Going out there is no other,
coming back there is no trace.
Though we must love one another,
whose is the beloved’s face?

Start from wherever you think you wish to,
you cannot end up in a different place.
Examine carefully the mirrors around you.
All that you see is the same old face.

Blame not the mirror for malformation.
Polishing glass will not improve the skin.
If you wish for transformation,
seek out a smile that warms from within.


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In the Beginning. 
God walked with Adam in the cool of the day.
Despite hearing the Truth from God’s own mouth,
Adam did not heed Him.

God sent prophets to be his tongues.
Despite hearing the Truth from God’s own prophets,
Adam’s descendants did not heed them.
Many were imprisoned, stoned or crucified.

in this New Age,
God has chosen living men
to be His eyes and Ears and not just His Tongue.

Their task is to perceive,
accurately and without prejudice,
all that happens

What they see is transmitted
to God’s Control Room,
which is beyond our understanding.

Reward and Punishment
is now swift and unerring.

Now, what we see and experience
Here, in our world,
is entirely appropriate
to what
we are doing
Here, in our world,
and what
we entirely deserve.


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As you contemplate your world
sliding into darkness and conflict
and your leaders just WILL not help you
but just scramble among themselves
for the bits and pieces left over,


          If you can’t stop it,
            Best jump off it!
           As Sophocles said.
      “Not to be born is best.”

Next best, if born already?
Trace it all back to where it began.       

The acorns we miss         
are the branches     
we bang our heads on.


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In the Jungle of the World
and the tangle of the Senses
we build us huts of mud and heartache
and make (and mend) our fragile fences.
“This is ME! This is MINE!”
is the burden of our song.

We cannot see, still less define,
that pain and sorrow prove us wrong.
This is NOT mine, this is NOT me,
is the beginning of our sanity.

Letting go of what does not concern us
leaves that alone which, meddled with, will burn us.
The Law is mirror-like in its precision
and its simplicity needs no revision;
that Good breeds Good
and Evil has its price;
that Virtue is its own reward.
And so is Vice.

That all things pass away,
from butterflies to stars,
and though the World’s a prison
it’s the Mind that makes the bars.


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Time drifts away,
as mist fades on the mountain.
The world itself is hardly more substantial.
The living water springing
from life’s fountain runs dry,
leaving discarded bones
bleaching in the sun.

Molecules of arms and legs and brain
are rebels all and would be free again
and the whole pageant of our days and hours
runs only till we lose our feeble powers.

We are children playing out our days
with sandcastles and fantasies
until the turning of the tide slides in to erase
what we have worked so hard to raise,
struggled to protect and called our own –
fragments of things, at very best on loan.

Upward our thoughts might usefully aspire;
nothing down here needs building any higher.

Deal justly with your neighbour
and make of him your friend
and, in your inner garden, labour
until you reach your end.


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Lift the screen and see the world,
the world you made as you passed by,
wrought with greed and raw desire,
your image flying in the sky.


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Though the weekend people
leave it all behind,
when they sit down quietly
it’s all there in their mind.

And though they leave their footprints
to commemorate their stay,
when the cosmic tide comes in,
it washes them away.

The sand, the rocks, the buildings
though private (and insured),
the pictures, frames and gildings
-nothing has endured.

The cosmic tide has taken them
and their owners too.
(And when they sit down quietly
it’s all there in their mind.)


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