What are these, these words I write?

What are these, these words I write
They are nothing yet they are gathered,
bound and read. I cannot write, not for
my soul. It has not a single word it is
nothingness, it is emptiness it is my deepest core.
Grace is all it understands as Grace is All.

A word is only your exterior. It dresses
your exterior. It is merely the extreme of your
exteriority and it can never taste the colour
that your exteriority extends because your word
in Truth is merely nothing but the clothes
of fashion you dearly don.

So then what are words if the interiority
has no voice to sound the Spirit of God.
A soul cannot be read just as Grace
cannot be written. So what are these,
these words I write. They are nothing.

Listening, Looking and Seeing

Listening, Looking and Seeing.

Like an old clock, ticking, ticking, ticking wilfully

and faltering not in determination.  Can’t stop, won’t

stop, can’t stop, won’t stop.  Ticking never to forget

the edge of time. Ticking a trapping remembrance,

the past. Presenting the present and sounding the future. 

Ticking tirelessly, continually, effortlessly and in all

manner ticking. Ticking, passing thru sleep as the silent

night sweeps to awake the dream.  Ticking to sculpt

the spirit. Time.  Hearing time saturates all desires,

to rush, to fall, to repent, to love, to forgive, to tend and

shape a vision, to listen and prepare to walk that gentle

walk so timelessly with All.  Looking up to see the face

that looks down without judgement.  A time to see.

In such a sight, the past is held within the ticking face

and to see the present is time to trust the future.  Hands

that hold All time. Looking up, looking down, looking all

around, ah, a time for All to be seen.

Swimming with All

Swimming with All

I’d swim the colours of life to be with God thru the paddocks, thru the trees, thru the muddy dams. I’d dive thru the rocks, thru the hills, to beneath the creeks and from the extreme interiority, the well of my soul, I’d breathe of Oneness, I would swimming the colours of life.

I’d swim the clouds and taste the colours of rain, the stars I’d swim like a butterfly and in milk I’d swim the warmth and drink the flavours of the Milky Way and of those distant red and dying stars I’d gently swim the surface to tend the wounds that have dipped me in my mourning colour. And in God’s pallet, there too, I’d swim of all the skies, blacks and blues.

I’d swim those strokes His colours, He paints those skies and splashing from sunset to sunrise I’d swim the colours of life to be with God. I would swim the invisible within the visible around within a rock, up and down inside a tree and in every flower I would swim the nectar and taste the colours and kiss the bees and swim on thru the feathers of wings, the colours of life.

I’d float on my back through my memory and blow bubbles the colours of life. I’d swim and slide and spin and splash down the colours of a rainbow then dive thru the colours of life to go beyond and float far into nothingness and it is there I’d tread.

Ah, love does become me as I swim the colours of life.

 

Seeing ALL