“Today is a long time ago”

“Today is a long time ago”

My friend Bryan Alkins said on Friday 2nd October 2015 – “The past is the past! How far in the past doesn’t matter. Live in the moment. 🙏”

If I occasionally believe I am dangerously far divorced from “normality” because all that matters is what’s going on now, I will beg my pardon and defer to the moment.

I have long held the view (for near on forty years) that those who disavow the mystical and say there is no thing beyond the material and the provable, are trapped in a bubble of mystic magic divinity which knows and loves them, but which is sadly not visible to them.

Now I am believing it is simpler even than all of that.

Those who have not begun to bathe totally in the now cannot conceive of doing so. They believe it has no value to them, because what does not relate to their own lived experience appears to them as unsubstantiated evidence without the necessary confirmation of cause and effect.

EveryNow is that lived bliss of unconditional immediacy of experience without reference to past, future, or to labels of name or pertainment.

People who relate every present moment to its antecedent and who take care to measure it by its potential future effect make the mistake of regarding EveryNow as a state of instability from which no practical outcomes through reason and judgement are to be initiated.

After all, whoever thought it wise to choose to be a passenger in a vehicle driven by a person in a state of bliss?

Fear is sometimes taken to be next logical step after identification with uncertainty. To see new ways of being as strange is to associate those who operate from this state as strange and perhaps to be feared.

Nothing is more precise, more glaringly pinpointed with a sense of the absolute than EveryNow!

~ long live Love’s presence EveryNow

🟢A clamour of green intimacy🟢

Photo by J. Phillip Panton 2016

🟢A clamour of green intimacy🟢

Here and there grows a noisiness, a rowdiness, a clamour of intimacy when rambling along such country footpaths.

So much is going on, it’s like I’m straying onto a major sports arena in full cry, or a merry musical gathering of the clans.

Along the verdant corridors of spring and summer, smells, sounds, sunlight and shadow build the atmosphere into a fairground, like a local village fair.

I slow down, I stroll through. I am an animal, welcome to enter their vegetable world.

I animal, and they vegetable, we are engaged in crunching numbers, each in our way arriving at new results by recombinant synergies.

The insects I know are here, I cannot quite see. They are sweetly intent on survival.

Two paces in front of me, something in the way giant me disturbs the air around their tiny selves compels them into instant propulsion.

Zero-to-Cheerio in less than the blink of my eye. Gone. Undiscoverable except to their own kind!

When the busy enclosed path opens out at last, the sounds of silence simply reappear, 
I and my awareness are thrown back to bump up against each other again, a Great Bell Chant leading me from my heart. 

My feet take up the beat and the starship of my body is alone again in the vast unknown mysterious reaches of green


Sparks of Life

Sparks of Life!
I see them.
They illuminate the journey.

Sparks of Life!
I triangulate my path.

Sparks of Life!
One by one join the dots
on my journey truth by truth.

True Friends, wild friends,
Friends as soulful as loving parents,
nurture and guide me on my journey.

Sparks of Life alight in my eyes!

All about me everywhere
new plant shootlets,
newborn creatures,
New ideas great or small
ignite my spirit.

Brightening, lighting, shining stars
transport my Dance of Life.

Elevated so, I follow the roadway
lit along the centreline by darling
Sparks of Life


Love is present E v e r yN o w


    >  }     ♡


❌ Not in the finding, nor in the failing to find ❌

Do I need to escape from the ego? Should I try to subjugate it? Must I recognise my ego as primitive or maleficent in order to enable me to encounter my being in harmony and unity with the Universe?

I can say that my experience of awakened and often blissful consciousness has all my life been inclusive of all the factors at work.

I have always acknowledged and accepted my body and my mind in sickness or in health, in pleasure or in pain.

The “I” I call myself co-exists with my awareness of external and extraneous sensory input such as my hunger for peace, for food, for self-retrieval, as well as the many promptings in parallel of my mind’s primitive impulses to denigrate, downplay and deny the plenitude of my being, even when these lead me into anxiety, misery, violence, or indolence, self-harm and self-neglect.

