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River Deliver Me
Poetry by Henry Ludbrook
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I Will Always Be Writing
I will always be writing
like the days that come and go.
I will stay here and make light of
what they know.
I will always be writing
until I find a way to get it right.
I will always be writing.
It might look to the world
like I’ve been left
behind.
But I find these words
in the dust.
I find these words with my heart.
These words find me to remind me
why I am here.
I have learned to pay no mind to
my mind, most of the time.
I will always be writing.
I will always be learning to write.
I will always be quietly yearning to write.
I will never be earning a living from what I write
but giving my words to whoever hears
or reads them, whoever needs them,
whoever is freed by them.
I will always be writing
while I am smiling quietly
to myself while the sky
goes flying by
slowly till I know
why I will always be writing.
I will always be writing.
The trees will
be my friends until
the end of my days
as they let the light in.
They give me a living.
Usually I can just make ends meet
and other times, it is love that keeps me going,
when my money runs out and I have to ask my dad
for more, I am no less sure of why I will
always be writing these poems.
They say love finds a way.
They say love never leaves anyone behind.
Love is forever.
Love is whatever is kind.
Whatever comes, goes, whatever goes, comes.
Sometimes I feel like I know myself well.
Other times I feel like someone I don’t know.
All I need to know is I will be writing forever,
writing songs.
I belong wherever I am.
I understand writing is all I am and all I can understand.
All that calls me. Wherever I fall, whether I stand,
whether I hold it together,
it has grown into my soul.
My love for life, my love for writing
is as deep as the sky, as deep and as infinite
as forever, I am sure.
I will always be writing
as the waves lap
at the shore, as your love I love
above all things forever more.
You hold my hand. When I weep, you catch my tears.
You see through me, see into me, only you can make
me good, only you can make me realise that I was lonely
before I knew you.
Only you walk with me as I walk down this road.
Only you can love my with a love that leaves nothing owed.
Only you can carry me when I am too tired to take another step.
Only you can save me.
Only you can give me these brave words.
I will always be writing
above the earth and below the sky.
Sometimes I lie down and look up and I cry
because you have never left me.
It is through your death, that you brought me to life.
You’ll never escape me. You’ll brake my fall.
You’ll never forsake me.
You’ll watch me as I dream. You shall see me when wake.
I will believe in you whatever befalls me, wherever you take me.
I will always be writing.
Some days will raise me.
Some days will tear me down.
They put a crown of thorns on your head,
They punctured you through.
Your body is our bread.
You were crucified. You died in our stead.
I will always be writing.
You will always be my friend.
There has been no beginning and there will be no end.
Sometimes words sing and other times they croak.
I listen to them until the dust coats me.
There is such a strange justice in these words I wait for,
that I always be writing, I trust that these words are sure.
They are all I know and all I will ever need to know.
I carry them with me when I go.
Part of me leaves
but my heart will always stay here, I believe.
I will always be writing, singing these words within.
I will always love you.
I will always be writing.
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Where Teardrops Fall
(This song shares its title with a Bob Dylan song from the album Oh Mercy that was released in 1989)
I have been so far and so near
across this world. I have been so lost
that I didn’t know I was lost at all.
I have felt as small as teardrop falling
and being swallowed by the earth forevermore.
I have felt scared and I despaired
for following where my head lead me.
They could have declared me dead
for all the good I could have done for this world,
I see so easily now.
You wanted to meet me
where teardrops fall
for all you were worth
but I was too swept up in me to see you,
to bound to this old earth.
Then one day I fell through my hell
lower and slower than ever before.
I found the words
to call for you from the
place where teardrops fall
with my heart against the wall.
You poured your heart into my
heart until I felt so good that I couldn’t
keep you apart from me anymore.
My heart grew wings and flew right
through me into your sky.
I knew for the first time what I had been born for.
The best things that have ever happened
to me were those that led me to kneel
where teardrops fall
to know without a doubt
that your love is the only real thing
in this world gone wrong.
To know that I no longer
lack what you made me for.
I was made for these
words that keep me warm
as the leaves leave
these trees.
