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Thursday, 5 March 2020

Meditation at Mindgeist

Meditation at Mindgeist
Is working itself up into a shelter
With a website, a book
And a series of guided meditations
All by your good-self me

A fair amount of the book
Is anecdotal evidence
About my life with meditation
Which as you might expect
For a man of my age can become vague

Yet the process itself interests me
In my morning meditation
I think of four or five words
Which I remember
By saying them as my mantra

Each of these words
Then becomes the title
For a chapter, a couple of pages
Of writing which link the word
To meditation

Today I wrote up
A section entitled supple
Which took me on a journey
From Centrepointe Research
To mathematics with the Open University

Not to mention the idea
That our golden hours
Are from four to seven in the morning
When apparently, even in search of shelter
We are at our most creative



Wednesday, 4 March 2020

If I don’t go

If I don’t go
Beyond the fence line
If I don’t ever
Go visit my neighbour
How could these places become
Truly worthwhile shelters
Then be thankful
That we had friends round
We fed them
And we plied them with drink
We had all manner of conversations
About various kinds of shelter
For one couple
Are going on a mid-life adventure
In a motor home
Whilst another pair
Are looking to buy a holiday cottage
A bolt hole so to speak
As opposed to a simple shelter
We, on the other hand
Already have our decking
Beside a pond with waterfall
We have the old stables
For writing groups and meditation
Our lounge has an overhead projector
I could say that we are pretty well sheltered
Another couple couldn’t be with us
They are on their way to Calais
Then onwards to Greece
Where they suggest we may meet up
Meanwhile they have left
Their log cabin keys
With a friend of ours
Should we wish to use their shelter



Tuesday, 3 March 2020

There are roses

There are roses
There are white butterflies
You tell me of your mother’s wistfulness
For her own mother

The decking is my Saturday morning shelter
As I listen to Test Match Special
Transmitted live from Headingley
As the new kid on the block strikes

This is summer; but what of autumn
Or those fine sharp days of winter
Will I need a fire bowl
To provide additional warmth

I saw such a device
On my friend Peter’s outdoor staging
Where I sat on his Adirondack chair’s
To write my notes of shelters of the future

Turn around the sun umbrella
For this is the best of summer
The pond fountain splashes
A frog has found his shelter

While the squirrel scuttles
Along the top of the fence
And the breeze
Rocks the canopy to and fro

There is ample time for contemplation
Even for imaginings of the meadow
Or the rocks, or the outliers
Of our northern isles

However, there is a reasonable degree
Of canvas instability
For this ever to be
Anything but a temporary shelter



Monday, 2 March 2020

Today John O’Donohue reminds me

Today John O’Donohue reminds me
Of the shelter of presence
Which on reflection seems to be
A mighty fine shelter indeed

Yet for me this is not a divine presence
Neither, in any way a supernatural force
This is the energy of the I
This is the faces of the you

The presence of a we
Either apart or together
Which enables the transference
Of thought and love

In the present moment of presence
We are unlimited
We are open to all
We are boundless, as also is our joy

Then what better place for shelter
What neater place for being
Where we are free
To engage with our freedom

With the wonderful moment
Wrapped around us
We have memories
And also projections

Our gaze is both
Near and distant
Our protective shelters
Permit our unwavering

We may become vulnerable
We may feel deeply
Of all of our furthest desires
Which today may be limitless




Sunday, 1 March 2020

You lent me the word Conversation

You lent me the word Conversation
Which I would like to make more of
You sold me your House of Belonging
Which I would like to become my shelter

Your phrasing is familiar
I can hear you
As I read your words

The whole idea of one place
For one person
To invite many people

Yet, then
To be home for one person
Yes, that rather appeals to me

It offers itself up
As something I may once have had
As something I may have once again

Yet in this house already
There are many desks
Many places

For a quiet person
To write quietly
Or for an enraged person

To rant profusely
Or best of all
For one who is at peace to be peaceful

There are too many study books
On the peat herringbone Bowmore stool
Yet I am no intellectual

Nor do I have a strong deep memory
I forget the words
Almost as if I choose to discard them
In search of the more familiar shelters