Silver grey light effusing
Emitting joy from however far
Yet from where comes the interference
What causes the all disturbing buzz
Surely not from the settled sky
Or the writer’s awakening mind
There must be a cause
To cause the effect of noise
Noise with no suitable purpose
Except if it was from a primary object
And the disturbance
Is simply a secondary effect
Hesitation, afraid to say
That which you are not certain to be true
Easier to confirm all past mythology
To take a firm position among a lack of reality
Unable to develop into new situations
Without the fear that longing will return
Or maybe not ever go away
Such is the weight of history and life
All the while knowing
That sitting on the fence
Does not nourish the mind
Or the body, or the spirit, or the sou
Better to be bright as the blue sky
Better to be warm as washing on the line
Therewith to wear the quirky smiles of a lifetime
Brought about by place, by peace, by harmony
Let the love lights then truly enter
With no more thoughts of foreboding
Be joyful for the entrance of passionate play
Fear not for the future of the longer days
Bask in the abstraction of beauty
Hold what you can in your hand and heart
Sure the pains are in no hurry to leave you
Yet they too fall to the rules of impermanence
I am at the hospice listening to cricket
Where boundaries are being scored at will
The taxi driver has asked me to wait here
Just in case you thought I was seeking respite
My mind goes into a riot when I see the young man
Come out of the building to embrace his partner and child
All are smiles and hugs and laughter
What should I make of such joviality, other than admiration
In readiness for our small meditation sangha
I listen to the monks of Plum Village sing and chant
I think of the brethren who reside there
And in other such organisations around the world
I wonder that I never joined such a place
Instead I have kept myself to myself
Yes, it is true that I have visited monasteries
And taken part in silent retreats
Yet I have not gone so far as joining a community
Nor have I ever taken up with a sect of any kind
But right now, as I imagine they sit together for supper
There is a part of me which says that it is a pity, a waste even
That I have not been an integral part of such a collective
Of course one does doubt the capability of one’s memory
Perhaps focussing too too sharply on the forgetfulness
Or just needing a wee bit more time to remember
Where time wasn’t ever required, not in the past
Yesterday, through half of this low-lying county
The fields were flooded
The roads had standing water
Yet who will remember how the land was reclaimed
Who, in the future, will be able to organise the drainage
And who might play a role in that useful purpose
Of course one doesn’t doubt about one’s ability to help
Nor does one wish to be sidelined, or to be kept out of the way
Even if it is for the best, the best for everyone else that is
In which case maybe it is for the best to forget about one’s past
