Paths


There is now only relief. We have 
a new morning and no matter 
how the winter day has made itself felt 
with a different kind of light, we can step out 
knowing that some better angels 
will join us; just there, you can see the path, it rises up 
and comes into view.

I have changed the last two lines over the previous hours of reflection.

Brushes


Seaside. Broadside, wide-angled lens. There is a straight line against the skyline. A tankard gives it a shipping lane on the white of the sky. A perfect line until you get there. Slightly elevated, it would be a curve, the shape of the planet. Gorgeous pale blues and the dots of birds provide some movement. Like the life guards training in their high viz oranges. If I were in Paris, you would see me there in the tree-lined boulevard of artists – next to the Seine – with other water colours, a canvas and a brush of words, while the poodles and their walkers stroll gently by.

© Rick Frame


The skin of the dark

The light in the November morning mingles 
closely with the night. It struggles to shed the 
skin of the dark. It stills me these days,
the dread of it gone, 
this underworld, this shadow, this journey
inward to some kind of light.
And the understanding is different in this place,
without the glare of summer's publicity.
Here I can be quiet.
No flashlights, no paparazzi of false revelation
but a turning inwards,
a beginning of a level of depth of insight, with the night
touched by a pencil of light on a softer skin.

Not knowing

It will take several lifetimes to understand the mystery that is us, I thought and, even then, it is uncertain. Even if we travelled to the nearest star we would not know.

Perhaps some kind of answer is closer than we think. Looking out across the night autumn sunset, I could feel the mystery wrap itself up in wonder. The evening sky breaks the blue. Birds fly into it, wings of flight, skydive.

The release of the clenched fist of the mind. It’s okay to have the don’t know mind and not know what is going to happen tomorrow. Like the wise man asked: how did you get into that body?

Not knowing is difficult. But who ever learned anything when things were easy? The poet said that it is in the no longer knowing what to do, when there is sheer bafflement, then you will be fully employed.

This is the invitation to mystery. In the darkness there is light. Here you can stop. Remind yourself of the beginner’s mind. Here there is a secret beauty. The possibilities of our indigenous nature. A seed awake.

 


Inspired by Wendell Berry, TS Eliot and most of all Jack Kornfield.