They say the world is without magic
I dare not imagine what such a world would be
All grey, all same, unending tunnels of suffering and greed


Where all is due to chance alone
And pleasure is confused with need
Where fulfilment is impossible and
Thought, love and kindness are unfree.

In such a place, one dares not trust,
the Universe is the enemy,
Reality is Deceptive, Desolate and Dangerous
and Reward comes only to those who fight free
while others struggle in existence
left to contemplate on the cruelty of mankind,
living on to blank purpose
and to darkness are they confined.

Separation is their ambition,
In glass and concrete they bury themselves,
and to Machines they sell their spirits
For numbers are more important than the company
of friends.


Perhaps in such a world the birds no longer chirp
because the trees are no longer there,
Instead they hear the clang and drop and honk of a busy life
that hunts them everywhere.

Imagine! In such a place animals are caged,
Feared are they as misunderstood is their majesty,
And see, breathing pure air is just a privilege,
As is drinking clean water free.

Day in and day out they use their numbers to
trash the Land and corrupt the Seas,
They say it brings them joy,
As much as poisoning their bodies brings them glee.

With happiness must come sadness
And with comfort must come pain,
Those few who find Contentment are
Scorned for their endeavours to abstain
from the rituals that bring pleasure
but dig a gaping hole inside,
Uncomprehended are those who seek true peace
and meaning and connect rather than abide.


No, but even in such a world, if life sustaineth still
then magic still shall there be
So lost into ourselves and disconnected from our souls,
No longer do we miracles or marvels see
Does life, beauty and complexity no longer sprout from the smallest seed,
the diversity and ingenuity of all Nature’s forms not strike you as a marvellous deed?

For when in Silence, I observe Nature’s grace and charm and style,
I feel, I know, I Belong to
The Divine.
 

How they long for their big, bustling city!
Its crowds, the sounds,
the buses, trains, the cabs and trams,
the variety and colour of streets, the infinite shops, the choice of where to go,
the sights, the museums, the romance of night lights.
How every day is different, how varied the opportunities, the paths.

In my city,
the crowds fly and the sounds are melodies,
its inhabitants buzz, chirp, flow and hop by,
the streets divide into multitudes of colours and shapes, every inch as different
as two bricks are the same.
In the smallest of spaces there is infinity, and in the biggest, the choice of where to look,
and when the light shines, it fills the wholeness of space and the soleness of my heart,
the romance hidden in the little mysteries of a solemn sky.
How different each day is, how varied the opportunities, the paths!

Today I look upon that burst of pink,
the birth of buds,
the little droplets hanging from the pine leaves.
The branches, I notice, hang lower today,
the whiteness of the ground is of a different shade,
and while the birds sing as they did before,
I know their song is not the same.
The water that glides the surface of the stream is ever changing,
like the atoms that cycle in the dynamism of Life.

So I don’t long for my big, bustling city.
It goes with me wherever I go
Big as ever, no matter how small.
 

Open your eyes.
Listen.
Listen to the rustling leaves,
the sound of snow falling from the trees,
the gentle whisper of the stream.
The birds that sing their welcome!
That chirp in unifying peace.
Walking,
I hear the crunching of the snow beneath my feet,
among the little sounds that
awake the silence.

And around me,
the beauty of that white cover, so delicate,
so fine.
Though cold, it brings a warmth to the elements that
I can’t define.

So, while you complain about the cold,
the immeasurable horror of the inconvenience that is snow,
I beg you to reconsider with all that you know.
And indulge in this silent, liberating peace.

For in my heart lies the hope that one day,
you will open your eyes.
Awake from your dream.
And find Life
simply by listening to the wind.
 

River rushing through creek.
Water, rocks, trees,
assuming shape, knowing surroundings
invariably, flowing through law
law flowing through it
Knowledge contained in its essence

Not conscious
but the end-point is clear, intrinsic to its existence,
the embodiment of natural law.

How some assume to be the river!
With absolute certainty they insist to
know the world.

Water, rocks, trees
the creek shapes us, knows us,
but we do not know the creek. 

And yet
somehow we may take any shape
more like an uncontrollable fire
holding the freedom of
choice.

Not knowing what is ahead
nor understanding the reality we have
changed. Yet having to
think, decide and
live.

To choose our own way
to make our own creek.

Though overwhelmed by the thought of the
consequences
I embrace the thought and
go to sleep.

​