In Place Of God

It is you that are

Will it, say it

I am, I am, I am

It is you

Who walks beside the stream

It is you

Who sits on the bench to ponder

It is you

Who watches the leaves on the tree

Become disconnected

Before floating to the ground

That it is you

Let that give you solace

Let that give you strength

Let that give you a sense of direction

You, you who are your own faith

There is no other force

Nothing mythical, biblical

Or otherwise

But there is you

You are, you are, you are

Awareness Of A Longer Pause

My midday garden meditation

Is quietly interrupted

The iPad has overheated

It needs to cool down before I can carry on

The screen says Emergency, with exclamation mark

Though I think that is a slight exaggeration

Indeed, what it actually means

Is that for a short while

I meditated without any spoken word guidance

Then I took up my paper notebook and pencil

To write out these few words

Words for my own personal record of the silence

Indeed a record, of my personal reaction

To the Emergency, which of course

Had been of my own making

For it was I who placed the iPad on the seat

In the direct glare of the extreme heat

Of the sun which we are witnessing at the moment

Why Not Thoughts

How far might I go away

How deep into myself am I able to delve

In that one moment, of white light seen

Is all to be held

Is all to be revealed

The twisted tumult of torn heart strings

The frayed edges of a slowly dissolving mind

The darkness incorporated into the not knowing

The blind ambition of the not believing

Such calamity that the past is behind us

How distant might I become

How uncertain within myself of my own capabilities

In that one, one of many million similar moments

Are all mishaps to be seen

Are all hopes or dreams to be dashed

Small Observations

The painter and decorator listens to music on his transistor radio, as he leans from his ladder, to paint the upstairs sash windows a high gloss white

Next door, the husband, of the husband and wife gardening team, leans thoughtfully on his upstanding rake

For myself, I walk to the post-office shop, buy an exotic ice-cream lollipop, and a glue stick, to complete my Artists Rules project

Alas, the three art papers, each with their own distinct colour wash, are not yet dry; more time is needed, I return to the writing

There is music playing, which requires some investigation; it appears that Vaughan Williams has been left alone in the bathroom

I look up the word congruence, for I have used it in my Soul Questions; I find the definition to be most agreeable

A Useful Process

I have all kinds of memories

I follow fourteen-hundred

Fellow postees on Tumblr

To take me there

Today it is the turn of Raul-Dufy

With his painting The Basin of Deauville

Which apparently was painted in 1935

Or eighty-six years ago

So quite a while before I was born

That one painting, courtesy of Wikipedia

Takes me to fifty more works of art

Such that I am in danger

Yes, I really am in danger

Of completely forgetting my first connection

Which I am pretty certain had something to do

With harbours and boats

Which reminds me, of glasses of chilled white wine

Let alone who I was with, in that inarticulate moment