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Dec 2018 · 260
Strawberries
The plants I bought in the market

Had nowhere to put them

I had this idea and then I forgot

In came little Dan

On a bright sunny day

Her face smeared red

She’d been out to play

Beaming she told me

She found them
Jul 2018 · 218
The Fair Folk
When that whisper of a wind comes to me across the garden,

When I see it rise like a twist in the air, from the distance,

I know that the friends of my childhood are still with me

I feel their love and the gate opens
Jun 2017 · 398
Grasshopper Song
I had flown over Yugoslavia
While children lived and played
Returning, after their war and shame
We went a different way.

I hadn't seen their faces
Or known of their plight
I had been to another place
Which this poem is about

On an island of gods
In a sea of rich blue
I heard the loud chirruping
Saw no-one fight

Distant flashes of bombs
Over sea in the night
I was told were men fishing
With dynamite.

Oblivious I, while they died o'er the way
Treading gently the path
To see the cicadas
I sat down for a day

I sat on a rock in the scorching sun
Elusive they hid in my blindness, so near
A day and a day I sat on the rock
Patient, I sat, transformation begun.

As I became rock and my hair became clouds
Oleander my clothes and grasses my bower
I saw them, so close, mist had dissolved
Grasshopper faces and love for each other.
Jun 2017 · 214
Dawn
As the short summer night had passed me by
I went out to see the sun rise.
A bat flew by and a butterfly
The fairies shook the tree and a breeze whispered by
My sadness was soothed in it's sighs.

The song of morning's a wave
Rises and falls like the ocean
So high in it's frequency
All around perfect colossal chaotic harmony
Washed my spirit clean

The world is turned by the song of the birds
Jun 2017 · 379
Politics of Grenfell
There was no war, or warning
"Stay inside" they said.
There was no reason
Only a cold and empty mercantile explanation
There will be no justice
There's no compassion
Not a single tear or token of genuine kindness.

Gave brave men inadequate tools
Leaving them to take the remorse
Helplessly watching London burn.

They say how awful
And retreat to comfort, homes of luxury
Thinking, that the poor are forever present.
They will make plenty more.
Behind the door they sigh and say, "How tired I am today"

How can they sleep?
My heart is broken

How can they not weep?
How offer a token?

Not a thought for the orphans whose parents tossed them into the unknown
Casting away ideas of burning flesh that was their own
When meeting a creature of any size
If it's not the same species, look in it's eyes.
Feel it's thoughts as they flit through your mind.

If everything is in the mind,
Living thoughts materialise
Jun 2017 · 233
Ramblings from '89 number 4
I met a bee who carried a leaf.
It held it tight in it's little feet.
It skateboarded down from the sky to me.
really happened
Green is the middle colour of the rainbow
The bridge to the other worlds is a rainbow,
And so the path is green.
The middle path.
The straight path.
Many feet make a path.

The light from the eyes of every living thing is the same.
The consciousness you feel is all one.

We are like reflections of the Moon in a pool.
Each ripple,
Each droplet,
Holds the same moon.

All that lives contains the same essence of life,
Every tree, every cell, every animal, every insect, everything alive.
The essence is no more and no less in anything.

Reality is not what it seems.
The patterns of earth
Like the patterns of a small fractal - part
Of Pi dimensional universe
And
Lots of patterns we haven't seen yet;

Like a field full of mist with dew
Spider webs in a misty field.
Not having you to hold,
I hope you're equally cold.
Jun 2017 · 260
If You're Down
Look at the sky and remember who you are.
It's positive and natural to be down,
how else could you know what up is?
Jun 2017 · 454
I wonder
In my accidental garden
There's a eucalyptus tree
I had to chop it down
Then it grew again for me.

There are pieces of it's body
Standing all around
They have a sort of beauty
I don't sit on the ground.

There's wisteria in flower
Twisted round the climbing frame
By the door a bright red acer
Trimmed to stop the drips of rain

Honeysuckle rambles
I confess there's brambles too
Dock and nettle with the roses
Rosemary and Feverfew

There's a dish of cat food
For the feline friends who come
But the dish is empty
And for cats alas there's none

Fearless Robin first to find it
Shared some time with me
Then Mrs Blackbird came
And her husband warily.

