Climate Change

She in the Ice-House, heart in a sling, mouth like desire, touch like the wind, sending me fire, playing my strings, giving her all to me, shedding her wings. Breathing her life to me, making me sing, her eyes burn me with their magical sting, the time has no gauge, the moment no mind, the place is unknown and the world is behind. Dancing her way into me, keeping in time, sharing her rythmm with this rythmm of mine. Angry for love, drawing no lines, loving her loving with this loving of mine.

She flies in the nighttime, long hair flowing, the gown of indeterminate shape and style. Her eyes are for no-one, she is alone with herself, her very breath is beauty, and her song is of desire fulfilled. There are wide open spaces upon which she dances her dance to an unheard melody, within a lovers' trance. She rests beside a rock and closes her eyes to dream. She focuses on the feeling that is inside of her. It speaks to her of understanding outwith her simple understanding, knowledge outside of her knowledge, truth outsisde of her truth. She will return to the Ice-House no more, she will go where she is taken, by the feeling inside of her. Love will determine the future.

Love will determine the future.

The Gift of the Gift

A gift to the outcast which he must recognise and acknowledge with honesty and selflessness, and gift back to where it came from. The gift cannot be from within and he must decide for himself from whom the presentation is from. A gift from within love and caring. An implantation freom a higher power, and the greater the soul of the gift, the greater the quality of it, then the greater the gift of the gift.

Real Life

Real life is in my eyes. There is no cowardice, no fear and no strangeness. If I believe that people are imperfect, then how could I love someone? I then could love only with an imperfect love. Could this be a part of the cowardice or the fear that I see is not in real life? Real life is living without a clock, without having to rush to another place, away from the place that I already am in. There is no drug to take its place, and it's not somewhere you can find in drunkeness. It is right there in the truth of the heart in the honesty of the eyes and the feeling of the touch. Real life is alone and has no companion, it gives its reward commensurate with the quality of your truth.

Life 'as it Happens' on Facebook

Documenting Life as it Happens on Facebook. I'm beginning to wonder about this commentating on ourselves. Seems so Un-Buddhist somehow

At One With the Silence

I looked out of my window, the birds were feasting on my bread, and the Spring was in action. Little sound was in the air and the immediate world was one of calm and loving natuere. I looked at the repetition of my thoughts and wondered why. It seems that some things can never be left behind, that they have no past, or they dwell in a lengthy presence. I wonder what makes these 'some things' so different, so enduring and what makes them seem to possess a different quality of life. The gloves are off and I am at one with the silence.

Easter 1916

Rembering Connolly and Pearse and McDermott and Plunkett and Clarke and Ceannt and McDonagh and Easter 1916. Spent a poignant moment outside the GPO reading the note on a wreath that read: 'For Those Who Died in Vain, for our Freedom, Now Lost.' I thought of the tens of thousands of people now living in this city and calling it home who were oblivious to its past, and I thought of betrayal, but I also thought of hope and of change and how, well, that was nearly a hundred years ago now, and I also thought if the Union flag was still flying above the GPO in 2010 would things be much different by the sacrifice of these brave men.

Drunken Dreams

Drunken dreams make me suspicious of me, and I wake up into the day trying not to deny myself, I walk out in the open hoping that the truth will guide me and I can operate as the one I was before and the one that I am most used to.

Unity

The day is full of the nighttime and the nighttime is full of the light. The night and the day have no distinction. One looks with the eyes of the other and blushes. There is suggestion of eternity, but eternity hides its head behind the curtain. The Two of Cups and The Emperor and The Empress question themselves and one another, until they each arrive at the understanding that they each must give themselves to unity. Diversity goes to sleep. A shared breath gives life to this little world within the world.

Refusing the Past

Walking into my head, she remains the same, even though she swears to have added weight. The cornucopia she sends to me, the question mark she blows to me, her hair, those eyes, the darkness of them and the spirit. The writing is on the wall, but I needn't read it, she is outside of my care, my memory will take care of me. There was flying in the air a brief conversation with an Asian, she was headed for the north but the vixen was got the details wrong, and the sugar gave her fat and sweetness. The night was restless, it wouldn't let me sleep, like it had more important things to give to me. I questioned how this could be so, I awoke more tired that I had been when i had retired, and i had retired very early.

The Difference in Dream

The Psychic and the psychical dream. The subliminal and the semi-conscious it seems. What can be 'known' and what must remain its mystery, except perhaps, unto the soul

Look Into my Eyes, Life

Look into my eyes life. Tell me what it is that is going on with you? Have you no conscience at all? and are you working on delusion? Remember when I promised to be true to you and obey your very wishes? Well, it seems that there was confusion in the air at the time, there was a kind of sleep and sleep is no beholder of time, and I wonder if time really is a beholder of Life.