Old world wisdom

The wisdom of the people 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…





Reflection on a drop of dew!

[Photo: Magic Vial Charm – Deep Forest]

There be sadness. Yes. True.

Inside a tiny crystal bottle,
no larger than a wish in solitude,
sits an antidote, a cure-all, an elixir!
Can you see the lights that seem to shine inside?
Like the blackest night sky,
whose stars are contained
in the reflection on the surface of a drop of dew?
No dream, but purest imagined interstellar rocket fuel!
All you do is remove the stopper
from your sacred phial!
Tremble to taste!
Take a deep long draught.
Take a long deep draught of “Love to Live”, by EveryNow
~ Love is present EveryNow


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

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

Heart in the discourse of one heart to another…

In the discourse of one heart to another, the only frame of reference is heart itself.
I write to my beloved and respected Shamanic Healer. These are my own thoughts about the way truth can sit easily on the tongue-tips of the pure in heart.
There is nothing new about my understanding.
The new that you present me with is that I am not on my own. You show me a bridge in plain sight. You say approach on the bridge. You say I am to speak as an equal with whomsoever I choose to meet.
Furthermore, you say it is of no consequence in what time frame I hold my conversation. I can go to meet the heart of the me I called myself at any stage at all of my Journey, and I can forgive, give blessed welcome, and make peace.
And that is what I have done.
At first I was like a wild animal who would not be encouraged to venture out onto the thinnest ice. Then I saw there is nothing lurking under the ice, because there is no ice. There is no reason for fear.
And so, self-consciously, timidly, I took those first steps towards myself. I looked into the eyes of myself and held out my hand. Then we hugged in the forgiveness of reconciliation. Peace filled the air around us!
Today, I can still recall the wonder and the sweetness of that first renewed encounter.
It is therefore simple to extrapolate that, with a courageous heart, I can hold close and real live conversations with any soul, without regard for the time, present, past or even future in which they are living.
Furthermore again, these things become matters of fact, and the hidden worlds within worlds are no longer hidden at all to me.
The key to accepting the wider worldviews is that I have gifted to myself the faith to see that time can be removed.
Time in relation to the matters of the heart does not exist. Or to be more accurate, there is no framework layer of time to refer to in the glow of love and peace which is heart’s.
This means in practical terms that the intuition I have that I am free to pick and choose any positive thought in the vaster universe which contains me is a freedom that applies to me.
All this has come rather suddenly and without the bother that comes from the usual dust kicked up by a sceptical mind.
Here now are clear bridges to conversing with life in all other dimensions.
Nothing has changed. Nothing is new. All that has happened is that I see now.
~ ~ ~
Looking behind I am filled with gratitude
Looking forward I am filled with vision
Looking upwards I am filled with strength
Looking within I discover peace.
Apache prayer
~ ~ ~
In the discourse of one heart to another, the only frame of reference is heart itself.
Heart is an expression of the compassion which that heart’s Journey has brought into the realm of reality.
Heart belongs to all time, because heart has left behind the weight of pain and anguish out of which it gained its existence.
Heart exists as ever burning flames of truth and compassion in a place where safety is the only necessity and the only certainty.
The ever brilliant flames of Heart’s Love sustain me, and the flames consume nothing!
In this place is the place where I am welcome, always.
From this place is the place where my Journey begins, always.
My Journey begins with my every breath.
The seed of my breathing is initiated from the very centre of this place.
This place is safe because the breath of life keeps the flames brightly burning.
I journey in and and out of every breath. I have nothing other than my breathing to satisfy my need to be thankful for the visions of you on my Journey.
I am whole because my breathing is circular.
You, Soulfriend, are the animate embodiment of the joys we share as we go.
Let us go, always, in Love’s presence EveryNow

Life lived lovingly in multiple frames of awareness is tough


Life lived lovingly in multiple frames of reference all at the same time is a tough proposition, yes.
But this way of awakened being is hard only if I analyse what to do or say next on-the-fly, off-the-cuff, improvising like in some fast competitive ball game.
Before I drive a car, I create a white-hot awareness of the devastating consequences of my driving without due preparation and care. This helps me mitigate that “toughness”.
I used to cycle commute to central London 12 miles each way. I am alive now, because on every journey I chose to ride metre by metre relentlessly ultra-alert and aware of all possible circumstances which could result in my own injury or death.
My frame of reference in relation to a personal interraction or to my passive witness of it, can become less of a random pinball game, if I take time to choose to populate my mind with hypothetical scenarios and use them to test my moral or ethical ground.
I have been chosing for many years to use words with positive areas of meaning, and I try to use non-dualistic descriptors. I cultivate the habit of experiencing the effect on others of my words before I use them, by virtue of having already rehearsed the conversation with myself in that way.
Steady formation of these habits of empathy eventually broaden these frames of reference.
Is it not a waste of time to have stayed alive for so very many years by crossing the road with all due caution, if I cannot use my experience to walk side by side with others in safety, peace and compassion on their journey?
~ Love is present EveryNow

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