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

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

 

We Share The Essence

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Picture by Mark Webster

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Yellow rose

In her shifting pose,

Lulled by the wind,

I take that hint.

Into me, into you,

The cherry tree is bearing fruit.

If reality’s a mirror,

I see stillness.

In my aching limbs,

Beyond my pride,

I surrender to the Flow,

For I am the Flow,

And I share the essence of the yellow rose.

 

Herons

Wind-crossed

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Picture by Vincent Van Gogh

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I give it up to the power of the Unknown

I give up to the wind as it caresses my skin

Carrying the simplicity of a Chinese girl down the street

Carrying food for her beloved ones;

I embody the strength of all simple things

I embody the spaciousness of the heavens meeting hills of green.

Let us be light,

Let us be light as feathers of laughter during small talk

Let us be dark,

Let us be dark and heavy as anger erupting from the depths

My breath is one with the wind, for my heart is wind-crossed.

 

Herons