Sensed

moth-to-a-flame

(source)

Recognised by footfall on the stairway
A sneeze, a cough, a laugh, all known so well
Out of sight and yet still seen in mind’s eye
Who is there, the sounds alone may tell

Identified at distance by an outline
A shape, a shrug, a slouch, a gait, or more
Virtually unseen and yet acknowledged
As one encountered often times before

Scent upon the wind that clings in mem’ries
A perfume, fragrant grass, tanged forest spice
Faint souvenirs long gone and yet they linger
Bouquets recalled, recaptured, that entice

 A citrus thought reclining in a heatwave
Taste buds triggered, juiced by orange skin
A salivated riposte to stored mind grove
Yet dimpled drouth is merely quenched within

A blindfold quest exploring tactile secrets
Silk, satin, fur, evocative to touch
Discovery in tangible and tested
Speculated thrill in knowing such

A jolt from sleep, a voice within a dreamscape
A shrilling phone that stimulates unease
Clouded signs and signals looped in memos
Disquietude in gut that’s unappeased

A fiery flame, a finger, the temptation
What is known and what’s been felt or learned
A myriad of means and useful methods
Why then, with common sense, are hands still burned

Pleading The 5th

 If you chance upon a bonfire in your travels

as you go

Would you ask the guy upon it some things

folk would like to know

Has perspective from his vantage

changed his mind one bit

Or does view above the gallows

convince him right of it

Was it treason, treachery or a fight

for freedom bid

Would he try again to be shot of them,

politicians, all well rid

Were voices raised in passion but denied

a listening ear

Did he do it with a brave heart or a soul

choke-filled with fear

Did desperation drive him and does he think

we’ve learned a thing

About method and its madness, the results

some actions bring

Would they better listen now to the cries

of human rights

Or is power the same oppressor

the same old history to fight

Was it carelessness or vengeance that denied

his V for victory

Were there moments he regretted when

admitted he his plea

Was he guilty of the horror of a terrorist

home-grown

Was there quite no other way to go, all other options,

had they flown

Does he take November note of fireworks

and blast them all to hell

Was he demon, daring hero or a

roguish ne’erdowell

In your travels, if you see him, would you

ask the guy on fire

If the pyre is worth the burning, would he,

yet again, conspire

While they lift his carcass high to brilliant

colours in the sky

If you see him as you’re passing would you ask him

if again he’d try

Was persecution, bigotry

rife on both the sides

And does he see more clearly from on high, please

ask him to confide

If no answer is forthcoming from that effigy

they lift

Tell him hindsight colours history and let him

plead the fifth.

Crystal Visions

He had the look of sailor

Bushy trim, inbled ink

Lips to liquid elegance

Gave me cause to think

I saw his soul


People passed in passing

As they passed and passed on by

I was caught from passing

By reflections in his eye

I saw his soul


In vino told his verity

Crystal goblet crimson stained

Identity invisible

Absent but for pain

I saw his soul


He mused of distant lands, he spoke

Of places he had been

Of service, home, his children

And a wife he’d hardly seen

I saw his soul


He told of losing hope and faith

Of wishing death’s release

Of deepest well he’d ever known

Of falling to his knees

I saw his soul


I asked him frankest questions

And he did not balk from truth

He analysed and after thought

Depicted foolish youth

I saw his soul


He did not ask, I never said

His wine was eloquent

I lived a little of his life’s

Redemptive glass, a gent,

I saw his soul


He gave me food for future

In the telling of his tale

I gave him gloves and scarf, a coin

And wished him fair thee well

I saw it all

Advisory Reminder

Honeybee_landing_on_milkthistle02

(source)

Remind me 

not to give

too much

It hurts

like hell and back

Remind me

to remember

what’s enough

Remind me

to keep

parts hidden

hid

not to over share

Remind me

to hold myself 

closer than I’m held

by those who take 

without a thought

to consequence

who leech 

the heart of

giving graciously

Remind me that hurting

hurts

And I’ll try to remember that

when next I’m asked

for asking’s sake

Remind me

else I always forget

as every giving fool

My advice to her and self

Remember to swat some b’s

before they land

or sting

Distant Voices

Almost there now

In the unbegotten,

A time or two

Should see to history,

Nearly over

Voices vague, forgotten,

 A spell or two,

Absent magic, invisibility.

Lessons learned there,

Uncertainly remembered,

Mistakes repeat,

Repeat, repeat, forget,

Hold the moments,

Abstinence to treasure,

Voices distant

Not quite unforgotten yet.

Dream Works

Elsa huggled in close,

arms around me,

unable to see my face and tears

as Princess Fiona found true love again.

My own princess Anna turned at a sniffle and asked,

‘Are you crying at Shrek?’

Disbelief evident in her tone and on her face.

