In The Cloisters

One of my nieces graduated yesterday from Glasgow University, a beautiful young woman now independent from the hallowed halls of a structure of sublime architecture. My camera phone does not do the cloisters justice but I hope my words may. There were tears of pride and happiness as the 100 or so new graduates from the Veterinary School took their Hippocratic Oath and tears of familial love as the sworn-in veterinarians applauded their family and those who had guided their path for their five years of study. It was very moving. I slept for 10 hours straight when I came home!

 

The cloisters

 

Under shelter’d walkway ’round the courtyard of my soul,

In custom-built protection I may stroll

Some time or two, meandering in seclusion,

In contemplating fragments of the whole.

 

Colonnades supporting covered arches, portico to all that lies beyond,

Finger’d thoughts meander deftly, softly, touching swaying ferns and synapse’d fronds,

Face uplifted to the filter’d breezes,

Spirit sails on sun-streaked golden pond.

 

Arcade where columns peak to vaulted vantage, background buzz of bees and dulcet drone,

Nestled hemisphere of hermit’s haven, causes sought beneath a hallow’d dome

Where intersections advocate for essence,

Intercede and plead my way back home.

 

In teardrops’ rain a moment of calm capture, the briefest sort of pleasant reverie,

Infused prayer, exhaled from central solstice, length of one, eternal brevity,

Whose hush of rapid rapture leaves me breathless,

Gasping for source-poured liquidity.

 

In quiet cloisters fit for pensive purpose, open galleries portray their ancient frames,

Past and present catch up to the future, in cathedral’s mind where echoes may be tamed,

Till tumult teems again ‘mid errant pedestrian,

But solace sought in silent space still reigns.

 

Rebecca’s graduation coincided with her dad’s – my brother –  34 years ago and the Independence Day celebrated by Americans everywhere. I hope your day of gratitude for liberation was as special as that of my niece’s. I hope your future shines from cloistered thought.

Faith In One Feather

Once, feather requested

for token belief,

his faith so diminished by

Life’s common thief.

His symbol of grace,

renewed by the milk of

liquid enchantment, formed

creamy white silk,

wrapped now in thoughts

that all may be well,

imagined, held clearly till

cause-effect weaves its spell

of tropical bounty

toughened by strife,

sweetened by truth of

renewable life,

where possible visions

enact in the mind,

tacit compliance

till treasure he finds.

Labyrinth

In and around,

thoughts confound,

wandering, wending maze.

Monstrous deal,

high walls conceal,

entangle, capture, faze.

 

Unerring trap,

threadlike map,

alternate paths and ways.

Portents pending,

search unending,

pursuit of better days.

 

One to care,

secrets share,

mindful notions raise,

Gambles taken,

love forsaken,

chips upon the baize.

 

Restless sighs,

subjective lies,

focus, centre, gaze.

Concentrate,

permutate,

consider what heart says.

 

Labyrinth,

graven plinth,

hero rescues, flays

mindless foe,

new route to go,

meditate new phase.

Hunted

fakir flaunts his power and releases

demons, drawing to souls where light has dwelt.

pleas of mercy, screams, no one appeases.

compassion none, despite the souls who knelt.

victims all to stalker on his prowling,

no hiding place, no basement refuge near.

cerebral pain, nerves to jangle, howling,

bitten wounds on worm’d flesh assault appear.

hunted down, unmasked, a scented quarry,

conceptual hounds bay their callous cries.

nowhere on earth prey may pray or worry;

supplication sought, revealed sordid lies.

medicinal, no sugar coated pill,

mouth, ears, eyes now wide open; hunted still.

How To Undress A Woman

Now Brenda seems to think I’m saucy. Even when I’m not trying to be. Bloody hell, that was just a wee innocent post.  But it did get me thinking about saucy. 😉

 

How to undress a woman,

Well, I know there’s more than a few,

But for the purposes of clarification,

I’ll list my favourite two.

 

Begin first of all with your mind and your eyes,

Envision the beauty you’ll see,

Let shimmer of desire spark radiant fire,

She’ll recognise and want to be free.

 

Now, slowly, uncover each portion of flesh,

Kissing each part as revealed,

Tenderly nibbling on morsels delightful,

Till nothing more is concealed.

 

Or, hold hands to her head and kiss deeply,

Eyes firing with darkest emotion,

Then, quickly, with no hesitation,

Let four hands resist all slow motion.

 

One is smouldering passion,

With thoughts swimming round in your head,

The other is urgent, needs no commanding,

Doesn’t need even a bed!

