I collect the words from the bottomless well

head a pail, neck of sisal,

the act is essential.

 

The water is my former and further self

it was never born, it only grows

and it is yours

 

listen to the soft swash and swirl

come into contact –

absorb

 

you are mother to all

 

 

 

Drink wisely,

sip at each whisper of this precious deliverance

with every morsel of your existence

and you will heal,

you will heal the frontier of this life and the next

 

and glow in the eternal warmth of a second

 

 

There will be no need

You will no longer live to reach for, but be

be the bliss you unknowingly keep yourself from

 

 

 

O inconceivable emergence of the idea

Will that keeps one going from nowhere

to nowhere

to the fluidity of here

what use for words

when you have already discovered the true sense of the world

 

what use of fearing growing old

when you are only approaching your birth

 

what use of distinction

when everything lives on the edge of itself

 

what use of ends, beginnings and all oppositions

when they distract from the delta of presence

 

¥

 

To be spiritual is not to live forever within

but merely to be involved

 

Involved in the delicate convergence of self and world

 

To be sensitive to all the notes in the eternal song,

creation

 

To remove one’s self from the false shade

that has become of this age

and re-consecrate one self, with air –

our only temple.

 

 

 

To release the ball from inside the bell

let go of the individual

and know that for all we may search

we may never pick the perfect mango.

 

 

To know that all we are is inevitable

light falling on this moment then passing into another body. Nothing more

 

than another little journey we may still call our own

 

and more importantly,

to be in love with the everywhere

of this single breath –

 

our necessary angel

 

the simple rise and fall of the chest

answered in the come and go of the endless ocean

 

 

 

 

 

only then my friends

begins the delicacy of the poem