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

Change

Hours lost their meaning to me

Time just moves like a blur or light and dark

This doesn’t mean that I don’t remember

the shoulds or the shouldn’t’s

no, they eat at my soul, my belly.

But

I suppose it’s just about keeping going

Self knowing, sometimes when possible

as long as the heart is beating

and one can listen to the sound of the rain

beating down roof and the windows

Then it seems like

everything is alright

 

There are pick me ups

then the inevitable falls

The less the better

although the sharing does count for something

you know

when it’s better

to be clean and warm and dry, it’s not real.

Resisting the waves,

noone ever really wins

we all wash up on the shore,

with our memories,

becoming the skeletons in our closets,

 

The taste of joy one day in our mouths

one day becomes blood

Yet we never really live like that,

Like the little things now would ever really leave,

Gods granted,

Not until we lose, that

is, only the emptiness speaks fully.

Just remember the day of our births

the blur of indifferent curiosity,

the way it was,

it changed.

 

And do we ever change

really

Ways to be: Cycles #3

I read a book on Zen Buddhism

by my favouritest author

and thought,

thinking, so hard

about the way

to get to thoughtless

to peace

to one

that I ran out of steps in my walk

I ran out of numbers in the day

 

I thought

 

Until my limbs turned cold,

I lay down

to rest

my soul in pieces

 

After hours, lying to myself,

alone, time

passing from one ear to another,

trying to lift an arm

or a heart

or searching for a better

way to be

While sipping milk out of a straw.

 

No white light,

Just the fall,

And no need to fight,

The silence.

 

Letting go of motivations,

for recovery

from the pace

of the marathon

To feel the seasons,

summer, autumn,

winter, spring,

 

Finding warmth again

I saw

the lotus flower

opening

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

Articulating the Self.

Articulation.

Most of us don’t articulate ourselves with ease. We all want to be listened to and heard. However most of us aren’t.

To articulate is to be focused, and to be distinct. Articulation is to bring the articles of your being into light.

 

 

The feeling that one gets when one watches and listens to those who stand for what they believe in – Those who speak from a place of truth, these poets, these icons -nThe goosebumps are stimulated, the eyes widened, the feeling of rising in your stomach.

Watch those who you love to watch talk. And watch those of whom you love the sound of their voices. They touch us. They move us.

How can we smile with our full beings from your heart to the tip of your head if we cannot articulate ourselves? We cannot, because we are full already with tension.

We hold our feelings back with the tensions in our chest, neck, and jaw. To articulate ourselves we must let our vibrations move, and in turn we shall move others.

The reason that we do not articulate our feelings is because we make ourselves smaller in order not to be seen. We fill ourselves up with stoppages; ‘I shouldn’t say that.’ or ‘Be quite, don’t speak.’ We block ourselves.

I challenge you to be seen – as I am challenging myself now. Give away the blocks that stop you from being heard, let them go.

Loosen your jaw, let it talk you.

‘A leader gives articulation to the imagination of the population.’ – Dr Jordan Peterson

 

-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

Landmines

Nah no more selling myself for chocolate

for a sugar wrapped up

it boxes me into my own brain

a landmine of pleasure

it makes me tremor

(‘it’s plain that I think that I need it’?)

I used to measure my kale before it went in the steamer

all the cupboards were full of chicken and cottage cheese

my health was messy

I thought it couldn’t be cleaner

a counterculture to addiction

I created duality

More of me on a mission

it was creating my prison

the only answer to the energy I have to spend

was not to spend…

but my mind breaks into my problems

the ones it tries to mend

it rips them.

then i feel like a fool for not knowing,

but seeing is the only tool that I needed, no showing:

It performs itself in a moment of no judgement

Closed curtains open

No justification

The red is gone.

condemnation is a road to (‘a subtle’?) obliteration

I feel empty and heavy now that I ate the cake

a body shatters that I tried to make

my cloudy head chokes my sense

and all the steps I made.

I’m like the last runner tripping in the relay

Like a dog with a flat nose

I feel the pedigree of an addict-
going at it (‘biting back it’s’?)

Going rabbid in my thoughts..

fuck the feeling I want more-

-I always taught to listen to the feeling

cause the feeling has more meaning

than a thought could have

but now a thought has got me

by the throat

Needing a boat I rush down to the river

not for the water but the exercise…

I need to be thinner

Feeling like I’m pulled high and low at the same time

Fingers trembling

Hoping to find my feet in the future

So I can sink down from my dreams

To stop averting landmines of pleasure

Cause pleasure has no need to be pain

and I have no need to eat for leisure.

—————–

This is actually a first draft of a spoken word poetry piece that I have been working on a set for recently.

It felt appropriate to share it on this blog.

Stay strong. x

-Ben

Off For Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

A beautiful time of year in which everyone celebrates with love and joy. A time for selfless giving and rememberance of Jesus Christ.

‘… One can wish!’ Said the boy as he took a bite out of a mince pie and tore open the wrapping paper of a present.

In all seriousness, I’m going to be out on the family rounds doing various christmas gatherings (I believe that I have 5 in the calender starting tomorrow) and so won’t be posting for at least the next 3 days.

If I manage not pass out from food exhaustion then I will be very much looking forward to sharing more content soon.

Wishing everyone a lovely few days! Especially those of you who don’t have many to spend it with, or whom are struggling in the home environment. Stay Strong. x

 

Here’s a quote to make this post worth your read. I stumbled upon it recently while reading, and although seemingly simple and obvious, it has stuck with me as something to keep in mind ever since:

‘You can face a fact only in the present and if you never allow it to be present because you are always escaping from it, you can never face it, and because we have cultivated a whole network of escapes we are caught in the habit of escape.’ -Krishnamurti [Freedom from the Known]

-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

The Truth

I wander streets in the night, I do. I practice kung fu under the street lights at the end of a dark road at quarter to 2.

Sometimes I thought I had it all figured out.

Swivelling between knowing and unknowing the point of the universe and all of its problems.

It’s a feeling and it comes up deep from my balls and my gut, and my head opens as if it was the same as everything else all along.

Talking about it sometimes, people think I’ve gone crazy. I feel it never occurred to them that I’ve seen something that possibly they haven’t.

It’s true that it’s selfish, but I struggle to see where else I can start other than from the self.

Or maybe the cork popped up in the old brain and I’m now a walking liability.

I don’t know.

I think about words sometimes. Trying to figure out why and where from. My need for insecurity rearing its little nose.

Liability: The ability to lie.

Sometimes I feel like I want to die. It sinks quickly from the high of fullness, down to the low of lost.

I miss the old days that never were, and I miss the opportunity for a life in a fantasy kingdom imagined by writers in a writing room.

I sometimes feel like a ripple a pond. Sometimes I feel like a grain of sand at the bottom of an ocean.

The way the world is looking scares me and I don’t know what to do about it… Is it the feeling or the world?

I love myself, and I hate myself too.

And I get confused about who ‘myself’ is every day.

My back aches from the weary neglect of hours at gyms in the night. And the sweat of anxiety linger as scars to today.i

It’s easy to forget that there is nothing to lose in telling the truth.

-Ben