A dry June
and roses and honeysuckle
tumble in riotous flower
down the path, below the gate,
in anticipation of drought.

The rush slowly
(keeping vegetable time)
towards the battlefield
of fern and bramble
which flows
to the cliff edge.
Beyond, the sea.

The mind takes on the colour
of what it shines through.
What it shines through
are the products of mind itself
from all our yesterdays.
This is the dance
of the mind
with its creations
(eternity with the products of time);
a slow and formal cosmic dance
to the silent music of the void.
This wonderful and mechanistic dance
flows on because the dancers
are somnambulant.
Who will wake them?

The Palm trees
have flowered
for the first time;
pushing ungainly spikes
in sprays of flowers like jasmine.

Paint a tiger
on the wall.
Turn and run
(in case it catches you).


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In the grey mist of an English dawn,
the starling stamps and prods and probes
and generally disturbs
the lawn,
seeking to confirm
an English proverb.

Beneath the green of an English lawn,
the patient worm
the bird.

In this numbing
cosmic dance,
each one gives
and takes his chance
to feel and find
in flesh and mind
the ambiguous secrets of becoming.


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When you throw yourself
down from the top of high mountains
the Earth does not take you
into her arms
and comfort you.

When you kneel
and kiss the ground,
the Earth does not praise
your humility.

It is for this reason
that she is called
‘The Great Mother’.

Every moment
is a fork in the road.
And every fork
is always the same:
the choice between right and wrong.

The wrong is always
arrogating to oneself
things which do not belong
to oneself.

The right is always
following the Light.


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A boat
on the stream
of time.

On either bank
the dream;
a banquet for the senses.
A blaze
of colour and livingness,
of music and messages
to tempt and amaze;
enticements and instant memories;
the enchanting voice
of the serpent.

on the stream
from nowhere
to nothing.


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The best way of enough is all gone,
for that there is no argument upon.

While there is still something in the dish
there is, in Mind, propensity to wish.

Wishing is a film that spreads itself like jam
and turns the dullest pebble to a fragment of “I AM”.


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Mingled dust of privet and rose petals
swept by the wind
gathered into cracks and empty spaces
along the bottom of the wall.
Mingled dust of hopes and memories
swept by the mind
gathered into cracks and empty spaces
along the bottom of us all.


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Doing something is
the State of Being
in motion,

should be,
echoes Gnome

allowing an eternal moment
to expand into a continuum of prayer,

a chorus of obscenities,
choruses Gnome

a symphony of joy.

an orchestra that has crucified its instructor
and can no longer progress beyond
a discordant tuning of instruments,
says Gnome.

Life membership of a team that always wins
in a game without opponents.

If there are opponents, they can cheat
and fight among themselves
and appoint a referee to martyrise,
says Gnome.

Doing something
loses its sacredness
and spiritual satisfaction
the moment when you think
to do it in order to get it done,
to travel to arrive,
to go to work to come back home,
to begin to finish,
to work to retire.

Your walk through
the paradise of the Elysian fields
then becomes a competitive time trial
to see who gets to the exit
and tumbles
into the teeming
of Lethe and Forgetfulness.


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Full of danger is this world of ours
which threatens us on every side.
Floods and fumes and killers and cars.
These appear the whole world wide.
Constant vigilance is needed
just to keep oneself alive.

But the greatest danger
lurks within.
There lies the beginning
(and end)
of every single sin.

It is moral armour
that protects one,
from one’s own karma.


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Malinee’s father took her to China.
There was a reception in their honour.
A monkey was brought in
and put on the table.

It was alive.

Its body filled the cage;
the head stuck out of the top.

Everyone watched.
The monkey’s head
was carefully shaved.
The top of its skull was chopped off.
Wine was poured
into the exposed brain.

It was still alive.

The guests used their chopsticks
to select pieces of brain.
They put them in their mouths
sucking out the taste of the wine.

Eventually, the monkey died.

Malinee was horrified.

Then Malinee’s father
took her to Singapore.
There was a reception in their honour.
A large bowl was brought in
with giant prawns.

They were alive.

The chef poured alcohol onto the prawns.
They jumped up and down drunkenly.
Then he lit a match
and the bowl filled with flame.

The prawns died
and were cooked
in the same instant.

Malinee was horrified.

Malinee’s servant brings
fish (and prawns)
from the market.

Malinee eats these.
They are already dead.
That makes all the difference.

To whom?


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I must be present now
before I can have a past;
I must be present now
to create a future then.

If I still my present mind
and exchange present thoughts
for nothing at all,
I have escaped past and future
and achieved a timeless peace
with no yesterday, no tomorrow.

I am
Abraham was.


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