​Hearing winter call

Golden leaves fall

​Into a heaven of the heart

​A heaven not apart

But found

Here on the ground 

​Of love




​

Here
​
In heaven and above






​

Here

In an above beyond words

Where sky is made of birds

​And birds are made of sky

Here above a heaven

Where the heart shall learn to fly
​

This creation is also available as a PDF.

I want to be solid and shiny, don’t you?
I want to be solid and shiny
I want to be solid and shiny
I want to be solid and shiny, don’t you?

As solid and shiny as steel
Or maybe even more
Like the light that reflects 
Like the shining heart
Shining for ever more

Shining 
From the silence

Softly, subtly, lovingly showing us the way

for so often we are blind

blind to our own light of truth and of love

yet opening the blinds to our heart window
we glimpse a light within
a love of truth 
and a truth of love
and we will look for the light

Breathing in
Passed his fear
A bundle of lies
As thick as thieves

Breathing into the dark body-house 
Descending the stair of the watery air
As quiet as a mouse

Toward the light
the light inside
ever bright

​

he was in a playful mood
although the garden hose was not the most exciting thing in the world  
the composition of the scene looked right
with the shadow
and with the mark on the floor
appearing in a sense as though it were the clothing
of the humble hose
he took a picture for fun

dwelling a little longer on the scene
his mind went surprisingly quiet
the sense of order in the scene seemed to be gently stilling his mind
he also began to see a similar sense of order elsewhere in the scene
when the angle was right

he could not explain what it was that was right
and the fact that he could not explain seemed to be part of the reason for his silent mind

somewhere he remembered somebody telling him that computers don’t understand such things as artistic composition
perhaps the computer part of his mind could also not understand
‘maybe this is the way out of the never-ending computer mind,
‘but I had better not touch anything,’ he thought

‘otherwise I will be trying to order the whole world and I couldn’t do that, 

maybe just in my own room,’ he thought

he paused and sat down
something rather monumental was arising in his mind
he was realising that he had been trying to put the world in order all his life

‘so is the answer to do nothing?
no, that is not right
the world needs to have some order 
for us to be safe,’ 

‘putting things in order is part of looking after them, isn’t it’

‘but I can’t put everything in order so what must I do to find peace’

‘I can do what I can, changing what I can change and have to accept what I cannot’
he sat a while longer

‘and if I can see a deeper sense of order than the colours and the shapes
even deeper than a moral sense 
if I can see that everywhere
then I will be at peace,
such is the peace of true Dhamma
where we see everything as natural,’ 

‘but seeing Dhamma is like finding order through peace
rather than finding peace through order,’
he thought

​

There is hope


​​There is hope down on the old farm...

there is hope in the past 
the heart wood
and the history

there is hope in the future
in the swallows return
and in what we can learn 

There is hope to be found
In food rising out of the ground
There is hope, life goes on

There is hope in past and future
Yet in the present there is more hope still

There is hope in love and care
As there is hope in the air

In fact there is always hope
If we look in the right place
There is always hope 
In the light and the space
Which remain forever the same

There is hope just in hope
In the heart there can always be hope
In the light and space of the heart
Which may remain forever the same

(And, believe me if you will,
This is not just a hippy mind game!)
​

It’s never too late to be kind to the world
it’s never too late to love

a true love
is a simple life
cherishing all beings
with a heart like the sky
it’s never too late to love

for our own sake 
it’s never too late

for goodness sake
it’s never too late

even if it’s too late to save the world
it’s never too late to be kind to the world
it’s never too late to love

and if we can let go 
and go with the flow
we will always be able to love

​mind is quick
but matter is slow
bound together they spin

such is form
life getting warm
under a blanket of moss
toss and turn

form has its law
and law has form
they are One

spark in the dark
primordial dogs bark

simplicity finds stable form
complexity may falter
as foundations alter

rocking the deck on Noah’s  Ark

the law is within
the heart within the law
in the between within 
and the within between

the nest the sky and the lark

and what is outside the law 
shall perish for sure

deep sea shark
unable to make its mark

and speaking from the heart
not of the part
but of the whole
the breath is the voice of the soul
in and out, life and death 
in every breath

breathing in
a song above birds
held a gentle sway over dawn light
a prayer beyond words
a beginning

for heaven trembled with delight

and light blazed
where beetles raised their wings

breathing out
light dims as the beetle gently swims

and as the beetle gently dies
the light cries
tears from heavenly cloud

for the beetle’s black shell
holds the rainbow hidden so well
the gods were so very proud

thus feelings from heaven may descend
to embrace the earth, my friend

the feelings from earth 
remain in the sodden turf

family album
tea and cakes
aunty slurps
budgie chirps

and the feelings in the mind middle
remain between
forever between like light

and the swish of the fish in the deep
stirs the proverbial sleep
of the man who slumbers
in a heap what a creep