 

How to undress a woman,

Many the answers there be.

But either of the two depicted

Work wonders for little ole me!

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.’

Mindfuckery

You know the type.

Manipulative.

Loves to screw your brain.

Messes your mind any way they can find,

Is hurtful and cruel.

Then does it all over again.

 

It might be an ex or a current,

It could be a female

Or male,

It should be someone

You best, or ignore,

Then their mindfuck might fail.

 

It could be a boss

Or a neighbour,

A colleague who won’t give you rest.

Or kids in the ‘hood

Who just won’t be good.

Think what to do for the best.

 

It could be someone in your family

With an ex

Who’s really a prat.

Help make them see that his dick’s really wee,

Then you can both

Laugh about that.

 

It could be a friend

Who’s no friend at all,

Delights in bringing you down,

Dump them.

No one needs that crap,

A ‘friend’ who makes you feel like a clown.

 

Whoever they are

Remember your mind

Is yours, not a fairground pot luck.

Demand they desist,

Ignore if you wish

Or tell them you’re having no truck…

 

Ah, you thought that last line

Just had to rhyme

With ‘luck’ and a word I’ve used before.

Ok, then, we’ll say it again.

No mindfucking here.

Close that door.

 

My banter is intended as humour

But the message is one

To heed.

No one, not any, known past or in present,

Has the right to

Mess with your heid!

 

It could be someone

Whose words are no fun

Or actions are designed to convey

Ridicule, stress

Sadistic duress.

Don’t engage then they cannot play.

 

It might be yourself

Who’s the culprit,

Battering away at your brain.

Ego destroyed,

Validity void

Stop it! Don’t do it again.

 

A flower with filaments tender,

Seeking to bloom

Where it can,

Nurture your mind,

Stuff others who find

Pleasure in ruining elan.

 

Give what is due

But whatever you do,

Keep your mind well intact.

Those who insist

On taking the piss

Should know a couple of facts.

 

Spirit of self is a wonder

Shared,

A blessing two-fold,

But fucked with for fun

Is just not on.

Resist, persist, be bold.

 

It could be the politicians

Obvious I know,

That’s their art,

Assisted by media

And spin ,they begin

To screw your head and your heart.

 

Don’t fuck with my mind, you moron!

My head is my own!

Try that cheer.

Say it again till they believe it.

And then

Say it again, so you hear.

Video reading Mindfuckery

Unbidden

I forget sometimes.

Where I’ve put what,

Why I’m here in this room.

I go back out to where I began,

Remember.

Then I resume

 

To get on with what’s what,

Make a list of whatnot,

Take it with me so I won’t forget

To buy what is needed

For life to go on,

Still something will be missing, you bet.

 

I’ll try to recall

Why something is irking,

Just what I’ve forgotten to do,

Then thoughts will return,

I’ll be back in this room

And remember all about you.

 

Some things I forget,

The ordinary of life,

Minutiae, out of my mind.

Sublimate others, try to forget,

Resolve not to list,

Some peace so to find.

 

Ageing, my dear,

Is that what this is,

A memory all too long past?

Or does time play tricks on

What felt so real

But never was destined to last?

 

A scary confusion,

Life battered,

Illusion,

Dimly lit

Portraits of prior,

Acknowledged

In memories,

Never forgotten,

Resurface unbidden,

Conspire

To addle the brain

Live history again,

Rejuggle the words,

Recognise the absurd,

Fantasies gleaned from before.

Yesterday’s days

Should remain just a haze,

A myth, merely folklore.

 

Forgetting’s an art

Not an accident, no,

A deliberate longing for peace.

To recall unwittingly

Is torment for sure,

Destined to know no surcease.

 

So lists all in hand,

We jot what we need

To enjoy the now, day to day.

Rip up the old,

Discard what is gone,

Smile and go on, come what may.

Renewal

Fevered brow needs cooling calm.

Cold compress cures the curse,

Gentleness and soothing unction, on

Malaise, helps to nurse.

 

Tranquil tunes in tender tempo,

Pianissimo,

Repose in peaceful pleasured points,

Slumber you may know.

 

A restful sleep of purest bliss,

All sound a healing balm,

Soft hands to ease, know surcease,

Negating all mind’s harm.

 

Mild ecstasy in blessedness,

Relief from all life’s woe,

Simply salved by solicitude,

Everyone must know

 

A humbler sort of paradise,

A sweeter song of praise,

That life renews and lives again

Each dawn of all new days.