Old world wisdom

The wisdom of the people9 who live close to the earth and who live by the measure of the sun and the seasons chooses to speak with words in a particular order and of an order of gravity seldom if ever used by city dwellers of today.
What words they say and how they say them are surprising to us. They catch our attention with their disarming plain factual truths. The words they speak often shine a light on our everyday with a brightness that brings us directly back to our perceptions of the everyday and bathes the dull way we live and speak in a refreshing glow of solemn beauty.
Their vision is lucid, because their needs are met on paths of least resistance connected to their own survival. And their need to survive with honour and with dignity is something they express and celebrate without pride or vainglory.
They regard themselves as one group of beings among other kinds of beings, both animate and inanimate. For these peoples, it is self-evident that they live by the exact same laws of the sanctity of life as each of the other groups. They apply to themselves rules that life itself lays down and they do not regard them as either better or worse, but valid according to their patterns of need.
There are the nomadic people, the people in our cities who exist in the unseen margins, the subsistence communities, those groups who still live with minimal contact with the world of the twentieth century. All of these are people who preserve ways of seeing and saying which are remarkable for their lack of artifice, embellishment, overtones or undertones of meaning.
They speak words in harmonious combination, which I, a lifelong city dweller, recognise as expressions of a reality without distraction and interference, refined always with compassion, dignity and above all humility by the immediate imperatives of daily living.
And I willingly concede that in my daily life I have lost touch with much of their valuable experience. Whenever I’m privileged to hear their speech, I gratefully receive the clarity of expression, the innate wisdom, and the suddenly obvious commonsense in the logic of thought.

*To dust we return*

* To dust we return *
Not only are we not alone, but we are never alone. It takes one full stop, hurtling from off the end of an unregarded non-Earth sentence, to remind us.
We are inseparably conjoined to events far, very far, from our earthy self-interests. So keep good company. Befriend the stars, respect their gassy dusty origins. From dust we come…

 

 

 

 

A DAY AT A TIME } ¹

A DAY AT A TIME
Look out, clutter free, uncomplicated
with faith, hope and love
towards the Dawn.
See the sense of season,
Sleep naked of reason.
~ Love is present EveryNow

A DAY AT A TIME } ²

picture-21996507497212180846.jpg
Look out, clutter free, uncomplicated..
with faith, hope and love..
Allow each dawn its full draught of surprise
This moment of Sunrise is thunderous
in its completeness.
It contains no axmixture of sunrise past.
Here is no inkling of what tomorrow’s light will be.
I allow myself to be blinded by the Love that is present EveryNow

Sing, my heart, the ways of the green

Sing, my heart, the ways of the green
My body is full of the greenways I have trodden.
Step-step on my own, my own green years.
All in the bright airs of earth.
So, sing my heart, sing me green,
Sorrows melt by the hedgerow,
When I make gentle ask.
Rise liquid heart, swell me green.
Oh, choose me a path, a green path for me.
Bring me a swish of grasses at my feet.
Float me out immense panoramas of comforting green.
My heart knows the ways of the green.
And my heart knows the way is green

~ and Love is present EveryNow

Loss of the Drumbeat of life is but a delusion

“Loss of the Drumbeat of life” is but a delusion, a bewilderment caused by looking only at a drum beater and hearing no sound.
Humankind all too easily forgets to close the eyes and listen.
Listen to the Clock of Blood that transports life to our furthest smallest cells.
Our very cells call us to life!
Our heart hears the call.
Our breath answers the call.
We beat out the dance.

We are the dance.

Pick up the Drum and begin.
Over and over

A Guidance for Self-renewal.wav

In quiet Time and by yourself, you invite a gentle return to your own self. The gateway for you, in the guidance of these words, is your own hand. Come back to you. Let go. Remind yourself of and be refreshed by the magic that is to be found in the Space between you and your hand

Listen to the true story of the oak forest pool and the jealous goddess

♡ ☆ The Water Nymphs and the Goddess ☆ ♡

Photo – Ceregidion oak by Chris Adams

by peterodactyl on #SoundCloud

https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/W7qZq

A Spoken Lullaby by Peter Pilley .wav – SoundCloud

Listen to A Spoken Lullaby by Peter Pilley .wav by peterodactyl #np on #SoundCloud

Renewed gusto for renewed gusto

I live with renewed gusto for renewed gusto and this delicious state of affairs sputteringly became so in my teens.

