Caves: #Cycles 6

The volcano opened into me
unexpectedly whipping out,
lashing me into feelings long dormant.

I provoked the eruption
Dancing around it’s openings,
Prancing the periphery,
Singing carelessly into the unknown
Of the caves of conscience
That I had long not entered
Until that day

The lashes tore the mask off my face,
Ripping me from comfort,
Peeling my clinging fingers from safety
I fell

The way to redemption became clear.
As the mist lifted,
That of the healing path opened itself to me…
The path through the caves.

I entered into the darkness.

Days turned to weeks turned to months.
I followed onward
Into the full wrath of the shadows,
Enduring the torment of lost knowledge

Until the shadows opened up the truth to me…
The truth was my death.

Yet in the moment of death
When my light flickered to an end,
The possibility of new beginnings arose at the deepest point,

The inevitable possibility as heirophany birthed itself
In the form of seeds of new light.

From a seed
A new self,
Born as the centre of a new light,
Blossomed forth.

Then it was that I learned,
I was ready to grow.

The Flowers: Cycles #5

Cycles move
Cycles change
Cycles come and go away

The path is green
And dark
And frayed

Many wander through it
Missing the sights

I miss this
I say to my lover
Perched in an old Beech tree
Seeing things
I used to miss
the way it used to be…

The birds skim trees
Making music
Silhouette the evening sky.
Some searching
Pack their tiny wings
Dive bomb fall down, then rise

On my way through opening, closing gates
I see
A flower stick out among the stinging nettles

We wander
Never knowing
Really
Where we are going
Or what we will do
Me and my best friend
Follow the way,
I don’t say anything
Just watch him
Rustle through the brush

On stone I sit
Still
I can feel the dry powder top,
And wander when this has to end
Remembering cycles,
Cycles,
The tragedy of the spirit
The most beautiful thing that could be…

Now I weep for the day that you go, my love
If I grow and shrink to become old and wrinkled
And I’ll be the old man looking at the flowers
I hope that I can speak to you of that day
And hold your hand as we pass away
Completing the cycles
Together

 

-Ben

Until that day

Heart thumping in my head,
Sometimes my feet tingle.
My numb hands hold tightly in regret
If only I could just…


There’s nothing else to do,
Just the waiting game.
My friends are the raindrops
While the smiling assassin passes onwards on the waves.

Until that day,

The feeling screeches like a chalk
Dragged slowly over its board,
Stitching, Scratching,
Relentless, until it becomes a part of you.

Until that day,

I’m clinging to my chrysalis
Routines and creature comforts,
Keep me human,
Help me find my way again

To the blank slate

That gives me comfort
When I can feel it
Giving reason to the thumping,
That I can hold if I can make it,
That I might find
And meet my maker.

Until that day,

A smiling swallow limps
Through the valley of grey
To the end light
Where the wind carves
Around a Lotus Flower.

 

 

The Difference

…The Moon and the Water…

So much talking about normal
When I don’t understand
Why do you not understand.

Do you not trust me?

God knows I’m an amnesiac…
Everyone’s entitled
To their own great expectations.
That’s fine,
Pinpointed,
But I’m me, I’m mine.

Just trying to see
The fine line
Between the words
And the meaning.

Whatever the Mothers and Sons bring
If you decide to watch,
Not just me but the others too,
Let us Fall
On stone or soft grass.
As scars heal,
We’ll have the feeling
To know the difference.

Please,

Let me let the space in.
To be,
And to find the courage
To feel the difference.

 

-Ben

Wandering

Let the birds watch you

and listen to their call

Simply

Because it is beautiful

 

Let the feet walk you

wherever they ponder,

feel the dry mud and cool stone

maybe the crisp crackles of the twigs

will speak to you

 

Nature knows something

That it is fine

 

Ride the feeling into blissful silence

Simply to have a listen

 

Explore the rough bark of the trees,

They sit there quietly for many centuries

you know

 

There’s no need of a journey,

just simply wander

wondering

The Fear

Bright lights

Late nights

no reason

for former or latter

or the eyes

becoming watched

and unable to see

all in order to alleviate

The Fear.

 

The colour was stolen

by a grey thief,

an ogre under burned bridges

in shadows

 

A vacuum makes

the mind jump up and down,

though the dark nothing knows the body in it’s limpness

and tells why the blue waters turned a stagnant green,

why algae and fungus

rid the lily pads of youth,

becoming the green

on that it depended

 

To fall

or not to fall

 

The itch grows

It knaws slowly under the skin

Sapping at the life blood

 

It’s felt in the flowers and the trees

and the birds and the bees

and the insects

 

 

Once, layed on a soft pillow of green spires

a break to pass

while staring up at the sky,

the time to be filled

is so far away

still

just sleep…

 

Then seeing the original eye

in a cluster of cloud

in the shape of a lotus flower

 

Understanding a sight

A connection

The heart pumped oxygen into the belly of the wilder-beast

 

that Breathing strength through the ascension

of the paths of the mountain

and Listening

With unflinching peace,

beguiled leaves

to fall,

to be reborn.