These days, I begin to make distinctions between my gratitude for the acceptable reality of the support my ego gives to me and my gratitude for my ability to triage its continual background streaming and screamings that lets me identify and elevate the nourishment from out of the chatter.

Am I not fortunate to have arrived at such a fulcrum of balanced appreciation of life and in particular of my life in this rather strangely delightful all-encompassing continuum?

Yes, without doubt!

That awareness is the spring which refreshes me all of the time. That is the reason I have hope, the reason for me to go about, to search and to connect.

My heart reaches out in its search for life in all, all, all its forms.

I know that the search for life is not in the finding, nor in the failing to find. It is not in the choice of what life appears to present.

The search for life is in the lucid compassionate loving to live life.

Day by day, moment to delicious moment, that is exactly what keeps my heart beating and my soul flowering.

~ Love is present EveryNow

I nourish my dust

Nourished by light

It is my business to nourish my dust with light.

The successions of purpose which come into view, as in this illustration, will take on a momentum over which I seek to exercise no control.

How many or who look in my direction is not my concern.

“The empty tree will welcome another bird”

~ Love is present EveryNow

The empty tree

The empty tree

I place a thought here…

All who create with diligent humility reach into the heart of things. Creatives work to release and share what they find mirrored there in their own heart.

We who who create from the springs of heart’s love can never be wholly content with our output.

The act of powerfully self-validating creative discovery must reveal a part of the fabric of eternal or infinite truths by whose existence we as sentient beings receive that which animates of our heart and soul.

We can never wholly own even the smallest portion of the magic that issues from the creative striving that always inspires us to share.

We reach into our heart’s space where no human constructs exist. That place contains nothing that can be owned.

Here it is easy to describe what we begin to discover in terms of what it is not.

If we are so gifted that we do not need to reach for any tools of creativity, we might find creative inspiration from the place of no-constructs.

There is a no-place which contains so much of no-thing that what fills it full up to overflowing is not measured in quantity. It is only qualities of the absolute – absolute purity and beauty!

Here the most difficult and the most creative thing a human can attempt is to describe qualities of absolute in non-negative terms!

We evolve simutaneously with what we are propelled into sharing.

From the moment of birthing, what we share is no longer of us. It is certainly no longer ours.

If it ‘works’, if it arrives and is total in its valid truthfulness, it takes on its own life as a thread of the love with which the unseen unseeable fabric of the universe is constructed.

“The tree is empty; it will welcome another bird”

Biodanza – expect nothing

retain nothing

Biodanza – expect nothing, ask for nothing, keep nothing, give everything.

Allow Biodanza to happen. Simply listen and watch. Follow closely what the Facilitator says.

Observe the Vivencia demonstrations. With regular participation, Biodanza becomes more and more magical.

The whole secret is to expect nothing.

The moment I say to myself,
“I’m going to do this or that.” Or if I think,
“This partner will like or not like the expression on my face”, this is when I stop receiving, and the resulting isolation in which I arrive will simply continue to cloak my heart.

Be open my heart, absolutely you must be open!

The extravagant wonder of pure contact when I simply invite and welcome another to share for a while my most intimate heart space!

What is written in my heart, or seen in my eyes, absolutely cannot expose me.

Only the energy and the strength of my love will be experienced by the other person whose love and energy are waiting to surprise us both!

Then, unpredictably, unexpectedly, the other person and I may become electrified, illuminated.

That is the beauty of dissolution! The dissolving and falling away out of sight of fear.

Fear received from years of stern social conditioning, from barriers cultural, barriers intellectual. Everything zapped in instant vaporisation!

Sometimes such beauty is overpowering. It can lead into a brilliant obliteration of self, where the mind is left standing in awed witness to the ephemeral marriage of heart and heart.

Always it is life-affirming and always it serves to show how intense love quenches every last residue of fear!