for the glorious fish
in their own sweet time
and in their own sweet way
will have their day

the feelings of the seen and the unseen
and of the space between

sweet ideas wrapped in goodness
sticky in the angel’s pocket

and the feelings between
the seen and the unseen
forever between
where the heart no longer needs to be
but may arise knowingly
between all and everything
continuously
in this our sentient universe

of monkly whispers
veiled vespers in the night
beetled rainbows

and how, at dawn, shall the light meet the feeling air?
when there is no wish in the prayer
and where words question words

that is where the light meets the air
unspeaking and unspoken
awoken
light upon light
salvation

rainbowed beetles
salvation in the singing wind
and salvation in the rolling tear
of lost loves

for love is lost 
between heaven and earth
and between between
and love is found on the ground
so simply seen

the trees stood 
waiting for the beetles
until, opening at their feet
in the ecstasy of decay,
they finally won the sky

life goes back and forth
for all it is worth
and goes high and low 
above and below
our inner measure

and these dimensions meet
at the humble heart
with its humble feet
standing
so still
so simply still
like God…


​
silver sword secrets
symbols wrapped in broaches
clasping cloaks

the Winter servant crouches
and points a trembling finger 
there

they shall return
just as the prayers of the dead linger
on the lips of living men
they shall return

such is their dispensation

the women wait without such words
wiser from the passing seasons
over the granary floor
and from the honesty of children

until they return
strangers to the land they left so long
and to the land they now leave behind

until they return
to the hearth of the heart...

flint
spark in the dark
eye window

glint
inner mark
remembered

only the ‘why’ widow
unmoved, dismembered
denied there was life
in that summer night fire
her grief finally honoured 
by the lesser warmth
of a hazy Autumn sun 
where the wind rocked trees
and branches waved
without meaning

a gentle between time
discarding memories
like fallen leaves
nevertheless


season’s feelings 
are reasons enough
for some

‘Spring will come,’
she said

and sure enough, my friend
Winter’s end
brought new life
life of truth
a bride of beginnings
of eternal youth

where only the prayers meet
in the true home of truth
to be wrapped in children
and blessed for the journey
by the humble ‘why’ widow...

hope, the nearer prayer
was felt
before the open door 
he knelt
knowing not what lay ahead

as dawn crept across the floor
nothing had been said
by the living or the dead

‘where must I head?’
he said

this further prayer
whispered by the wind
bore a familiar scent
he placed his palms together
and out of the door he went

flower familiar over many an hour
lovingly grown
yet never really known
rose in the heart

the garden rose, the dancer
the double meaning 
was already his answer

‘there is nowhere to go’
he said


‘the rose inside is nearer 
than any prayer’
he said

his heart would graze the salmon grass
and fly lizard clouds 
to little bird stars
before bed

his inner children
as useless as babies nipples
and slowly, slowly
as sweet as their toes
as tingling as fingers
inwardly refining
quick silver lining
soldered-silk-sky-train
kite-string-ribbon
pain of glass 
hope
over wet bar of soap
over graves of calipers and crutches
over everything
on the journey 
of inner evolution
​

​​our goodbye nature
is deep inside

our goodbye nature
can never be tied

our goodbye nature
is as free as a bird

our goodbye nature
knows the absurd

for it is our goodbye nature
that says hello
that lives and loves
with nowhere else to go

​

​I offer this for your reflection

Ajahn Kalyāno
http://www.openthesky.co.uk

From Nurse to Chaplain 
– from care to prayer


there I was 
with the bandage and the crutch
listening ears 
tissues for tears
there I always was
for all those years

at the time 
and every time
it meant so much

I can still smell the savlon, the soap
and the desperate hope...

there I was 
with the pooh I always knew
and the blood, always a surprise
sharpening the eyes
there I was in the rolling tears 
of lost loves
and in the niggling fears

now it doesn’t mean so much
the world of touch

meaning more is a softness in the eye
which knows
a softness so sweet
and always new
like baby’s toes

a softness where 
a given prayer
giggles and wriggles itself free
free to simply be

such that a prayer
is always there 
in the air
a prayer that knows

‘there is life and death 
in every breath
as it flows’

as a bandage or a crutch
it doesn’t mean much
it is heavy to the touch

yet the prayer 
is there
where light meets the air

at the touch of light 
and the lightest touch

such is the suchness
pure and bright 
of the heart
where we can go
if we can let go
and where we need never part

The open owl



Open

The owl's soft, silent wings


Open

​The owl's wide, wise eyes 



Opening the pale grey dusk

Beyond the crimson sunset


​