Planning For Change

(source)

Poised and pointed skywards

Long time standing

Alive within the earth’s

Nourishment

Numbered with the angels’

Intervention

Gods join in

For actions with intent

Open to the seasons’

Rising meanings

Calling on the strength of

Heaven lent

Answers on the winds’

Nearest companions

Grateful for the 

Energy that’s sent

 

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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

 

Harlequin

Are poems that come with a tune a song? Another post-yoga ‘song’. The first few lines came after last week’s yoga session, the rest after tonight’s. That might explain the mixed metaphors. That and children’s stories. And clowns. I hate clowns. But I have a soft spot for the Pied-Piper and Harlequin just muscled his way in. Yoga’s fault. Strange positions lead to strange thoughts it seems. 🙂

He once led the heart of she, trailed her through eternity

With words that never tumbled from his lips,

The tune he played said more than they,

No black and white upon the page

But notes so sweet that led her eager steps.

Pipes he played were soft and low, soothing to her very soul

As on she followed, she his Columbine,

Round and round to sweetest sound, he played, she danced,

The world spun round, mixed

Coat of many colours, both looked fine.

Mountains grew, they opened wide,

Like those children, stepped inside,

Disappeared from trace without a fight,

The tune plays on though song now gone,

Harlequin, pied-piper, played just right.

His the song that’s never sung,

Silent, voiceless, faceless one,

Words unneeded while his tune plays on,

Tune he calls from distant, far, beat of drums, an air guitar,

Enchantment in the notes all played so strong,

Whistled now or hummed in time, madrigals unsung at passing fair,

Rivers wide or mountainside, lovers’ notes are lost inside,

Pied- piper, Harlequin, played haunting air.

He once led the heart of she, trailed her through eternity,

Lost his voice before his tune was sung,

She hums in time, he’s lost inside, all forgotten but for pride

And pipes that play out all sad lovers’ songs.

 

Earthed

There was a meditation waiting there this evening

Like a calling to my inner, jaded soul,

A quiet time, a silent time, no thunder,

Unplugged moments, vested in the whole.

There was a blissful time awaiting when I got there,

After exercise, manipulations, poise,

There was a special room with mats and scented candle,

Aromatic with defeated noise.

There was a benediction bathing while I moved there,

Mere murmurs in my mind, released, slowed time,

Baptism of my body, with deep breathing,

Mind, spirit, earthed again, fine-tuned and realigned.

Living Song

I seem to be in musical mode. This is the second ‘song’ I’ve written since after last night’s yoga class – and not for the first time after yoga. What’s that about? The other one’s a fair bit longer so I’ll save you from that – for the moment! I’m not even sure this one’s finished but I’m hitting publish anyway. While singing. 🙂

What picks me up

When I fall down,

What keeps me going on,

What urges me

In ailing days,

What keeps me fighting strong

Are all the ways

You look at me,

Your face, how it beguiles,

The hopes and dreams

I harbour dear,

Life in all its styles.

What brings me back

When life is tough,

What raises spirits high,

What pulls me through

Adversity,

Many answers why,

But, most of all,

It’s hope, my dear,

Hope and struggling on,

Hope in you

And love all true,

Hope’s my living song.

What fires my flame

In all but name,

What burns behind my smile

Is hope that lives

Eternally,

Keeps me going for miles.

What hope I have

All rests in you,

In love and give and take,

My living song,

The whole day long,

Is hope for its own sake.