I sit on the unformed wood
Beneath the shady trees
With birds all unafraid
And I wonder
Confucius never had his day,
But he attracted a unicorn;
Why didn't he escape society
To preserve reality?
**** Jing was styled Weinian. He went around with his hair unkempt, singing as he meandered, lodging in Baishe - outside Luoyang. Sun Chu was writing in those days and went to Baishe a number of times to talk to him. **** Jing disappeared and no-one knew where he'd gone. Where he used to sleep there was nothing but a wild pink and two poems. This is one of them. - this is from Alchemists, Mediums and Magicians, Stories of Taoist Mystics, translated and edited by Thomas Cleary

My note, Taoism and Confucianism are different. Confucius was more concerned with the world than the Taoists. I believe the Unicorn in the poem is referring to the horned dragon horse who is said to have brought the pattern of nine from the Yellow river in times lost in myth. IChing is based on it.
Many Taoists were transformed into spirit without leaving behind any remains it is said. This didn't happen to Confucius.
Mar 2017 · 206
Internets Over
War is profit for some
It's loss for all.
There is catastrophe waiting
By remains of their wall

The web that we share
The warm nets enclosure
Of friendship and sharing
Is almost over

How blind in our friendship
Love and peace flowers
Mistakes in our sharing
Decay in the bower

We opened the door
Sharing to commerce
Internets over
We let in the worst
Jan 2017 · 252
Upon The Mound
Did they come back again?
Yes
I didn't see them then
I caught glimpses along the path
They herded me and the children and it took an hour to walk an hour round the field the other way
I saw his hound was taller than he who is not two, he is not two
Later then after many times calling out and sitting there at midnight and noon
Countless walks until I couldn't bear it
Every dog great or small was a mote besides that hound
Dragon backed and tall as trees
Then my sweet daughter wanted to take photos in the woods so we went.
I breathed that air
The wind began to rise
I saw her fear but knew they wouldn't take us
Knowing they watched.
I wept over the bits of branches left in days afterwards when her sister
Killed the tree with magic
But this day sweet daughter was shouting out that faces were on every tree
Eventually
Her blood had chilled.
We found ourselves upon the mound
I had to see my tree who when Jan and I laid down there rained upon us
His shouting that it only rained upon the tree and nowhere else
As he
Pulled on his shirt and I lay laughing at the rain upon my face.
She didn’t want to stay by then her camera full
I asked for one more of the tree.
It was there then I have it's image here
It was standing then
Later after sending the pictures and uploading, loading, looking
I gazed into the leaves that now are no more
And there in miniature I saw what I had seen before
Tiny monster, tiny craft
Inside a shining bubble in the high branches
That great and frightening playful hound no bigger than a gnat.
Huge and massive eye that like the sea when I was small had swallowed me.
Until I fought to stay, then set me free
A dimple on the midnight pool
That craft that shook the trees
A toy
Encapsulated
We could see it through
the lens and the lens and the lens
They bid farewell to me.
Apr 2016 · 2.0k
Lost in Time: the Bluebell
I only took one tiny bell
From the flower, wanted to smell
That scent of the air when I last walked in the sacred dell.

Sitting with Alice, her world and mine
Suns on the water world of honeysuckle
Scent of bluebells

On the page where I pressed it
For some future person to find
Words so that the moment will not be lost in time

"This sweet scented flower
Contains the universe
A droplet of water reflected the sun
In the honeysuckle
While I breathed in
The bluebells.

"I remembered
The layer up
And the layer down
When I was tiny
And when I stood in every place
Reborn, thrice born
I walked from the woodland"

Randomly selected book and opened with chance
Placed it inside,
"Zen Buddhism Reflections for Every day"

Curiosity compels to read that page
So I did and what it said was profound.

Flower crumpled in it's sheath of white paper.
Writing these words, losing the moment
Couldn't find the page to replace it.
Je rêvais et je jouais dans les jours de le rêve, dans les jours de la vengeance.
Un enfant a joué
Un acteur a joué un rôle
Je jouais et vendu des pommes
D'autres vendu des couvertures
Je portais un manteau dans le jeu
La pièce raconte une histoire
Dans les jours du jeu
Le jeu des jours de la vengeance

Les enfants ont écrit les mots
Écrit mots gribouillés avec des crayons
Ils les ont écrit sur le papier et sur le plancher
Nous sommes dans un jeu des jours de la vengeance
Inspired by a dream from the past and by current events

Altered a few words because my French wasn't quite right
Oct 2015 · 323
Birth
Welcome back little traveller
Blood of my blood
Fresh from the forming
Into confusion
Seeing with new eyes
All you have forgotten.
Wisdom of the source
You have to learn anew
To stand and speak
Treasure this moment
Keep the source with you
Listen to your angels
Oct 2015 · 317
First Ones
I pulled a **** from paving stones
Out of compassion I planted it
It grew into a mass of beautiful blue flowers.