How to explain to the blue sateen and gauze beside me

That fabric is deceiving,

That beauty is as beauty does

And that surface is only that.

A lesson repeated for the umpteenth time.

Always worth repeating.

Shrek’s one of the good guys.

A prince among men.

I’m glad dreams work in reality.

And that some princesses are taught to know the difference.

Remember

Driving on a highway where the sun shines,

Shadowed by the ghosts that haunt the light,

Veering left and right and ever onwards,

Watchful still, in rearview, that gives sight.

Stopping when in need of nourish’d succour,

Spying travell’rs haunted in the wayside posts,

Rushing to replenish, journey forward,

Avoiding spectres but communing with the ghosts.

Fleet of flight they keep apace with ease when,

Surging foot depresses on the gas,

Never overtaking but still present,

The ghosts of all the futures from the past,

Chiding gently, always so persistent, 

‘Remember all’, they call and follow on,

Repeating on the wind and on the highway,

Dead but don’t forget, their poignant song.

Quirinus

Go quietly now,

rest

on ancient hill,

oaken spear

by side,

duality still.

 

Go gently now,

God and man

divine,

temple to

empire,

fruits of Sabine.

 

Go wisely now,

from state

to ruin,

once seven hills

from lupine

bloomed.

 

Seek counsel now,

imperious

oblations,

no mastery,

twinned stars

guide nations.

 

Go bravely now,

new knowledge

understand,

with hope we sow

wonders from

godly hands.

Give Over, Woman. That’s Mince. Or Not?

There is no knowing on the soul’s flight exactly where you’ll end up. Just because your soul seeks something, an answer, doesn’t mean that it will direct itself to the correct place. Mainly because other souls are doing the same thing. And they may miss each other, like ships passing in the night or one firework zipping into the sky while another is already in full bloom elsewhere.

The great thing is, though, with souls that a momentary lapse in judgement or direction can be corrected and redirected without waiting days and weeks or years. With its ability to hop through space and time, it manages to keep up with more news and happenings than its counterpart, the mind, can do in everyday life.

Like astral GPS of a higher standard, soul may move and flit from time to time in past, present and future. Glimpses of life lived and still to be lived on earth can etch themselves on spirit, embed into the core and be filed on return to the body.

When I say return I do not, of course, mean that the soul has left the body to lie dead in the world. Rather it has unravelled the umbilical cord that keeps it so attached to the human and exerted its right to travel but still to return.

In endless hours of sleeping while body rests and mind grasps the realities of day, creating wondrous images, soul vacates and explores, transmitting messages through the umbilical connection while mind incorporates such visions into dreams and weaves a tapestry of seen and yet to see, of been and still to be.

Soul exists apart from body, simply encased for the duration of one lifetime but always and ever present and alive to soul self.

One lifetime on physical, planetary plain could never really be enough to learn all we need to know, to understand in order to one day rejoin the communion of souls. By the essence of spirit and the journeys they are capable of, greater enlightenment may dawn in the everyday existence in more fuller measure than would otherwise be possible.

Those moments glimpsed by soul in time and space and recollected in odd waking human moments are what, I believe, deja vue to be. Already seen, yes, but not by human eyes in another lifetime. But by soul’s illuminated vision as it flits through dimensions unknown to us. Life glimpsed and lodged in subconscious until the moment arises and we may say, ‘I’ve been here before.’

I find this a great comfort in life to know that I have arrived at a time that my soul visited. Like I’m on the right path of my journey. Or one of the many right paths.

In parallel plains of time running concurrently it may be there are many lives being lived by self, each one born and directed of different choices taken in time. Past, present and future creating a gigantic loop, concentric circles connected by radii that make all lives possible.

The visual image above may be, in astral reality, an all-encompassing universe, the radii being worm holes that allow soul’s journey in and out through time and space. No need for soul to don travel gear. Simply extend the cord, ensure attachment and soar freely into other worlds of reality.

For many years now, at least 20, I have been haunted by the idea of this outline as an explanation for so much. My explanation. And, quite possibly, off the wall when it comes to ‘real life’. But it fascinates me as an idea and as a possible/probable reality in the spiritual field.

Light, photonic elements, become part of the all and a rejoining of light to light explains to me what heaven may be. Some sense of spiritual communion with the source of all light in a non-physical, analytical way. Merely a connectedness of all in spirit and light.

Is this a possible book? It’s an outline. Every time I try to work on it I get lost in the permutations and my mind goes in and out and sideways. I would read a book like this. I’m just not sure anyone else would. Unless they were allowed to remove their strait jacket to turn the pages. Lol. My husband has just informed me that he wouldn’t.’ Get to the point, woman,’ is really his way.

I’ve come at this from various angles over the years. Then stop. I just can’t seem to grasp the right approach to it. But I can’t let it go. Help!

My opening line remains the same every time.

‘Rachel travelled through the night, destination always unknown.’