Count Down

(source)

take my six hours, we’ll call it a day

I’d like to leap a different way

a quarter to keep for myself

a fraction of time that is mine

all just mine

borrowed time there on the shelf

I’d rise at first stroke

spend my two bits till I’m broke

a revolution, in minutes, all mine

no time to do aught but eat and clear up

is this how I’d spend that brief time

breakfast at twelve, elevenses at one

lunchtime I’d have about two

afternoon tea at the a.m. of three

and dinner at four, that would do

I’d supper at five, that would be a surprise

and at six I’d depart for the night

one hour to rest then up on my feet

to begin a new day, sleepless fright

but oh, what a waste, to be eating in haste

and spend all night washing up

I could do better if I saved time till later

some minutes to give it more thought

 

how about this for alternative bliss

save all my quarters for years

a decade or three, a whole week for free

to choose when I want with no fears

folk would be working, couldn’t accuse me of shirking

’cause I had my time in the bag

could swanny around with my feet off the ground

flying without the jet lag

I’d meet other folk who had theirs and we’d joke

about using up time of our own

frugally friends meeting now and again

who could buy several days without loan

right about now I’d have two weeks to spare

time saved for the chance to be anywhere

Leap Fortnight I’d call it and smile

I’ll be gone for a while, checking leap watch’s dial

standing time on its head way out there

 

‘Do you know what you’re going to do with it yet?’

I smile and check my leap watch again.

‘Two weeks! Wow! I spent mine on one.’

‘What did you do with yours?’

‘Lazed around, mainly. Got to the point I didn’t know which day it was let alone what time.’

‘Kinda the way I want mine to be. But I don’t want to waste it either.’

‘Have you made any plans at all?’

‘One or two…’

And I said nothing else. How to explain the different me that I would be with two weeks I’d saved for fifty-two years.

‘I’ve booked a flight…’

‘Ooh, where? Can you say?’

‘Somewhere where time stands still…well, slows down….’

‘But that can only be….’

‘Shh! No one else knows yet.’

‘I’ll miss you.’

‘No, you won’t. I’ll still be back in two of your weeks, with seconds to spare.’

Trust

Before the globe,

was there a flat map

of a flat world,

little matchstick people,

standing around,

afraid to fall off the edge?

Is it any less strange than

to think of us teetering,

stuck out at odd angles

from the sides

of a sphere,

like the flares from the sun,

each one

a gaseous wonder

breezing into air

and colouring

atmosphere?

Reaching toward the

Karman Line,

trusting in the lift

and velocity,

to take us higher

than gravity,

further,

outwards,

reaching always;

temporal

to terminal,

thinning into 

ionosphere,

inhaling negative 

and positive

charge.

I know I stand upright,

most days,

when I’m not flat on my back

or kneeling,

praying for

a world where

gaseous exchange is unequal

and trust,

as a commodity

in short supply,

is the only thing keeping us

sticking to the surface.

Prescient Travel

Second bash at a Shakespearean sonnet. I’ve found a new toy!

 

Dreamscapers coat my nightly fantasies,

Intruding into times and space by turns,

Eternal voyager in soul searches.

Where lie all mystic dreams when soul returns?

Fragments left in travel, exploration,

Discovered by another on that path.

Daytime forays minimal; frustration.

Where deposit freedom’s insurgent laugh?

Remembrances recur in new travail,

Exquisite recollections found before,

Excursions, cosmic passage, by and by

Cultivate creativeness sown in lore.

A sweeter buzz in honeyed dreamland’s hives;

Prescient future exposed, guiding lives.

Senseless

I never felt it coming;

Spectral form seeping through

And into,

Wisping and mingling

With my air.

Breathless seductions

Tasted,

Inhaled to mix with my blood;

Cells cleaving,

Time transfigured.

 

I never heard him leave.

He glided through the door

Soundlessly,

My sigh at his parting

Louder than

The soughing air

Around his form.

He melted into nothingness

But left with my heart.

I never saw it leaving.

 

I never sensed such silence;

Void without his voice,

No beat from a heart.

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.’

To The Moon And Back

Take me to the moon and back

But circle first around

Planetary orb in space

Where feet don’t touch the ground.

Gravitate miraculously

In floating, flighty station,

Falling endlessly through space,

Unperturbed elation.

Whisper softly, breathe no air,

Timeless travel, twain

Circumnavigate lunar globe

‘ere we part again.

Collision Course

dust from a million stars entrap the gaze, transfixed

steadfastly upon one  place,

encompassing all planetary observations, revealing some,

concealing expectations,

filtering through endless darkened night, untold

wonders sought but out of sight,

resolute and confident in power, dynamic space and time

disclose the hour,

collision course for bodies in the heavens, transferential

fusion certain.

Soul Rebirth

Flights of fancy flood imagination.

Other beings, other worlds creation.

Anticipation of these other parts

In minds and inter-galactic charts

Where maps reveal a stellar, cosmic plan,

An interlinking with the thoughts of man.

Spirits drifting in these other plains,

Watchfulness and interaction gains

Experience for all we see on earth.

A time for thinking new. A soul rebirth.

We Come

We don’t come to bring you down.

You do that to yourselves.

Travellers here from far-off lands,

Others follow,

There are plans

 

You’ll never know.

We won’t tell all

Till passing time reveals.

The nature of our purpose here

Travel, space conceals.

 

Treasures hidden in the stars

Voidal,

Vacuum, space.

No, we don’t come to bring you down.

You do that as a race.

 

We don’t settle once we come.

Ephemeral passing,

Little here to seek.

We, as voyeurs, write the heavens.

Chaos and cosmos speak.

 

We don’t bring censure,

Admonishment,

That’s not for us to try.

Mere observations for firmament’s

Unfolding, endless sky.