Better days to come


The truth of why the rain falls
tells us
simply that it must
beyond the grey of day
the sagging dripping leaves
the silence of birds
and beyond the turmoils of waiting for the sun to shine
there are better days to come
for without the truth of the rains
there cannot be the truth of the sun
and if we open ourselves
and lift our minds and our hearts
and see with the feelings and emotions we are born with
we will know that
within each raindrop
a rainbow lives
where the treasure is not gold
but something more precious
something real
and we will feel and know and see
that within each raindrop
is life

There is time


When there is love in your heart
there is also strength
where there is strength
there is also weakness
where there is weakness
there is time


Someday, perhaps


The dark fire of love
will one day perhaps
the very core
of this solitude
all that remains
is ashes
and these ashes
will be breathed upon
they will ignite
and light
they will rise up
to become
solitude no more
but dark kissed fingers
of the light soul of love
where passions



When one ponders on the reality of life, and when one sees the impossible become possible by watching a bumble bee fly or the minute intricacy of a feather and wonder at their beginnings, one begins to realise that life is far from being real and ever farther from being unreal. Life is a fascination of many things, life is an end to the existence of death and yet also the beginning of death, life is but a continuous moment of impossible flight, for how can this ‘now’ moment, this infinitesimal balancing act between the left and right of time, how can it exist? What might is holding the scales? We can call it time but time is ethereal and is itself a part of the balance of life. What we see as we look around us is simply a struggle between the forces of chaos to create these ‘now’ moments and yet surely this chaos cannot be holding the balancing act for chaos is again a part of what we see … so upon which mountain do we sit?

And there we see the butterfly, a most fragile creature, fight against forces we cannot see as it seeks its own reality without realising it is doing so and yet we see its interaction with nature as something marvellous yet to the butterfly she is merely enjoying the sunshine upon her battling wings.

This life thing is akin to something supernatural beyond our understanding and regardless of how many words are written or battles fought we shall never fully understand the reality of it all and even with all our understandings of many things we shall never fully comprehend or connect with the reality of life.

This ‘now’ moment rests tenuously upon our shoulders as, perhaps, we balance on some far away mountain, for are we the impossible force holding together this life thing? Are we the creators of what we are? And yet we did not create what we see! Are we simply an illusion for the shadows of time to rest upon, for even as the sun beats down we sit and watch the grass give way to the breeze and marvel at the simplicity of it all?

And next we come to love, this indescribable feeling, this force of duality. From where did love originate? Is it hard to imagine that love was once a whole ‘something’, a whole piece of the universe or perhaps love was the very beginning of life itself? Can we even try to imagine the enormity of what feelings belonged to, and emanated from, this mass of compassion? What caused this foundation to explode into an eternity we call the universe? Perhaps, as it exploded and expanded, strands of love became separated from each other to become lost from itself, hence the reason we are searching always for love, always for the other half of our souls and mostly we fail magnificently but when two strands meet and Love unites a little part of itself, the feelings we feel are enormous, because we are such simple little things, yet to the Love which began it all it is but a moment, but a feather tickle of delight within the impossible jigsaw of life itself.

This life thing before our eyes, could it be the sanctuary for all the strands of love to unite or are we a single petal amidst a whole field of flowers waiting to bloom into that which began it all – Love!

After the rain


After the rain
the mist remains

And there you see
is the reason
why love is everything