Most often I will dance eyes closed. If I open my eyes, I see too much. I think too many thoughts. My mind tries to make my body move in this or that “clever” way. No! Eyes closed, I let the music dictate the shapes my body makes.

Expect plenty of time, this time, next time, to open my eyes, and swim and surf terribly very vulnerable in the dazzle of power and beauty visible immediately in front of my eyes, in the eyes of another shining soul!

Do expect love, for the simple reason Love is present EveryNow

The ‘Pigeon Tree’

The Pigeon Tree, pictured here shortly before daybreak, is where the Wood Pigeons settle, keep lookout, preen, warm up at dawn, jostle, joust, coo, woo, flirt and mate.

Yesterday, cold or not, a pigeon pair was making love on the same horizontal branch they all prefer.

The Pigeon Tree looks fast asleep. But in truth, the roots are out of sight, busy with symbiotic fungal activity. At the cell boundaries of the millions of root hairs, new nourishment is being created.

As the days lengthen, so signals from the silence in the tree will be travelling down, and up will begin the dance of Spring. All new as new again.

So it is with the stillnesses I am subject to.

No new impulses, nothing to report. I pass in a car and I am the hitch hiker I see at the side of the road.

I do not know where my journey will go next.

My mind often plays the Mind Card on which it is written that nothing is coming and so I am going nowhere.

In truth the journey never stays still. I should remind myself it begins with my every breath.

With my breathing, is my beating heart.

My journey is billion coloured alongside all the other journeys!

My sometimes imperceptible journey is the ever dancing dance

~ Love is present EveryNow

{  With grateful acknowledgement to Magdalena Atkinson, my Shakti Dance teacher, whose theme of unseen regeneration was my inspiration for these words  }

Face to face with life’s extreme fragility

No safety net

🔳Face to face with life’s extreme fragility🔲

  In a foreign country in March, in the Year of my Life, 2013, I and my wife sat down to supper with a long lost friend for the first time in 47 years.

He and his wife had prepared for us a lavish welcome meal. Many years before, my father had arranged I stay with the family of my friend during my school holidays.

  His father, a decorative wrought iron blacksmith and Rabelasian larger-than-life character, and my father, a conference interpreter, met by chance after the war. 

  They quickly recognised their mutual admiration for their own idiosyncratic forms of ‘joie de vivre’. On that foundation, they were to become lifelong friends.

  After we had toasted each other in a few glasses of fine local wine, my very dear friend began to tell me the Machiavellian story of his childless stepmother, the blacksmith’s second wife.

  I had known her only as a quiet capable motherly figure all those years ago. She braved out her husband’s alcohol-fuelled storms, she ignored his infidelities, mainly with wives of wealthy clients of his decorative wrought ironwork.

  She kept shop and did the accounts. For me those summers were times of acceptance into the family, of joy and pleasure as a young teenager taking my first independent steps in the freedom of another country under the blazing August Sun.

  As we enjoyed the meal, I listened with astonishment to hear how she had spent about 70 of the 99 years of her life scheming with great success to disinherit her stepson, almost ruining him and coming close to breaking his spirit, and, after I had come into her house as a guest and virtual second son, scheming to defraud my own father.

  The welcome meal, a Cordon Blue affair, progressed with much joy. The setting was in a delightful spacious, three-story pinewood cabin, open fire crackling away, isolated high on the side of a valley with giant panoramic southerly views across a lake to a range of snow capped mountains – the Eiger to the east and Mont Blanc to the west.

  My very dear friend advised me to prepare myself, saying all is not as pretty as it seems. Am I ready for a shock? With all this heart warming reconnection with a friend who had been like the elder brother I had never had, and with such fine wine and such food, I said yes. After all, what could disturb this now?

  My old friend began to speak. Some four years after my life path diverged from my friend’s, and I had started out on my career teaching English as a Foreign Language in far away London, his step-mother was the first to hear of my failed suicide attempt at age 21.

  She saw her opportunity to turn the news to her advantage. To help cover up and protect her thieving ways from scrutiny, she made the choice to lie to her family that I had killed myself.

