Today my shelter is the future
For tomorrow I go to Buckfast Abbey
To sleep monastic side
In the monk’s guest-bedrooms
All there will be silence
Silence as a shelter
Silence as a virtue
Silence as a way of carrying on
Yet nature will not gift me silence
Indeed quite the opposite
As I walk beside the gushing river
Listening to the undoubted mass of birdsong
My shelter will also be in the routine
The daily prescriptions of
Matins, Lauds, Conventual Mass
Before evenings of Vespers and Compline
For certain I will have the shelter of books
Books for reading, books for writing
I will often find my own word shelter
In the stained-glass Chapel also in the Abbey
And, because this is a trip to Devon
I will see my youngest son
There will be a smile
Along with amusing conversation
So not all of this shelter will be silence
Although in Dartington’s meditation garden
I hope to find peace, I hope to find calm
I hope to enjoy my own contemplations
My future shelter is also in my automobile
Six hours driving, in each direction
With lots of good music on the stereo
And maybe a shopping retreat along the way
Wednesday 12 February 2020
Tuesday 11 February 2020
The shelter is in the doing
The shelter is in the doing
Yesterday the shelter
Was to be found in the being
In the being which precedes the doing
The being who reblogged photographs
Who posted poetry with pictures
Towards all four corners of the world
The shelter is in the adsorption
Yes, this shelter is found by being absorbed
Fully absorbed in the doing
The doing which also includes meditation
After writing at the standing desk
Writing words for no one else’s consumption
The shelter is in taking the photograph
Of turning the photographs into a book
Or at least into a book cover
Achieved by rotating and cropping
By being in there with the decision making
This way or that, that way or this
The shelter is in the deep listening
Listening to the Drawn in Pale Light playlist
Music then
Along with the leaves and branches
Providing a canopy for the settled soul
Before bumping into something more esoteric
Which takes one to the jazz night
That night when the shelter was the jazz night
Jazz on a boat, on a boat on the river
Yet with a group of individuals
Who right now
I can hardly remember any of
So better perhaps to return
To return, return to the being
And the doing of that shelter
Yesterday the shelter
Was to be found in the being
In the being which precedes the doing
The being who reblogged photographs
Who posted poetry with pictures
Towards all four corners of the world
The shelter is in the adsorption
Yes, this shelter is found by being absorbed
Fully absorbed in the doing
The doing which also includes meditation
After writing at the standing desk
Writing words for no one else’s consumption
The shelter is in taking the photograph
Of turning the photographs into a book
Or at least into a book cover
Achieved by rotating and cropping
By being in there with the decision making
This way or that, that way or this
The shelter is in the deep listening
Listening to the Drawn in Pale Light playlist
Music then
Along with the leaves and branches
Providing a canopy for the settled soul
Before bumping into something more esoteric
Which takes one to the jazz night
That night when the shelter was the jazz night
Jazz on a boat, on a boat on the river
Yet with a group of individuals
Who right now
I can hardly remember any of
So better perhaps to return
To return, return to the being
And the doing of that shelter
Monday 10 February 2020
In this morning’s Meditation
In this morning’s Meditation
I thought of the waiter
In the outdoor bar in Florence
How did he get to that place
Why did he leave his home
Where did he live in Croatia
Whose national football team he loved
Whose people he was so proud of
Whose needs he could not yet satisfy
Where does he go to in Firenze
When his day shift is completed
Or does he work late into the night
Surely his shelter
Is not in a Medici palace
Or even a four-star five-star hotel
His spirit comes alive with conversation
He is sharp with a swift humorous retort
Which makes the four of us smile
Yet he doesn’t quite share
In the shelter of our covered table
From which soon we will get up and leave
Is this his vacation workplace
Does he have family, children perhaps
I hope he finds a shelter which suits him
I thought of the waiter
In the outdoor bar in Florence
How did he get to that place
Why did he leave his home
Where did he live in Croatia
Whose national football team he loved