I believe in you because you never knew
a single way to stop believing in me.
The only thing I will ever need to know
is that I will never stop believing
in you and you’ll never leave me
no matter how many times I fall
and you bring me to sing these
words that are too deep to keep within me,
where teardops fall.
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I Must Stop Scrolling
I must stop scrolling so can I go and so slowly watch the sunlight go swimming
upon the sea until it is swimming within me.
I must stop scrolling so I can know how much I want to touch the wind with these words.
I must stop scrolling so I can take to the road so it can break me free of where my load of brain takes me!
I must stop scrolling to wake up. I was not born to die while life waits for me and the best lines escape me.
I must stop scrolling because I have so many people who are waiting for me to love them and I hate to leave them waiting.
I must stop scrolling. There needs to be dust in my words. I need a long talk with my words until they work out what they are saying.
I must stop scrolling. I have been holding onto myself too tight.
I must stop scrolling. There is too much between what I am saying and what I am meaning to say.
I must stop scrolling. I must just trust that the right words will find their way to me if I find a way
to listen for long enough.
I must stop scrolling. Often it will feel like an own goal or a song for the tone tone deaf or someone trying to sing when they haven’t got any breath left within them.
I must stop scrolling. The best poets show up for long enough. Eventually when they are stuck enough
and there is no where left to go, the words will know how to reap what they have sowed.
I must stop scrolling and let the sun sink in to my soul and drink cold water from 3 litre milk bottles and become best friends with these old words.
I must stop scrolling and understand these words that eventually land in my outstretched hands.
I must stop scrolling. I must learn how to wait like the earth waits for rain.
I must stop scrolling. My chains are in pain from keeping me locked where I remain.
I must stop scrolling. God Himself is older than time and shall tell me what he made me for as I wait and he carries my cares upon his shoulders. He has been holding these words for me my whole life.
I listen until I am beyond full, until my will is his will until these words fill me like a river shivering delivering every word unto me until I see that God is my best friend and these words are all I have ever heard coming home to me.
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As Good As You've Been To Me
As good as you’ve been to me,
as far as eternity. I could never learn
no matter how hard I might try.
It could never be understood by someone like me.
It would be like trying to count the stars
that are flung near and far in your sky that
you pour into everything that exists.
As good as you’ve been to me,
I see now that at every turn
I turned from you
until the day I returned to you
to learn that you know
no way to turn
away from me.
The leaves are leaving the trees
sailing across the afternoon
and I can see that you will always
know your way from you to me
like these words that arrive
not a moment too soon.
As good as you’ve been to me,
as many molecules as there are in this universe,
as many words that are in every verse ever written.
For every apostle slain, your love is above everything
that we can name and lay claim to.
As good as you’ve been to me.
I have travelled too many years
through the valley of my despair
to find that your love is everywhere
and made everything.
I want to sing to you forever.
There is a river shivering within.
I live for every word that I give to you.
I am drunk every time I try to speak.
You are too good to me. That is something that I can understand.
Your invisible hands are in everything. They were in your sons hands
as perfect as snow. Yet on that fateful day they
nailed those perfect hands
to wood just because they could as though hate
could kill love.
As good as you’ve been to me.
Your one and only son died
to crucify death on a cross made of wood.
His blood poured from him like a great flood
until there was none left inside him to give.
Just before he died he said “paid in full’ before
he gave up his spirit.
It is by his death that we live.
It is by these words that he said that we are given our bread.
It is too beautiful for these words.
Yes, it is far too good for me.
As good as you’ve been to me.
I am far too small for this great ecstasy!
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A Man Does Not Live By Bread Alone
I have come to finally understand that a man
does not live by bread alone.
If he is swept off his feet
time and time again
by a defeat
too deep to name,
he wonders if he can
find a way to go on
because he sees
for the first time
that he has founded his life
upon himself
and he sees that by himself
he is a castle of sand falling
because he is forever
smaller
than whatever
befalls him
and then in his despair
he calls out to the one
who made him and everything
and is everywhere
at the same time
and is deeper than forever.
