Yoga does some weird stuff to my brain as well as to my body.

During relaxation tonight, on completion of the session, I lay on my mat and had the strangest sense of blowing a tiny bubble, like the kind you make from washing up liquid. It stayed close to my lips, as if attached, while I breathed and emptied my mind. I had the distinct feeling of the bubble growing larger, windows of the room reflected in pastels on its elastic surface until, with one last effortless puff, I entered the bubble, suspended in its own atmosphere, no gravity, like floating or flying. I was a tiny person inside this bubble. Me looking in at me. Very strange but incredibly soothing and peaceful. As awareness was brought back to the room I was gently delivered from the bubble which just vanished.

It sounds very ‘new-age’ or as if I was on something. But I’m too practical to be an old hippy and I wasn’t ‘on’ anything.

It was a pretty amazing place to be.

I felt wobbly after my delivery but the sense of it is still with me.

I wrote this as soon as I arrived home.

Barely parted pout to puff a tiny silent bubble shimmering invisibly so microscopic in its non-appearance just a touch of pink and palest blues reflected windows on its stretching skin slow expanding with each exhalation larger growing still attached at source as breaths fill deeper and begin the sinking into centre of a universe unseen elastic in its welcoming invitation to a deeper breath sufficient to expel the self into the globe now grown resumed the womb umbilically connected by a barely parted pout and puffs expanding to accomodate I’m inside out no pressure from lost gravity awaiting with each further in and out for bubble to returm my breath upon the rest and in completion then deliver me





( source)

Many times in

dewdrops’ globuled poise

impossibly balanced

on iridescent filaments

webs caught in shafts

in the rising

or setting of

sun-stained skyline

smearing qualitative 

palette in random streaks

into midnight blue’s depths

where fires lit higher

than my imaginings

stars calling attention

to glimpses of the glory

reflected love here

in every drop of blood

ever fallen to give life

in eyes awake

to first light

from chubby kisses

skin smoothed 

by loving hands

tender smiles 

bestowed unselfishly

from nature born

to nature birthed

I see perfection

taste it with my eyes

where wonder

never falters

at its constant


Birthing The Rainbow

carrying heavily in bulbous expectation,

bursting anticipation with less than

radiant imminence

and always overdue,

cumbersomely so,

the estimated time, just that,


sheltered cocoon cannot sustain

this burgeoning,

infant arms around the self,

energy consumed in pleading

waddled wakefulness,

then wait,

nothing to do

but wait,


light calls,

labours brief necessity



birthing the rainbow,

hues recognised

with familiar joy



Conception to Birth

Bounteous bosom,

Welcoming womb

A fruit beginning to grow.

Love that engenders,

Is thoughtful and tender

Gives the seed only one man can sow.

Patience enduring

Caresses so soothing

Chill water to temper the brow.

Gravity forcing,

Muscles contracting

See the child, see the here, see the now.