What do I write, where do I begin… an ocean of rich awareness. One thought, one memory, one tale leads to another, and another, and very soon it’s an unstoppable gush of consciousness, feeling, sensation, meaning, significance and grace, which is beyond the capacity of words or speech to convey, a very frustrating condition no doubt, but to retain one’s calm in the face of this flood of awareness one must dwell in silence, in the void beyond thought and memory, pregnant with pure awareness.
But the blue-throat must sing.
Here's something I wrote in 1997, when I dwelt in poesia.
Beyond the maze of archaeological and scientific mystery:
Unifying mythology and microbiology.
Reading invisible maps and signposts of endeavours, journeys and migrations -
Through medium, geography and temperament,
Culture and climate -
Of the timeless spirit of quest, reunion, and well-being.
The silent semaphore calls and responding notes
Of twilight communication,
Between sect and school, through history and thought.
The gentle songs of children’s sweet-throated homage to heroes departed.
Battlegrounds of the spirit heaped with the corpses of still-born faith
Piled upon humanity’s heritage of ignorance, forgetting and betrayal.
Understanding prophecies and discerning their fulfilment.
Beholding congresses and outpourings of joint celebration and mutual resolve
In amphitheatres of time, space and consciousness.
Museums of creation,
For the journey to the sacred and the divine.
Observing rituals, exemplars of absolution.
Intuiting astounding designs of trans-historical projects
To cultivate the garden of earth.
Speech, like thread through a garland of buds
Laid in prayer to the nameless one.
Revering the train of silent saints,
Heartening the children:
“Don’t forget little ones, don’t forget to walk with me,
Millennia’s suffering did I turn, for you only.”
(Painting: Voyage Beyond Time, by Marianna Rydvald)