My gratitude for this conscious gift lasted about fifty years. It transmuted into something more like a state of grace in 2013.
I begin my seventh decade very fast, in teeming rain, mouth wide open, tongue hanging out, grateful for every drop I taste.
I cultivate gratitude, acceptance and the sense that this delightful instant is sufficient, simply because it is no more and no less than itself.
It is entirely sufficient that I go on this journey of instantaneity.

I pray goodness and mercy follow me wherever I go. And wherever you may go, forever

¿Maniacal stirrings¿

¿Maniacal stirrings¿

My Father took me to Letchworth Printers when his monthly magazine, “The Linguist” was ‘put to bed’.
They were intriguing and noisy, these marvellous mechanical slaves. They responded to the keystrokes of the relaxed and jovial operators by producing the frantic sounds of a machine on the edge of complete disintegration.
The operators efficiently produced one single flat rectangular shiny leaden block of type, one line at a time. They spellchecked each one. They all had the ability to read mirror writing.
Incorporated on the right side of the clackety contraption was a cauldron of the molten stuff, heated electrically.
I saw heating elements light up the odd, toxic curl of vapour with a red glow.
The pauses between each line of type they produced allowed these chaps to relax and indulge my boyish enthusiasm.
Elsewhere on the shop floor, men let me jump into enormous bins filled with the thin paper strips produced by the powerful, razor sharp guillotines.
The men were expert at making out of the long offcuts that ultra speedy type of paper dart which resembles an arrow with an arrowhead.
The fact that I sport all of the extremities with which I was born is a thorough condemnation of the mountains of Health & Safety regulations which stultify modern industrial processes.
They let me take home samples of the lead type. I used to melt them in a stainless steel soup ladle over the kitchen gas stove. Then I’d fill the stainless steel sink with water, and I’d pour the metal into the water. Crazy shapes. A young boy with alchemical, nay, maniacal stirrings

Gossamer on gossamer

1534803042-picsay.pngMassive stones and great circles
I see these massive stones as witness to humankind’s universal awareness of powers larger than mere bodily existence.
They who arranged these monoliths expressed their desire to revere those mysteries of the spirit on the same scale as their huge longing for the eternity of the ordered cosmos and their certainty beyond question of their belonging.
Those people and their stories may be dust. But the quality of their impulse to demonstrate the scale of their perceived perspective of existence is no different to our own today.
Gossamer on gossamer
~ Love is present EveryNow

Wasted lives make no lasting impact by wasting life

terrorist dust✝️🕉️✡️☯️🔯☪️
Wasted lives make no lasting impact by wasting life…
We live in times where people steeped in the deepest ignorance reach up from unseen depths of misguided hopelessness.
Starting out with hearts like yours and mine, they are thwarted by lack of human recognition and they become stunted by ignorance and aimless self-loathing.
At times they burst into the open with deeds of destruction, like a pustulant cancre breaking.
I am just so sorry for the lives of so many innocents torn apart by fellow human acts of futile, pointless, random, cowardly blind ignorance.
A very few of these lost souls, the perpetrators of the bloodshed of innocents, will live to see how extremely irrelevant their deadly actions were.
And they will understand they were so lacking in all substance, they themselves become blown as dust into the oblivion of history.
~ Peter Pilley 20151124 20170322

Glorious mud

On one ramble near Hastings, I came upon a muddy slope. Overnight rains had recently stopped.

Such quadrophonic sounds of glug!

Such tonalities tones and semitones of

sucking

plucking

gargling drainage

all around my boots in this shallow valley space!

I shall always remember standing there alone and soaking up the way the rainwater mouthed and muttered its contented reunion with the muddy earth

~ see the sense of season

sleep naked of reason

“EveryNow is where rainbows get their colours!”

Picture-picsayDeeply engaged EveryNow
is a form of compassionate mindfulness
Love EveryNow
Peace EveryNow
Happy EveryNow
🌷 ~ 💫 ~ 🌷
 ~ shantih ~