♡Epiphany the First♡ co.Tipperary, Ireland, 1977

The yellow corn was growing gold and ripely. Epiphany the First on holiday near Cahir, co.Tipperary, Ireland.

In August 1977, I crossed the threshold, the portal to an intense liberation.

Since that time I had never encountered a story that showed me I am one of many to have been smelted in a furnace of the heart and to have survived the ordeal of refinement by burning. I surely am not alone!

Since that time, I have described only to certain close friends how, over a few days and nights, the layers of self peeled away in pain and incomprehension.

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I remember walking along Exhibition Road, London and instead of the usual bland, blanked off faces of people walking past me, I became acutely aware of reading the reality of each person’s spirit in the expression on every face.

I saw many were contorted and consumed by loathing.

I saw some who were almost completely lacking in hope.

Some were intensely unhappy, as if their next facial expression was to be The Scream, ‘that’ painting by Edvard Munch. Very possibly I was visualising my own projections.

The old assumptions began to drop away from me, as if recent ghosts of my own identity were drifting off, abandoning me in ones and twos.

The assumptions of who I am are like those straight and rooted tracks on which I automatically rely for my next blink, step, next thought, next breath. I and all of us do depend on lifetime timeline assumptions without giving them a second thought. We never call them into question, unless we perceive extreme danger from an external threat or sudden inescapable challenge.

Whatever it was that had begun to move, my self-belief was evaporating, and I found myself left with fewer and fewer safe assumptions about who I was.

My friends who are my familiar friends inside of me were hurrying away somewhere else, not staying to see what happens next.

In quite a short time, as if I had no power to control the processes my spirit was undergoing, I shed my few and flimsy onion-skin layers of self-belief, until I reached a point of maximum intimacy, where the core of my being lay exposed like a small pool of white-hot molten metal resting in the base of an unmovable immutable crucible. It was painful, like active nettle-stings, but it was endurable.

I was drawn to rural isolation as the best and least threatening setting in which to preserve what I had left of me. I had no clues, no map to follow in this descent.

I bought rail and ferry tickets to Cork. I asked for bus timetables at the central London Bord Fáilte. I set out with a rigid metal frame grey canvas rucksack.

I travelled from London to County Tipperary, Ireland for a summer holiday. I knew very well I couldn’t escape from myself. But I came to rural Ireland to find a green of peace in August, because I had become afraid for my sanity. I presumed something was going to happen to me. It seemed important to give my undistracted attention to whatever it was going to be.

My next memory is of getting off the bus at the quiet stop called Cahir Cross. I walked along a reassuringly peaceful road, and I checked in to my family run guesthouse.

For safety, or rather, for self-preservation, I stayed indoors. I sat in my B&B room. I remember a pot of tea and a kindness of biscuits. I was as unprotected, fragile, brittle, as a soft bodied insect.

If I should step outside, or if I were to add to my sensory input in howsoever small a way, I might go off the edge like an untethered astronaut – lost in a mild but unending emptiness.

With a new morning, a brightly sunlit summer morning, stasis came.

Here was a still point where nothing more could happen to me. I was at the bottom of the descent, but I was not finished off.

The pain was no longer inside of me. It was not there. I remember silence.

I weep today and every time, as I recall the beauty of that silence. This silence was brand new. It was much louder inside than outside.

Silence indescribable, solid to the timid touch, had replaced pain and the frequent cramping presence of adrenaline.

I could breathe again. I could hear my breathing. I looked outwards. The yellow corn was growing gold and ripely in the small square field beyond the house. The field of gold glowed unpretentiously just outside my window. No wind moved the corn stalks baking under the blue sky.

Every ear of corn still stands there, warm in the midday heat and unmoving in my mind’s eye.

I felt an amazing, delicate, intense pleasure at seeing my host family around me, simply and quietly going about their day. I hardly dared move in case this most ordinary sweetness should crackle and dissolve.

My host family’s silent, but tangible normality was my personal reassurance. Their wordless presence was as loud as if I were being publicly baptised at the centre of a crowd.

I was filled with a soft bliss, like a person drinking after a long thirst.

The words of my drink were these:

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” [Julian of Norwich]

One thing I knew with great certainty and I would forever carry with me, that however long I live, whatever the severity of the test, I would always be able to survive.