He realises that every single thing that has
ever happened to him
was God speaking to him
so that he would finally listen
to what God had to say.
Every day was designed with this day in mind.
Every doubt was made to cancel out doubt forever more.
A man does not live by bread alone.
He needs to be freed by the blood of the one
who has overcome the world
and will come again.
A man shall be overcome
when he is overthrown
by the thought that he never ever walked
or will ever walk alone again
and he shall live forever together
with the one who died to give him
a new life inside him and guide him.
A man does not live by bread alone.
Let his old life be cleared away behind him.
Let his heart be renewed. Let his food be the words
that the spirit gave to every prophet and every apostle
who lost their life to gain the endless kingdom.
A man does not live by bread alone.
He was made by love and for a love that
shines through every single one of these lines
from above and beyond.
A man does not live by bread alone.
His flesh shall imprison his bones but
his new spirit shall live within him,
The greatest gift to be given
just because a man believes in something that
he does not see but can feel because it is more
real than anything in this world.
A man does not live by bread alone.
He lives by giving the love that has been given to him away.
He lives by forgiving those who wrong him as he has been forgiven.
He lives by his love that is above everything.
What use is joy if it is kept within? It is too deep to keep within.
It wants to overflow like Jesus’s blood. Let it do what only it can do.
Let it renew who it will
until they are a new creation.
Let it never leave anyone alone.
I believe in it above all things.
A man does not live by bread alone.
A man does not live by bread alone.
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Here
Here is always here for me.
Here is always near to me
like the air is near to my every prayer
that floats like an untethered
bird across sky
as I wait like forever
for my every word to be delivered.
I only know that I am always
listening and that I am not ever lonely.
I live for words. I live by words. When my life has been lived
I want you to give my heart unto this earth.
Hold it buried there for all that you are worth.
It is so hard to love a woman and I don’t want to know how because
I know how to love you and that is more than enough.
I sweat out my tough work and my hands understand their work
as easily as these words understand me.
I have planted trees here. You have planted me here.
I have grown up through these years like a tree
and everything good has come to me because I learned
how to earn these words by my listening.
I have sowed myself here and I
have reaped here and I have become as deep and as slow
as a summer day that that knows it’s way from dawn to dusk.
The things of this world confound people and whirl people around
like an endless merry go round. I have come to know that they
will never ever find what they are looking for because I looked there too.
I have come to know the slow growth of grain.
I have come to know the dust.
I have been cleansed by my sweat.
I have let my hair grow out from underneath me.
I have learned how little you need to know to be happy.
I have learned that you lack nothing when the wind is at your face,
the sky is in your heart. I see that my words do not come from me.
I have learned to know what they sound like.
I have got lost trying to find these words.
I have heard so many terrible lines before these lines
found me and I know that these lines
will never be mine. But I know that they have always
been and always will be yours. They fill me until
I need to give them away. I believe in the way leaves fall
from the trees. They fall through me until I am full of everything
and I want to sing forever more because I am as sure of myself as love itself.
Though I shall leave, you shall never leave me
wherever I shall ever go forever.
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I Belong To You
You found me.
That is what I found this life upon.
I belong to you
I long to sing to you forever.
I am within the son you sent
to rescue me from
the hell I’ve made from everything.
Even the songs I thought were
right were wrong
disguised as right.
Though he stole me away
from you,
you knew
the way
into the deep heart
that you gave to me
so that hell can’t keep
me away from you.
All the days without you
were your way of leading
me to you.
I belong to you.
I need to need you.
These words bleed for you.
You followed me for so long
as I walked on and on
away from you
into that wilderness
that I dragged across my lost
shoulders feeling older
than death though I
appeared to be young in years.
I was just dead enough from suffering
to be born again to you
so that your son is within
this singing that wants to give
itself to everything. I pray to you
that those who are ready
are listening in.
