Sitting, loving what is, I am not entirely convinced.
Circling, before the dive in. The deep dive in. 
The lived life, the examined life.
If you want reality to be different than it is, she laughs, 
you might as well teach a cat to bark.
It then comes to me. The world is larger because of this.
When you walk into a room and everyone agrees on something, 
you know that someone is hiding something 
or there is something you don't see.
We don't need prophets for telling the future, 
because they are trying to change the present, he says.
With this, like the poet says, the coating of dead dust falls from the windows. The old ways of seeing - habits really - are broken.
We walk along the seafront, the meadowing path breathes with wildlife. The unexamined stories are airlifted away by 
butterflies and the thought of what the wise woman said: 
you are the one that can end your suffering.
Sitting still, loving the world as it is, making friends with the wind.

Inspired by John O’Donohue, Byron Katie, Omar Ghobash and Shane Claiborne.

Early hours

‘Light never shows the same mountain twice.’

A nasty old cold of a dream woke me 
just now. I knew I was alive from 
the feeling of the images, a slight throbbing pain.
No point in trying to work out 
the message from the interior, I thought.

Yet, the experience of oddness, sinister really, has sat with me for sometime, lingering in the shades of the night.
I felt helpless, an eyewitness to 
the unseen dangers everywhere: a man moving like a giant worm in a restraining jacket, attempting to hide and another, weirdly, a living baguette, human size, still warm.

I no longer rail against a night waking, 
using the solitude to awaken the wildness of the lived life. I have thought a lot about light this morning and how 
it needs a shade of dark to breathe in the beauty of the ancient conversation on the shores of and and both.

The poet was right. Like this surfacing in these early hours.
'Light never shows the same mountain twice.'

This was inspired by John O’Donohue’s ‘Divine Beauty: the invisible embrace’.