And so I packed my rucksack to return home to the world of work and to continue with a new relationship which would culminate two years later in marriage, a new home and a family.

My awakened heart burns golden consuming nothing – in sickness and in health – from the centre to the outermost edge.

And this is the mantra I composed to celebrate the awakening:

Love is the answer

to which

no question exists

I do nothing to light the way.

The way is lit.

The way is inexpressibly beautiful always

~ Love is present EveryNow

🔶An amulet of words against Loneliness 🟥

* An amulet of words against Loneliness *

Is it the fleeting face of loneliness I see between the laughter and the smiles?

Yes, let it have its day in the sun.

Plenty of time, oh, there’ll be time enough I say, one day to pine for the weeks spent without a hand to hold, after your life has reached an apotheosis and you have so many hands within arm’s reach of your love-filled heart.

There is no book nor physic to spirit away loneliness.

In an inevitable plurality of beings, loneliness is a fact of human arithmetic. It sleeps at the footstool like a stone lion with its eyes open!

Two things our bodies are not naturally made to tolerate.

One is to be afflicted by violence. While the other is to be afflicted by loneliness.

Steer your course oh so safely, dear Shining Soul, between this Scylla and that Charybdis.

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well,” says Julian of Norwich.

There are large helpings of power and strength in those words! You have sole responsibility to make them so.

You will go out tomorrow into the noisy crowds. And with you, you will carry an enormous cathedral-like and most noble silence.

And you will smile, because your silence is ‘grand’, and you know it is as full of hospitable welcome, as the urging daydreams of your distant distant descendents.

~ Love is present EveryNow

Silent are the eyes

Silent are the eyes

Silent are the spaces between galaxies

Silent are the eyes that see

Silent are the ancestors invisible within the henge

Silent are the eyes that see

Silence is the contemplation of the smiles of those yet to be born

Silence in the eyes that see

I let in silence to flow and flood my sacred secret place

Silence washes me clean of doubt
And so is silence silent

I need no words to see

Meditation ~ on the surface of Mars

Land where no tear has fallen

The rocks have no eyes to see, but their nobility is not blind.The rock surfaces of our solar system’s bodies are newly being seen.

After at least four thousand million Earth years, our eyes are given photographs of landscapes on comets, asteroids, moons and planets.

For sure, a rock is a rock, a stone is a stone. Unconsidered and unregarded, the rocks rockiness and solidity rest in a millennial continuum.

The rocks share our Sol, our Star. The rocks had nothing to do with humans’ fleeting, squishy goings-on.

These rocks have no eyes to see, but their nobility is not blind.

The starkly naked surfaces’ untouched virginity sing an unsung song of purest silence. Silence is their eternal home. Home whose roof and walls are set all about with stars.

The polarities of light and shadow deceptively belie the rocks’ motionlessness on the surface by reference to the gentle unvarying hug of gravity.

The rocks do not have eyes to see, but their nobility is not blind.

Fear for the blindness of the robotic vehicle, for it lacks nothing except a program to show respect for millennial nobility.

Despair at the next footstep, drill hole, test blast, mineshaft.

They do not have eyes to see, these rocks, but their nobility is not blind.

For these rocks
over and over again
are blessed by Angels.

For these rock landscapes
are the privileged domain of Angels.

Here are much travelled landscapes
which carry no footprint.

Land where Angel tears have not yet fallen.

Barren, breathless, beautiful bodies
whose astral surfaces are devoid of the stain of blood.

Humans have not, nor do Angels need to have the keys to these Edens.

So stand, give reverence to our Earth rocks! Give praise for their lyric skills of silent communion!

Rejoice in the reflections I see in the primordial rocks of Gaia!

They knew it full well, the broad-shouldered builders of henges of monolithic stone.

They, the magicians of prehistory, knew that simply by our being near enough to see the rocks with every sense at peak perception, we are all magnified and mirrored in the community of stars.

Glory to your glory

Glory to your glory, Morning Glory

Your silence is music of the highest order.
I listen and I see your face is turned to love those whose love for you
is single-pointed as the light that reaches from a star.
You beckon with serious urgency, but not to me.
Your face awakes in me compassion for your journey today, for those winged workers who will instantly adore you, and who will be nourished by you.
Compassion for your little life,
and for mine.
~ Love is present EveryNow