Moment Of Grace

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Picture: Albert Square by Steven Scholes

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Fresh is a deep breath,

Encompassing it all.

Here’s the sky, above high towers:

Concrete, metal, and glass;

Old marbles of white,

Red bricks piled-up tight,

Above which, persistent is the grass.

The clouds

And the blue behind them sing to me,

As the solitary maple tree,

Somehow still green.

Afternoon, winter:

Meek python-trams moving softly;

Victorian windows, echoes of Venice;

Medieval memories overshadowing the streets.

Only now, I really see your grace,

Manchester,

The beauty of form beyond form,

Of the dream beyond the dream.

Only now…

 

Is there any other moment anyway?

 

Herons

 

Scotland

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Picture: As The Edinburgh Rain Fell by Jeff Rowland

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Tears of gratitude,

Flow like waves through your cliffs,

Like your fresh torrent streams.

From afar, your songs come to me

In codes and radio waves.

I observe and allow

And let go of my grief.

Homesick of Lothian,

I accept this present moment,

Not the form, labeled by the mind,

But the immortal essence

Where everything mortal takes place.

Wherever the Universe

Leads this vehicle-body,

And its software-mind,

Nothing is ever really lost.

For I am the awareness that lies behind.

This you taught me,

Scotland.

 

Herons

Like A Drop Of Rain

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Picture: Reflections In The Rain by Urbis Manchester

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Like a drop of rain on my lips,

Cold fingertips

Touch the wind, as solid as sand,

Pouring through my hand.

Knowing the unknown

Through unspoken words,

Through unthought ideas,

Impossible to translate.

Give a smile today,

Just because you can.

You’re rich,

You own immeasurable wealth.

Your energy, your love:

The Life flowing through you.

Follow your passion,

Free from the chains of expectation.

You’re rich in freedom,

In the eternal present moment.

 

Herons

Dragons And Flowers

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Picture: Galaxy Dragon by Katherine Nutt

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In the city of toiling bees,

Dragons and flowers:

Enriqueta’s deputies

Of all beauty and powers.

Ryland’s widow erected a temple for knowledge.

Beyond the words of all books,

Through the windows’ bright ledge,

Up and down the columns, in all of its nooks,

A frequency is aligned

To what’s on the other side.

In the city of joining bees,

Dragons and flowers,

Like a pair of keys,

Unlock a secret that empowers

All those who understand,

And therefore transcend.

 

Herons

The Sun Is Out

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Picture: The Last Sun Beam by Leonid Afremov

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The sun is out,

Water in my mouth.

Everything moves and slides,

As do women in furs and hides.

Soundwaves approach,

Dangling and hissing;

Voices poach

The dead and missing.

Where am I?

Is it true or just experienced?

Who am I?

Is it this body or just the experience?

Container versus content.

I am the awareness, not the content

Of what we call life.

Look how we delude ourselves in strife,

Swept away by the cosmic game.

Let they call you insane,

If that means realization.

Cause You are Them, beyond separation.

The sun is out,

We’re just playing about.

 

Herons

 

At The Foot Of The Rock • Ai Piedi Della Rocca

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Picture: Edinburgh Castle Fireworks, New Year, Scotland by Andrew Peutherer

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You’ll find the original poem in Italian below the English translation.

 

At The Foot Of The Rock

 

City of pilgrimage,

Of clear illusions

Beyond which

The sea kicks, the stone screams, the leaves dance.

 

City of great beginnings without and end

Always a step beyond the boundary

Beyond which

Nothing exists.

 

I dissolve all judgment

I bravely throw myself off the ledge

Beyond which

Only rebirth,

And death nevermore.

 

Ai Piedi Della Rocca

 

Città di peregrinazioni,

Di nitide illusioni

Oltre le quali

Il mare scalcia, la roccia grida, le foglie danzano.

 

Città di grandi inizi senza fine

Sempre un passo oltre il confine

Oltre il quale

Nulla esiste.

 

Dissolvo il giudizio,

Mi getto ardito dal precipizio

Oltre il quale

Soltanto la rinascita,

E mai più morire.

 

Herons

 

 

 

Scarlet Cherry Tree

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Picture: Red Autumn Tree Of Life by Christine Bell

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Ablaze in the rain,

Burning cold

At the foothills of the stronghold,

No leaf sprouts in vain.

October showcases its trinkets,

While clouds of milk spread in the teacups.

Tree, standing in my mind, coming back in brackets,

Lively, dancing, delicate in the downs, light in the ups.

The gardens breathe through Me,

All labels are soaked and shredded in the rain,

There’s only space for Thee

Beyond the veil of pleasure and pain.

Teach me, oh, teach me,

The art of shifting seasons,

Transcending the small me,

In the language of the unspoken Reasons.

Ablaze in the rain,

Growing young and old,

Simultaneously unfold

Death, birth, and all things mundane.

The Source of creation is everywhere around you

And within

Each and every subatomic particle.

Surrender to Yourself.

 

Herons