  Silence now around the table.

  For me in that moment of the reveal of this true lie, I suffered a triple shock of pure visceral horror.

  A cry escaped from my throat. It was the same animal outcry of bereavement when, 38 years before, I was shown by the black clad undertaker into the chapel of rest where my mother lay, with her blue eyes closed.

  I could not breathe. My wife, very alarmed, jumped up from the table to help me sit up and to comfort me.

  I said I was ready to hear more.

  In that flash, with the pain that had extracted the yell from inside me, I felt for the very first time the intensity of the suffering my parents had endured when they were told while on a holiday abroad about my suicide attempt – an uncomplicated and somewhat half-baked cry for help it had been – at age 21.

  I had at long last begun my journey of compassion and shame for what I had done to them.

  In that flash, I felt the grief and helpless pain my dear old friend must have endured for nearly five decades. My father had told me the news of his father’s fatal stroke in the late 70s.

  After that, my own research to trace him for over 20 years had always drawn a blank. 

  I had no way of knowing that he had decided to go ‘off grid’ to shelter from the sick pursuit of his stepmother. 

  Then, a few days before my wife and I were to fly on holiday, by some miracle of the Internet, we had finally managed to connect. On an emotional long distance phone call, we agreed to rearrang our flights in order to have this extraordinary reunion celebration.

  His stepmother had effected repeated poisonous attacks designed to ruin his professional career. Several times she had written to his employers falsely alleging his dishonest or immoral, even depraved conduct.

  This may have been easy for her, acquainted as she was with casual depraved ways.

  At this period, she took on the role of carer for his only daughter by his first marriage. And she devoted herself to fill the little child’s mind with toxic fear of her father. With money and psychological pressure, she gained the co-conspiratorial support of his first wife.

  Thus the love and trust of his wife and mother of his only child was corroded away. His daughter, long since grown up, severed all ties with him.

  He engaged the equivalent of our Queen’s Counsel to fight to restore his reputation and his legal title to his father’s house, which had been constructed largely using my late Father’s funds, both with and without his knowledge and permission.

  On hearing this, the woman sold the house at high speed well below market value. All its contents, including documents and photos from his life, we’re lost to him. Among these were photo albums and 8mm cine film containing records of my several consecutive blissfully happy summer holidays with the family.

He had gone ex-directory and off grid long ago for self-protection. That is why I had only chanced to trace him from his 1949 school photo. There he was, named and easy to recognise by his cheeky grin under his mop of dark curly hair, even though he was eleven years younger than when I first knew him.

  I emailed my contacts to the school’s webmaster saying I had been seeking my lost friend. Then I powered down the PC and we took a bus into town. I got his call on my mobile at a coffee bar in Bournemouth. I was crying and laughing with happiness. I think I even blurted out my story to the barrista!

  In nearly half a century, he had once visited England. It was in 1979. It never occurred to him to try and look me up. Indeed, why would he? I was long since dead.

  After that first phone call to me, it had been difficult for him, now age 80, to come to terms with the reality of my existence. So he had jumped at the chance to invite my wife and I to fly out and spend a few days as his guest.

  And, in that flash, I physically experienced the coldness and cruelty and above all the black darkness of the evil that his late stepmother had secretly carried and concealed for decades in her heart of hearts.

  I have since learned there are some people who have suffered such violent emotional trauma, that their natural impulse to love is rechanneled into a perverted form of acquisition based on self-interest and hatred.

  We all can find the right words to say, can’t we? Those socially accepted normal few words of respect and comfort we say, when we are told about a bereavement.

  But I bear witness to you reading this here, that I found no gentle words. And I found no safety net to stop me from falling suddenly from a great height when, without any preparation, I was given the news of my own death.

  Again and again, it is at the point of contact with the extreme fragility of life that life itself reveals there is only one path of acceptance. I see it in the eyes of the hunted animal looking with a final glance at the hunter before dying. Life clothes us with humility. A humility such as a bride and groom may feel as they arrive at the altar.

~ Love is present EveryNow