And though I’ve felt as useless
as a hand without fingers
or a singer without
a song to sing
or a stage to stand upon
that was when I felt your
invisible hands
in everything
and I knew somehow
how to sing
till these words grew
wings and your will will fill
them as they
fly
through
your sky
till I am so sure
forever more
that I am in you
and you are in me
and I mean everything I sing to you
and that is what you made me for
and someone somewhere
no matter how far
or near
or old or young
will hear them
with their whole soul
that you’ve given them
and they will begin
to live with
the life that you’ve given them.
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A Different Way Of Looking At A Beautiful Woman
I want you
to tell me slowly and exactly
what is happening to you.
When I am looking at you,
I can see that you are
looking back at me
and I can tell that you
probably see
another man who wants you
for your body or
for your face or
for your eyes
that you try
and keep
from me.
I want you to tell me
what it feels like
to deal with men
who look
at you
through their
bodies as though
we were only
lonely bodies
instead
of souls.
Let me want
to tell you
how I want to
take these words and
shape them
so they are round
and full like your
beautifully quiet
eyes.
Let me tell you so well
that I can never
be the man who would
take your hands
in his and tell you
what you travel
through this whole world
to hear
but I can tell you this poem
that tries to touch you with its
soul as you brush your hair
as it falls over your velvet skin
like a river of sunlight
giving to you
one line at a time
as you listen in.
Though we are worlds apart,
our hearts will always be
very near.
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The Day That I Realised I Didn't Know What Love Was
The day that I realised that I did not know what love was, I also realised that most of what I did, I did for myself and most of what I thought about was myself and I was beyond tired at living like that. I simply couldn’t go on like that. I was dying for a new way to live. My spirit had had enough of it. What I had thought of as love was just enough suffering for me to see that I had to break free of me where everything had taken me. So I decided to do the truest thing that I had ever done.
I decided to pray to God. I knew there had to be more to life than how terribly poor I had become. I was so sure in my big rig of heart that every little tiny and mighty and fallen and risen and given and taken and escape and dead end and friend and agenda had completely broken me apart. I said God, take me, I am so sure I am yours forever more. I don’t know what you want for me but I can see and understand that what I want for me is not what you want for me so please be with me. I am honest and you made me honest so that you could do something like this to write about so that you reading can see yourself reflected in this poem as this pours out of me like a river of words shivering with living that is not thinking but just as sure of itself as God himself.
And then my heart became lighter and lighter, like it was growing wings far lighter than the air and then it began flying right out of here. I was left behind, I flew right through me unto the undying air, I realised that this love had been trying to find me my whole life that I’d tried to steal away from me with everything that is unreal. It was just waiting for me to ask for it and I asked for it and it came for me straight away and I sailed away and watched myself. I didn’t weigh a single thing. I also realised that every single thing I had ever done and thought and dreamed had all led to this feeling of a love as deep as the universe. That is how deeply God loves us and then I found the most stupid and ridiculous way to stay away from writing this poem and then God said deep inside my head how he had sent his only begotten son who was totally perfect and sinless to die in the most agonising way over two thousand years ago so that someone like me full to overflowing with every sin under this old sun could find everlasting life. That’s the kindest most beautiful and profound and unfathomable act of a love as deep as the universe. So God said to me, It’s time for you to get out of the way. You’ve done your worst but that’s all totally ok. I want you to write down what I say because I made you for something and I make everyone for something. Then I knew that I had been found by love that I wanted to found this beautiful and precious life upon now and forever.
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You Knew
You knew
how long it would take to
find me.
You knew that
the gate was opening
and every escape from you
was a step toward you.
You knew
when I was breaking time
and time again
you were calling my name.
That every mistake was not
a mistake no matter how long
it would take.
You knew
that I was feeding my skin
with everything,
singing my song
everywhere I landed
I didn’t belong.
You knew
the enemy was within me
making me believe
I could save me
that indeed there was no enemy.
Every song was founded upon
houses of sand. Though you came
to my side, I denied you.
Though I didn’t believe in you,
You believed in me.
I left you, bereft from you,
the death I called life was all I knew.
You knew that everywhere I looked,
I was actually looking for you!
You knew exactly
how to send me a friend
who told me about you
so I believed him.
