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Look Ahead. March On.

How do I look beyond

What I see at present?

Is that seeing a matter

Of imagination, or faith?

What must I presuppose?

What must I know?

 

The present will cease

To overwhelm you

If you understand that it is

Only an event

In the expanse of a larger destiny

That awaits you.

Don’t cling to it

Don’t linger on it

For too long…

If the moment is over

Leave it behind

Knowing fully well

That you are on your way forward

And that if time hasn’t stopped

You have to continue walking…

You have other promises to keep.

 

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Unavailable

What if you are unavailable to yourself?

The mind occupied

With thoughts that are not about you

The heart beating silently

Your talents offered

Without a care for reward

You stand detached from action

The act of waiting for your turn to come-

For the time when you will be available

To attend to yourself

-has an incredible power…

It sustains you without

All the things you thought were necessary…

Worry…Self-concern…Validation…

…the time to exist just for yourself…

Without them as your cause to be

You stand in effect

Freed from all the limitations

That define your littleness.

 

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Till We Meet Again…

I wish you’d leave
I’d like to be alone

In a time and space
Freed of the need
To be guarded

Right now
I don’t want to care
For what you will think or feel
I just want to
Touch base with myself

But then in my solitude
I find myself searching
For that permanence
That’s supposed to be me
…A me without you.

What an ache there is
To find no such thing
Just a hope that one day
When the curtains come down
On the drama of our lives

Read more

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What Remains When All Ends

Each experience

Is like a short film

 

A fixed-duration sound and light show.

 

My life is an illusory line

Composed of short-lived segments

 

Everything with a beginning is fated for an end.

 

All that I know

At some point fades into the darkness of what I don’t

 

Every day ends in a dark night.

 

In and through short-lived experiences

The experience of experiencing has persisted

 

With all that changed, this alone has remained.

 

 

 

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A Drawing in Still Waters

What is a poem

If not a reflection

Of the mystery of my being

 

How can I claim authorship

Or even meaningful intent

When my own existence is

Like a drawing in still waters.

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NOW

I suspect that

There’s no other time

Apart from NOW.

 

Your memories and

Your dreams

Live only in the NOW.

 

You can’t be better than

Or more prepared than

You already are…NOW.

 

How you will be tomorrow

Is how you are

Today…in this moment…NOW.

 

The most important people

Exist in your life

Right here, right NOW.

 

To wait in hope

Is to hold your breath

Inhale and exhale…NOW.

 

To grow is not a future plan

It is to fill up

The space of NOW.

 

 

 

 

 

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A Time to Become, A Space to Be

So, if a measured unit of time has gone by

What has happened to immeasurable space?

 

Space cannot go by

Or be over…

Spaces are where we live

Where we think and feel…

Gain and lose

Give and take

Seek out and find…

Space is shared

Space is for all

Space is co-existence.

 

Time may slip through

But there’s no reason why space should too.

 

Space is not a dimension of becoming

It’s a dimension of being

Let’s make the choice

To be more than just little.

To choose silence over argument

To see that grace and disgrace

Co-exist and collude, fool and then enlighten…

So that you may see the folly in seeking external favour

And then to understand that if you didn’t insist

On living within the walls you built

 

There’d be no consequential desire to leave

And nothing you’d want to walk away from.

 

 

 

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The Aesthete

There’s an aesthetic pleasure

Awaiting us in every circumstance

In every human condition

 

In emptiness, in ambiguity

In the naive and the silly

In the silent and the unsaid

 

Even the repulsive

Is pervaded by a grace

Over and above its own character

 

Perception depends on the perceiver

Wisdom says

The seer and the seen are one

 

Truth by virtue, can belong only to the truthful

And beauty too, can belong

Only to the truly beautiful.

 

The aesthete is not simply

A cultivated man

He is a realized man

 

A man at first

With good sense

And therefore, with good taste.

 

He is beautiful

Because he is unconcerned

About how beauty ought to look.

 

A seeker of the true

He is attentive to every detail

But disinterested in crafting effects.

 

The aesthete can sense

Much before an average man can

The gifts that remain imperceptible to common taste.

 

 

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Work

All work is about facilitating…

Making easy…

Making possible…

Making a difference…

 

I look at myself…

Small…limited…

And confined

Within myself.

 

I wonder…

How do I make easy,

Make possible

My own freedom?

 

By what means will I make a difference to me?

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Not Yet There…

I’ve read about people

Who have swum

The expanse of oceans

And experienced its dark

Murky depths

And emerged victorious

And grateful for being alive.

 

I muse about the aptness

Of its metaphor

For the experiences I’ve had…

 

I’ve plumbed my own depths

Straddled in a nowhere space

Neither here nor there

Neither up nor down

Chiming to an external rhythm

Of day and night

But swimming in a dark expanse within.

 

I still haven’t emerged victorious.

I wonder what I should do

With my aliveness.