each year the same as the seasons recede
autumn to winter like colours that bleed
dark nights and cold days will make us concede
the time has arrived now when they must go home

fly away home, fly away home
birds now are gathering to fly away home
fly away home, fly away home
birds now are gathering to fly away home

excerpt from “fly”

“Let those who have ears, hear!” a teacher once said.

But not everyone does.

Not everyone who has ears hears that which is only hinted at. Not everyone who has eyes sees beyond the dry predictability of our days. Not everyone who feels experiences the one from whom the touch comes.

Perhaps he just looked like another dog-walker. Wandering along the pebbled-beach, trying not to get blown over by northerly winds. Distracted momentarily by the geese overhead looking for land.

Fly away home, fly away home. A song was forming in his mind as he walked. Fly away home, fly away home. Birds now are gathering to fly away home…

Let those who have ears…

He heard it. In the call of the wild, he heard it. The gift of our being. Our need for home.

Hear, those who have ears.

how many times
must I travel this road
such ground beneath my feet
how much longer
must I carry this load
the dead weight of defeat

how many times, hope standing tall
how many times
how many times must I fall
how many times, this all

excerpt from “how many times”

In the late night swirl of the glass. In the skite of the stone kicked into the distance because no matter how we try we cannot really kick ourselves.

How many times.

How many times. The not-yet-question which will not leave us be.

How many times this fear. How many times this dashed hope. How many times this same old mistake.

However many times, I am with you, the voice Love longs we hear. However many times, I will lift you up to try to stand again, the words Love dares us trust. However many times, my begin-again healing is assured, the promise Love aches to make real.

if I show you deep within me
will you tread with utmost care
and treat in gentle confidence
the secrets you find there:
for few can make that journey
to a fragile heart laid bare
and not themselves be changed
by what they see

excerpt from “deep within”

What if instead of snatching truth we took time to hold it gently?

What if instead of listening, one eye on the clock, we immersed ourselves in another’s story?

What if instead of holding back we gave ourselves, heart, mind and soul?

What if – and it is too fearful a question not to ask – what if we travel through life never really connecting? Never really making sense of each other or ourselves? What if we never really understand?

To be among the “few” to “make that journey”. To discover the “few” to be many. To be changed by what we see. A wish. A hope. A prayer.

silence a gift rarely found
feared more than favoured by most
for in the absence of sound
our cluttered selves can feel lost

here I would stay all alone for a while
deep in the peace of this place
glad to have time by myself just to dwell
glad to have found sacred space
glad to have found sacred space

excerpt from “sacred space”

Still sleepy snowdrops, out of place somehow among the dried-up debris of autumn. Tall twisting trees, no choice for now but to dance their naked dance.

Tracks in the red gravel path reveal others have walked this way before. Hurting ones, hoping ones, longing-for-peace ones. All of us, trying to find the space which in the end perhaps searches us out.

Space.

Sacred space.

Where we can simply be without fear or favour.

Sleep. Don’t sleep. Wash up. Don’t wash up. Walk in the nearly-spring. Wait alone on this just-right window sill.

But be glad.

Be glad of the space you found or which found you.

It will be as you need it to be.*

*written with thanks to all at the Garden Cottage Spirituality Centre for space and place to be

you give reasons to be peaceful

you are light to pierce the shade

you take time to show affection

you cause doubts and fears to fade

in the storms you are like sunshine

in the noise a still small voice

in the bitter wind a haven

in the swirling tide a choice

excerpt from “reasons”

Reasons to be peaceful can feel few and far between.

It has always been so.

Despite what is sometimes said, these days are no more difficult than those which came before (neither are they any less beautiful).

Still, reasons can feel few.

Too much hurry, too little tenderness.

Too much running, too little shelter.

But then we hear it, feel it, hold it for all it is worth.

The word that stills us and steals our anxiety.

The touch that soothes us and quiets our soul.

The mystery is that sometimes we are for other people that reassuring word, that gentle touch, even when we do not realise it.

Bringing point and purpose and, yes, perhaps even beauty to these days.

you are not so unworthy

as you presume you are

as if beyond some pale hue

through travelling too far

down destruction’s twisting road

with no chance of return

the only fate facing you

regret’s unyielding burn

to err is all too human

and no one is unstained

saints are few and far from clean

with moral slips restrained

forgiveness said to be divine

but needs that we receive:

accepting all is not lost

the start of our reprieve

excerpt from “never lost”

How many times am I to forgive my brother? The question once put to an itinerant teacher. Six or seven maybe? Would that be enough? Surely any more than that would just be foolish!

Seven times seventy, was the teacher’s response. In other words, forgive however many times it is needed. You cannot put a number on forgiveness.

It can be hard to forgive other people.

Harder still to forgive ourselves.

We may have become quietly adept in concealing them from others, but we cannot hide from ourselves the endless repetition of mistakes and misfired chances to change.

How many times am I to forgive myself? The question we fear to ask, not realising the same answer applies.

As many times as needed.

As many times as needed.

Live gently. Quit counting. Start accepting.

We are never forever lost.

take this time we share

for all that it is worth

unreasoned joy a gift

and whisper of a birth

stay for a while

be with me now

find your lost smile

some day, somehow

excerpt from “stay”

Platitudes and easy answers: the way of the world.

Platitudes and easy answers: the way of denial.

After a death: he had a good innings, as if the pain of loss can somehow be refused.

In the face of tragedy: there is reason for everything, as if sorrow can be neatly folded and tidied away.

Sometimes, though, there are no words to soothe.

Sometimes words simply wound and frustrate.

Sometimes all that is left to say is in the silence.

And in the being with, lost smiles are found.