Everything that had ever ever
happened was contained
in that happening.
That is the only true
thing that can happen
to any man.
I prayed for you.
I prayed until
I didn’t weigh anything.
My heart was so light
it wasn’t anything.
I was flying with your wings.
I had left myself behind.
You knew that then I would never
again be that same man who walked
through
the valley
of the shadow of death
drowning in the skin
of his enemy, a hair’s breath
from eternal death.
You knew.
You always knew
what it feels like to be crucified
by those you have come to die for.
You knew exactly how many lies
will ever be sold and be bought.
These words will never be enough.
Nothing in this world is worth anything more than dust.
Please keep sending your friends out into the wilderness
until the ends of the earth.
May these words help you gather them.
I am only worth anything
because a friend found me
and I was ready for your words.
May these words be like old friends.
May you gather them from my tongue
and send them out
so that those who truly hear them
shall return to you
and they, like you, shall never end.
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I Am Reading Your Poems Crying
(dedicated to Glenn Colquhoun)
Dear Glenn,
I am reading your poems crying.
My tears are a warm wellspring.
I am lying down upon
the warm earth in this backyard, trying
to find this poem.
The sun smiles drunkenly
and I am wondering where
to start, so I’ll start with your face
and progress to your heart.
When I see your face,
I think of sun warmed earth.
I somehow know that people love to talk
whilst you listen and listen whilst you talk.
Your eyes are warm and slow
like the sun rising, making the horizon glow.
It is a face that has a lot of living in it.
It is the face of a man
who listens to everything.
Glenn, your heart is where a river gives
water to the sea.
It makes me see
that I am you and you are me.
It is a warm outstretched hand.
It is as reliable as the sun coming up.
It is a deep round sound as it beats
in your chest.
It is teaching me how to be.
It lives by giving itself away as gently as can be.
It moves like laughter.
It is indigenous.
It is something that’s been missing.
Glenn, what is the Maori word for Friend?
That’s right,
I think it might be e hoa
which sounds a lot like aroha to me.
When I close my eyes and think of you,
the word arohanui floats to me
across the Cook Straight and your words
arrive like old friends who have travelled
from the ends of Aotearoa
to tell me a poem that will never end
and has always known where it’s going.
It matters that you are a friend
to that boy who you likened to a fish
getting away from the men
who had tried to kill it
but that found its way to the sea.
Now that fish finds me.
Your letters are better than others’ poetry
because your listening
underpins them.
They feel round and ripe
in my mind and on my tongue.
I have been waiting to cry like this for so long.
I’ve been waiting for a man like you to
place these words upon.
Glenn, there are so many men
but there are too few like you
who listen to them.
Your hands expand like happiness.
It matters as much as love that there is a man
like you who listens to understand.
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The Gentle Man
(dedicated to Mark Raffills)
I know a gentle man
from a kinder age.
His eyes
are like the deep blue sky
that eternity sees
through,
as near and as far.
His voice is a bar, and a stage
and a page of words,
like birds breaking
into flight,
as light and as deep
as the sky.
He is a fisherman for words.
He waits at cafes, bars, at the dining table,
at the mall, he is on call all day
and night,
standing as alone as a telephone,
as patient as stone.
Some men come and talk to me
about Jesus
but there is just something uptight
to them, like neon light,
too white
and hot, not warm
and I would be running for the door
because something is not quite right.
But I've come to see God in him,
and he need not say a thing
about Jesus bleeding
or the nails in his hands.
I can see him now somehow
on some rolling road,
a golden evening lighting
the road home and
of course Dylan singing to him,
like the two are the last
two souls on this old earth.
Somehow I can hear him trying to out sing Dylan,
His hands banging that
steering wheel to 'Like A Rolling Stone',
his voice rising
into his eyes,
the steeper part of the Takaka Hill
behind him now,
the road
unwinding like lines
of poem
that know exactly
where they are going
and how to find him.
There is so much suffering in this world of
wilderness. It never seems to be enough.
His wisdom is in listening,
A river of words
gives to him
its solemn offering.