Who is to say why the rain seeds where  it does

I stood while frogs fell from above
A woman said that now and then
They fall and go to a pond on the field

Within the huge infinite mind
Of cosmos fractal wide alive

Is all that is

All who live one mind,
Friend and foe,
All the lives ever lived
Yes even those
Who went back to the Source

When all wake up we will see

That seeds from above put us here
That seeds from above are why
It rains Cats and Suns
Dogs and Frogs
Lobelias Planets
You and I too
When we were the first ones
Oct 2015 · 213
moments
All moments
Ever lived
Are poems
Waiting
To
Be written
Oct 2015 · 388
On holiday with Steve
I flew with Steve from this island to another

Cicadas greeted us with singing, I felt a welcome in my feet
Then while Steve went into an old abandoned monastery
For a ***
I sat on a wall covered in tangled fruit and flowers
And a big brown beautiful creature walked up to me went past
Disappeared into the trees
I told Steve and he stamped and screamed
On my first visit seeing what he wanted to see

He went off with some woman

I slept in the open under a tree full of spiders
Lightening bounced sideways above
Sang to the sea till the sun shone
People shouting at scorpions by night
Sang and laughed with them by day
I gazed into the oleander
Drank water from a temple spring
Stood on one foot on a cliff edge over blue sea
Washed my hair with the water snakes
Sat on a stone for a day till grasshoppers gave up
And allowed me to see them
Made friends with a big brown bee
Danced naked on the sand

Flew home again with Steve
While we were there war broke out in Yugoslavia and in a strange series of events my uncle Peter was brought from Canada and piloted the plane home over the Italian mountains. Steve went back, ate a drugged sandwich and woke up in hospital with no passport.
Oct 2015 · 343
What's in a word?
What's in a word?
It depends who writes the dictionary

Slave did mean paid labourer
Apocalypse means awakening
Gay means bright and cheerful
Broke means to be broken
Anarchy means peaceful cooperation
Daemon means faery
Alien means foreigner
Nibiru means the crossing
Intent means creative thinking
Jove means Jupiter
Common means owned by no-one
Minister means servant
Et Cetera means and the rest
Oct 2015 · 208
Black Holes
As long as people who do accidentally
Stumble onto the absolute knowledge
That there are Others
Are ridiculed and attacked and injured
And made afraid to speak..
The rest of us are walking blind
In darkness.
Yes there are black holes
They reside in the psychosis of ignorance
Of the majority
Where precious experience is pulled inside and lost forever.
Oct 2015 · 576
Nine lives
The vet said Sully had reached the end of his life
She helped him pass on, I buried him in the garden.

Before it came to that, I had been sitting outside
Sully had his favourite place, he was dying and he was smiling
I said to him that if he had to go, it'd be nice if he came back

A while after it rained - not the light and gentle feeding of grass
This was a deluge that caused people to stand and stare in wonder
That so much water could ever have stayed up in the first place.
Thunder shook the foundations of the world, sky was ripped apart

In the road outside a kitten appeared, walking in circles
Jack from down the street brought him to me
I called him Sully McNimbus.

When Sully McNimbus was run over, the vet did the same
And again, Jack brought a kitten found outside, walking in circles
A girlcat, I looked into her eyes.
It had been raining
I call her Storma
Oct 2015 · 237
The Light of Day
Sweet darkness of the night where every sound is clear and even a tiny spark is bright.
In darkness there's no fear

Sweet darkness of the void where no emptiness presides and galaxies appear so close
In darkness all is near

Light that pains and burns feeds trees and scorches land in dryness where the sand is made
Where phantoms walk disguised

Light reveals the crimes and tears of creatures slaves for man In truth we need the light
To be despised
Sep 2015 · 411
Suzy
In my last moment of despair
I thought only of her
And she laid her paw on my arm
Curled up to me warm
from
On the Infinite Universe and Worlds
(DE L'INFINITO UNIVERSO ET MONDI)

by GIORDANO BRUNO
1548 – 17 February 1600
burned at the stake in Rome's Campo de' Fiori

THREE SONNETS

Passing alone to those realms
The object erst of thine exalted thought,
I would rise to infinity: then I would compass the skill
Of industries and arts equal to the objects.
There would I be reborn: there on high I would foster for thee
Thy fair offspring, now that at length cruel
Destiny hath run her whole course
Against the enterprise whereby I was wont to withdraw to thee.
Fly not from me, for I yearn for a nobler refuge
That I may rejoice in thee. And I shall have as guide
A god called blind by the unseeing.
May Heaven deliver thee, and every emanation
Of the great Architect be ever gracious unto thee:
But turn thou not to me unless thou art mine.

Escaped from the narrow murky prison
Where for so many years error held me straitly,
Here I leave the chain that bound me
And the shadow of my fiercely malicious foe
Who can force me no longer to the gloomy dusk of night.
For he who hath overcome the great Python
With whose blood he hath dyed the waters of the sea
Hath put to flight the Fury that pursued me.
To thee I turn, I soar, O my sustaining Voice;
I render thanks to thee, my Sun, my divine Light,
For thou hast summoned me from that horrible torture,
Thou hast led me to a goodlier tabernacle;
Thou hast brought healing to my bruised heart.

