faces change and voices change, but they look and feel the same and utter the same things in our narrowness, in our being captive dreamers unable to reach for the answers always, and knowing nothing.

Thunder from the Heart

Thunder from the heart, and it enters the mind, and it uneases, and takes you to a foreign place, and you become aware, determined to resist this potential slavery, and you look into the memory, the memory before the thunder, when there was oneness of self, at least to your own personal perception, and now, there is the task of bringing a part of tomorrow into today, but awareness, that today is today, and that the past is gone, it has left, it remains, just a part of memory, a part of the existence nonetheless, and you work to determine the realness of the self, the one, that only you, know who you are, in your aloneness, in your truth, in the privacy of personal honesty of spirit and soul, and always, there are disruptions, antagonisations, and they assault, and they would like to steal you from yourself, but then you understand just what they are, and then they sink into their own ignorance and unknowing, and you know, and you are the only one who does, and you don't seek vanity, and in fact, you fight against it, and in the end then, you are left with yourself, and how do deal with the self, outside of thunder, outside of self love, outside of condemnation, outside of the obvious reality, and you venture into a place where love may dwell, and imagining where you belong, and where you fit there, and into exactly the moment, now.

Life Explodes

So you are just trundling along from week to week, and each day, is difficult to differentiate from the last one, and then suddenly Life Explodes!

Scotland

Scotland, you are the land of my birth, and I know that I love another country with more love, but please, please, take this opportunity to grasp freedom, and open your hearts to great posibilities, and your minds, to great wonders of happenings in the days ahead, trust the imagination, and trust the love of you country, and trust Scotland.

Hazel

Hazel and the leaving, and the wine, and the mention of it, and the wondering, is she? Does she? And I scurry back to the original position, and the pains of the day, and my back, and looking for some kind of improvement. And then thinking of tomorrow, and wondering if I should treat in the same way that I treated today, and colours of culture, facing onto me, and again wine, and sleek and kind and laughing. I walk away, and through the door of departure, wishing I could linger, and that this moment could too. And eyes, and the longing, and the ages, and the difference, and the odds, and reality, and this moment, in the now.

Ian K. Paisley

Playing to the gallery, with trumpetting roar, and vitriol, in younger years, where reason and justice hid, your own political party, and your own Calvanistic church, I believe Jean Cauvain, could well have been your closest friend. And there were those surprising stories of the same justice for all, with you, their member of parliament, and your daughter, well she called you a 'saint' and McGuinness, even called you a friend. I call you an enigma, complex and charming, away from the act. Ian K Paisley.

The Impossible Truth

Mixed metaphors, like the arrow, seeking its reward, on the target, and though the target remains still and in place, the effort continues, and eyes of smiling countenance, and hearts, crazy with the passion of the lust for understanding, and there is cracking in the wind, and the day, just like the arrow, searching for its reality, And the present time, refuses the clock, and dwells upon the truth of a moment in its present time. Exactitude, and the comfort of living, and the worth of the breath, and the sight of the eye, and the smell and the hearing, and the touch. And truth just doesn't exist here, and exactitude is therefor a joke, and bright vibrant colours confront, and they try to explain, but we all are too busy talking and painting, to look and to listen and to learn. In fact, it is comfortable for us to feel that we don't know when we are lost. So discernment isn't impressed, it has been scared away, and it casts a backward look, for the soul to speak to the soul, and then to begin to grasp, the truth outside of the impossible truth.

Tomorrow

And no matter how impressive that it appears to be, it is temporal and nothing more. Finity with borders and ending and nothing further on. Nothing here is worth getting too excited about, if you have a look at the great tomorrow. Now tomorrow, isn't that where the answers and conclusions are? A place removed from hopeless optimism, and dream, and wishing the greatest wish, for all of this to be real and true. Unless of course, you have been gifted with the greatest of insights. And now perhaps dream, suggests some more than the reality of the day, and perhaps, it isn't so much given to sleep, and perhaps, it could be life's greatest deception, and perhaps this other reality, is a greater reality in the face of futility within finity. And perhaps again, this finite reality is all that there is, in this place where are there no real answers, no conclusions, no knowing. And perhaps again the creators and the shapers are you and I. And perhaps once again, we are the God of our life, our world.

Mountain Madness

Mountain madness, and the call of the wild evening, in a song of decision, and the air around, cracking like a nut. Progression in the movement, in the nerve, and the now compliance of the walking calf. and sitting down at the Coombe, and contemplating the streets of the city of Dublin. And taking a certain past into the now, and allowing it to merge, and discovering that only death will allow merging with the recent death, if even? And love in a disguise of antipathy, enforcing a change in memory, and life remains still, through spirit, and the freedom to be, and be for another, of precious love and closeness. And of course the denial of some, lies to the truth, in a delusion, in an immature conclusion, in an innocent wrong. And yet no anger, no bitterness, but no love achieved, an attempt only of empathy, of care and understanding, and hoping and loving in this hope, that time will guide others to the same.