There is an angel in his head
giving him this bread,
each word shivering like a tear
falling from skin
like the blood bled and forever shared
so that even we
can be forgiven.
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I Was Made For Here
I was made for here.
I was made for these prayers
that only you and I can hear.
I didn’t realise that I was lonely
until you appeared
after all of these years
that were always leading me here.
Now may your will fill me
and may these words
ring like your perfect offering
of your only begotten son
that will never be forgotten.
There is a man who is the best man I know
who you sent to find me here.
His words are your words
that will never disappear.
My heart was heavy until you filled it
with your love that is lighter than the very air.
I felt like my heart was growing wings and could fly away
till my endless sin
was the most distant thing,
as tiny
as the earth must look like from your heaven.
I was made for here.
I was made for this listening
and this slow smile glistening
and this nothing missing feeling.
The first real feeling of my whole life.
I was made
for the cicada's chorus
and the parched earth's thirst
in the drought.
I was made for
feeling out
the feeling
of without.
I was made for these words
rather than a woman
and I have heard
so very
many.
But some of these are too kind to be mine.
I was made to understand
my hands
returning
to learn
again and again
this work that breaks me free
of where my brain takes me.
I was made to
feel these spring winds
loose the cotton from
these cottonwood trees.
I was made to let the days
move me where they please
till I am not sure if I am days
or I am me and you will never
run out of ways to find me.
I was made to learn
that you have so many plans
for me that I don’t understand yet.
I was made to break free of where my pain
takes me again and again.
I tried so hard to escape you
and I didn’t know it.
Now may you forgive me as only
you can.
I want to live with you in everything I see and do.
I want to stay here
listening forever
whatever the weather, whether anyone
will ever read or heed or care for these words
like one big prayer
that you made me to say to you
in just this way that I just must trust always.
I was made for here.
I was made for here
that will always follow me
everywhere.
I was made for here.
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Zen in the Art of Apple Picking
Some men follow women, some follow leaders
into wars for gold but I need only this apple orchard. This
blue sky that bends
forever
Above
the weather
as deep as love.
When these words walk across this page
like old friends wondering which turn to take,
they speak for the man who liked to make
gorilla sounds at the age of 59 whenever I saw him.
He told me about his life. The ex wife
he’s left behind him.
He feels sublime when the sun
comes out over the trees some days. These trees are his brothers
he says. Everyone carries a load he says
and everyone gets lost on the road that is life.
The days play with your sanity sometimes he says
and the hours can make it hard to tell whether the bin is half full or half empty.
You must resist the pull of your mind mate he says.
A few hours later he is making gorilla mating sounds
and my laughter is escaping through
my enormous smile of mouth into the sky.
Soon Tongan pickers come. They begin singing and then end up grunting like gorillas too.
It is like a mental hospital and I fit right in for the first time. These men are clinically happy.
Something is right with them.
Another man in the next row says he is moving north west by foot on this apple pilgrimage.
I ask him why oh why are women so complex? He looks at the uncluttered sky and says
mainly because of their many insecurities.
He says that he trusts wine at night.
Wine spilling like evening light until
the moon turns ripe. He lives alone now
in a tiny hilltop cottage.
Sometimes I can’t tell whether the days are coming
or going and I have begun to know
that it doesn’t matter anymore.
My body is sore and my face hurts from smiling
and I don’t need anything but this anymore.
Girls from this busy world
came and went in the adjacent rows.
I liked to think I liked them until I knew
I was through with playing that game.
So I let some other men lay claim to them.
I have been here so long since the time they have come and gone.
I have gone beyond carrying on. Gone beyond carrying anything.
Become as empty as the sky heaven leans upon.
Those days taught me everything I’ll ever know.
Gave wings to these words, heard me listening in,
everything must be listened to
and then gone
Beyond.
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Text
The Three Brightest White Roses
(for Bravery Always)
In Berlin, it seemed that everything was happening.
It was summer there and it felt like history
was staring me down
from every surrounding building.
It seemed to me that the history there
was too dark and deep
for such a sunny day
for someone as young as me.