 

 

-Ben

Integrate

Find the pieces

of your heart

That make you more

than the sum of your

parts

 

The One Path

to Anything

Everything

is under the nose’

and makes us breathless

 

I’m called by surfaces

they sing me

songs of pleasure

 

I run and run

sometimes I listen

getting caught in the pleasure prison

 

Measurable length

and width

We’re in a prism

 

Becoming what we love and hate

Giving over to focus,

re-membering

to spirit

or geography

 

Awareness is the division

of the north and the south

away from here

 

Wanting Feeling

for the wear and tear

for the body

for the people hurt

for the people helped

typical of Humans

 

Caught in a net of shadows

unaware of the true nature

delusions of

self grandeur

dribbling

through the cracks of the fortress

 

Now breaking the fortress to let it in

Realising that

I was born in sin

Getting Older

When our joints start grinding
On nights I tend to wander.
My joints didn’t used to hurt of bending
Grinding, grinding, every day
Getting older
Things I used to say,
Now I’m telling
To kids who nod and hear me
But don’t listen to a thing

You stare at yourself
The mirror is shining you back
Stubble and broader shoulders
Frame you in a way unfamiliar
Like sitting in a carriage
Full of strangers
Realising that you are one of them

Advice I was given
Schizm.
Empty truths
till Cliche’s became real one day
At the other end of a candle
Time is burning away
and I haven’t shown my light yet.

Only 19
But at 12 I was only 12 and planning my future
at 30 I’ll be working for play
and Maybe I’ll play till I work
but I’ll be too old for that

And no, I’ll say,
I’m only getting started
The days of being old have never begun
nor never departed
I do what I do because I do feel like doing it
Your words are your own
So keep on doing it

…Something anyway…

What you say
Is what you have to say
but I want to hear what
you
and everyone
has to say
because they have it
They’re all on their tracks
There’s no cover for it
Even with a sugar coat
It’s the meaning and
Time’s floating away with substance running out

Wandering about my joints now
I listened to them
they say take the main-stance and time will take you
He nodded, I listened.

That was the time I washed through my stance firmly
and found myself joined in the warm fluid
Moving
Getting older

-Ben

For those that are lost…

Write. Speak. Jump up and down.

It’s mad how long we can travel down the same path of fogginess. We are just floating through nowhere, from nowhere, and we goddamn hate it!

I challenge you to write. Just do it.

Writing changes everything. When you write it is as when you speak to others that you trust. You let go of the tensions that you are holding inside of yourself, you are letting it splurge out onto the paper. The act of letting yourself make the connection of your mind to the paper or the screen or whatever you use, it is going to shift your energy outside of yourself. If you successfully make this connection, this transition of energy, then this trapped energy will be unleashed onto the page, and you will find in your connection and your internal response to this energy the answers to your questions.

One must look at this energy, these words, with the advising eye of a best friend. Treat this energy truthfully, for it is you. Observe yourself! Watch your thoughts, your posture, your responses. First and foremost, feel your reaction to this watching. Do not let yourself be caught up in what one should or should not think, but allow yourself to see as if there were no right and wrong, only what is and is not. Let your response to this connection teach you of yourself. Let your response to your watching and listening teach you of your truth.

Now if you have not already found your way via these teachings, then seek inspiration. Seek those who inspire you, those who light a fire inside of you, who excite you! Those that you find yourself almost jumping out of your chair when spending time with. And again remember and understand through your responses, that the teachings that you will take from them is not what they tell you your internal response to their stance. Your patterns are your teachers.

The guidance that you receive from those that inspire you is the practice that you can practice in order to find your way.

Know this: that it is in the practice that you shall find your ground. Your internal response to the (consistent!) practice of this guidance will tell you what you need to know, and once you know that, you will be on your way.

 

‘The art is in the doing of it’ -Sandy Meisner

– Ben

Memory.

Wandering greens and greys in red tint,

I entered the mouth of a giant.

It washed me with cool air.

Heartbeats of trees

Thumped through the floor under my feet,

Thoughts trickled with the water.

While the ferns followed the waves of the breeze,

The wind nursed me into quiet.

A pitter patter of ducks and  wandered the riverside,

And there behind the trees a yellow light glowed,

Casting bronze between the branches.

Then I walked 4 miles of thoughts.

I spent my feelings on food

And my food for a feeling.

I sat in the quiet of a room,

‘My room’,

Nursing the numb I’d aquired with focus, with focus.

And as weariness takes me,

I roll around and around,

Looking for the cold parts of the sheets,

Until it is stained with me,

And I think about the yellow light, and the ducks, and the thumping of the hearts of the trees in the feeling of my feet.

And it didn’t matter anymore…

An image of colour and light,

Such a beautiful memory…

-Ben