Whose people he was so proud of
Whose needs he could not yet satisfy
Where does he go to in Firenze
When his day shift is completed
Or does he work late into the night
Surely his shelter
Is not in a Medici palace
Or even a four-star five-star hotel
His spirit comes alive with conversation
He is sharp with a swift humorous retort
Which makes the four of us smile
Yet he doesn’t quite share
In the shelter of our covered table
From which soon we will get up and leave
Is this his vacation workplace
Does he have family, children perhaps
I hope he finds a shelter which suits him
Sunday 9 February 2020
I Heard Yesterday
I heard yesterday
That a friend of mine is seriously ill
He has been referred to a charitable hospice
I donated a small amount
A very small amount I’m afraid
But now I know more of his condition
Will he find his place of shelter
Should I visit him in his shelter
If so for what; surely not to write poetry
I have been transitory in his life
He has closer friends
He has a loving caring and devoted family
I did read his poetry this morning
I wrote to him to say how I remembered
His rehearsal for his spoken words
We were no more than a dozen
In an upstairs room
Belonging to the Victoria Inn in Lincoln
We read words, we wrote words
We shared a camaraderie
Which continues there to this day
I have not been for several years
But follow the group on social media
A physical shelter has become a cyber shelter
I do have friends who are religious
Though my friend of today was not that
Instead he found shelter in doing
He found shelter in being
Being playful, being mischievous,
Being adventurous
I hope that his new shelter
Serves some of these purposes
And prolongs his perspicacity
That a friend of mine is seriously ill
He has been referred to a charitable hospice
I donated a small amount
A very small amount I’m afraid
But now I know more of his condition
Will he find his place of shelter
Should I visit him in his shelter
If so for what; surely not to write poetry
I have been transitory in his life
He has closer friends
He has a loving caring and devoted family
I did read his poetry this morning
I wrote to him to say how I remembered
His rehearsal for his spoken words
We were no more than a dozen
In an upstairs room
Belonging to the Victoria Inn in Lincoln
We read words, we wrote words
We shared a camaraderie
Which continues there to this day
I have not been for several years
But follow the group on social media
A physical shelter has become a cyber shelter
I do have friends who are religious
Though my friend of today was not that
Instead he found shelter in doing
He found shelter in being
Being playful, being mischievous,
Being adventurous
I hope that his new shelter
Serves some of these purposes
And prolongs his perspicacity
Saturday 8 February 2020
That I thought of these places
That I thought of these places
In this morning’s
Flower Fresh Meditation
Says something to me
About all of those spaces
Where previously I have found shelter
For the first pair of descriptive phrases:
As I breathe in I see myself as a flower
As I breathe out I feel fresh
I was most definitely on the road
Outside Madhyamaka
Looking happily across the fields
Towards the orange light in the tree
For the following pair of phrases
As I breathe in I see myself as a mountain
As I breathe out I feel solid
I was equally certain about being in Grasmere
Walking mindfully back down
From seeing Sour Milk Gill
As I admired the matchstick men
On the mountain tops
For the next pair of phrases which went
As I breathe in I see myself as still water
As I breathe out I reflect on all that is
I was more uncertain
First I saw a sea, then a river
Finally I settled on a pond
Or did I see anything at all
For the final pair of phrases, which said
As I breathe in I see myself as space
As I breathe out I feel free
I was everywhere which cries out open air
Although eventually, and more particularly
I was on the salt-marshes beyond Saltfleetby
Of course other open spaces came to mind
Hadn’t we recently visited
Yorkshire Sculpture Park
And how could the pond at Emerson
With its lotus leaves
Ever be forgotten
Also the clay contained water at Sissinghurst
How could that not
Be brought into the equation
And once on that trail of memories
What about Chagall’s
Stain glass windows at Tudeley
Or the speedboat ride back to the airport
From the wonderful weekend in Venice
Where the hemmed in shelter of grandeur
Enabled everyone to feel at ease
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)