But something from deep within
had me listening in.
It was there that we took a tour inside
history. Our tour guide took us there
as we walked those streets
and we ended up at the Holocaust Museum.
I found myself
getting lost
in the claustrophobia
and human cost of history.
It seemed that history had a way
of repeating
till at last we hear
what it is trying to say.
The tour guide told
of Sophie Scholl, her brother Hans and Christoph Probst.
These three were part of the White Rose Movement
who taught the art of
passive resistance.
They were found handing out leaflets
around the University of Munich and charged with treason.
The People's Court found them guilty
and then when Sophie Scholl spoke to the court
about her reasons, she explained it all:
‘What a fine, sunny day and I have to go. What does my death
matter if through our actions thousands of people
are stirred to action’.
So they murdered her as though they had never heard
her last words.
Yet somehow I hear them as light and clear
as a dove sailing through the air,
like the last prayer this old world
will ever hear
and I know that even when Love seems far away,
It is actually always
very near.
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Something Truly Beautiful Is Happening To My Longing
I have had this longing in me for so long.
I used to look at women and think there was one out
there for me, staring through her eyes as beautiful as the sun.
It was fun wondering which one might be the one
but these days the bottom is falling out of my longing.
It seems that everyone
who I see is trying to be
something that they are not
and I am beginning to slowly see
that there never was or will really be me
at all so I love this feeling
of falling into what is real.
I love to feel myself letting go
and then letting go of letting go.
My longing is falling away.
Most days I just sit here staring
up at the ceiling
covered in light
growing so slowly as love
shining down from above.
Love is the only real feeling anyway
these words might be trying to say.
I still look at woman now but it's not in the same way.
They used to weigh down my eyes.
Now my eyes just fly away
to the sky and the sky flies through them too.
Now every woman I look at is beautiful,
each one in a different way. It is more than enough
to just look and let them go on their way
because something very beautiful
is happening to my longing
today
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I Will Continue to Suffer Until I Learn to Look Within
I will continue to suffer until I learn to look within.
I will continue to suffer until I learn to look within.
I will continue to suffer as someone suffers who lives inside a dream.
A dream seems real until you realise that it is a dream.
Until you realise with your eyes glowing warm and your mouth beginning
a warm slow concentric smile that you have created this dream with your mind.
I am beginning to realise with both eyes tight shut following each thought from the dream back to its source that there is something that gave birth to this dream that is not that dream itself. I am beginning to realise when I do what Ramana Maharshi said to do, that I am not the dream but I am the dreamer. I am realising that everything that seemed real was a dream. And then I am wanting to praise the name and life of Ramana Maharshi. Then I realise that I am actually Ramana Maharshi!
Wow, that is quite a realisation!
That was and is quite a realisation! But I am still very much stuck or seem or dream myself to be stuck in the dream.
I keep suffering thoughts and walking and awkward glances when people at cafes see my old orchard clothes. Then I realise that those people are actually me too.
But I go back to the dream and keep suffering. I don’t seem to think that I have had enough suffering in the dream, it seems!
So I go on suffering. I suffer bodies and skies and clouds and cars and roads and people and steep hills and tvs and radios and internet and pornography and internet viruses and then I have had enough so I go back and seek the source of all of this dream and again realise that I am dreaming and the source of the dream is the only part of the dream that is real.
So I begin to peel all of the layers of the dream off until again there I am giving birth to this dream. There are far far too many layers of this dream to peel off to see what is real that I am not going to mention any of these in this poem because you would stop reading this poem real fast if I did and I want you to keep reading this poem because it might just be the most real thing that I have done for a long time!
So instead I am going to write that you are also in this poem and you are also like me dreaming that you are seeing reality when really like me you are dreaming dreams but we all must just trust with our hearts that are as deep as the universe that the universe knows what it is doing and is in the process of waking all of us up from this dream
till we realise what is real and what is dreaming
and then we won’t need to write, read, dream or touch this poem and we will just keep going
and live in ecstasy and reality and bliss and truth for ever and ever and ever.
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