Thou art my delight and the warmth of my heart;
Thou makest me without fear of Fate or of Death;
Thou breakest the chains and bars
Whence few come forth free.
Seasons, years, months, days and hours --
The children and weapons of Time -- and that Court
Where neither steel nor treasure avail
Have secured me from the fury [of the foe].
Henceforth I spread confident wings to space;
I fear no barrier of crystal or of glass;
I cleave the heavens and soar to the infinite.
And while I rise from my own globe to others
And penetrate ever further through the eternal field,
That which others saw from afar, I leave far behind me
I found this on http://www.positiveatheism.org/hist/brunoiuw0.htm

Giordano's crime was to envisage the Earth as being one of many inhabited worlds and the Sun as one of many stars.
Jul 2015 · 390
Damnation
Entrenched in religion
Taught from my birth
I began to awaken

I branched to the path
Of a strict regime
Thinking there was truth
Eyes started to see
Contradictions

The others had shown
Had spoken to me
In an earlier time
I noticed there be
Repetitions

One day I slipped
From tight rules and laws
The elders came
To point out my flaws

You can stay they said
So to begin
Swear now on this book
You won't do it again

I knew well the book
Cover to cover
I looked at them
Thought of my lover

Swear I won't I replied
For I have not the power
To pledge for all time
In this single hour

For that book you hold
Says Don't make an oath
I refuse I say no
To your ungodly troth

So they turned in their pride
With their unseeing eyes
To wander in darkness
Condemned me to die

I thought I was ******
For a while and a while
Then the ones I knew better
On me they did smile

They sent me the clues
Gave me new keys
To follow the truth
Wherever it leads

If it leads to damnation
Still truth is the path
If it leads to pure knowledge
Home I'll be at last
Jul 2015 · 686
Mam Tor
I stood on the peak at Mam Tor
Back to the Ancient stones
Facing the setting Sun
Toes touched the very edge
I had no fear no vertigo
There was a path of red gold
To the shining Golden portal
I felt if I stepped on that path
In that burning light
I would not fall
Spirit surged ahead across
To the gold and red planet
Then I turned away
A walker below tiny mote
Exerting to share that moment
Or perhaps to catch me as I fell
Too late
Paths crossed on my descent
Jul 2015 · 302
If you go
If you go after leading me here
There is a vacuum, an empty place
Because I can't call to you if you aren't there

I would read those words over
As I did, looking for the meanings
They are gone
It's like a song being forgotten

If you go and leave us to predators
My own words are empty
Only having life if you read them
Coleen Phoenix liked this and left, I'm sorry Coleen, hope you come back to us
Jul 2015 · 926
What is a Troll?
A troll is a large creature with smelly feet
That lives in a corner of Middle Earth
On the same plane of Yggdrasil as men
Some turned to stone in the sunlight

A troll is one of the creatures Tolkien wrote of
As being an angry and stupid creature that eats flesh
With the characteristics of the above

A troll is a wind up merchant
Who disturbs the equilibrium of unstable situations
They giggle when someone gets upset
And keep themselves hidden in dark places
Occasionally coming out to play
"Now you see me Now you don't"
They enjoy having others argue while they sit back and watch
With the characteristics of all the above
Jul 2015 · 827
How many
How many have seen the black in black eye
The eye that takes you in
It transports to their place
Stopping time outside hours pass in a moment
Who has been absorbed
By the mind of the other
Where the old young timeless sees your naked soul
Where the test is ultimate
Where fear means nothing
Beyond death in that place of life
Time is truly one moment
Fleeting glimpse of eternity
Then cruelly places you back
Among the blind in Maya
Who destroy you for speaking
Jul 2015 · 404
Oak Grove
This grove is my sanctuary

The air is clean

Only the wild things and I

And the fairies who live here

My friend the tree stood here

I wept for it

But I'll tell you about the tree


Once Jan and I came here at dawn

I for the peace him to make love to me

We laid together under this tree

I was looking up into the branches

I knew they were there but he didn't know

It began as a few drops of water on my face

I giggled, he thought to him

Then it was a deluge

Rain almost, much more than dew can do

On naked skin

Jan jumped up dragging on his shirt

Freaking out because

It only rained under the tree

Nowhere else


The tree is where I first met the others

Face to face when they tricked me

Caught me like an animal being tagged

I in fury following because they stole my child

They in joyful testing games of peril

Let us go again

Took us to the rainbow bridge to walk from there to home

Bond of immortal love

Stronger than emotions

Transcending life and death

When my universe expanded
Jul 2015 · 419
Nameless
Nameless was my friend from old times
His girlfriend young and lovely
She fell in love with my guy
And my guy killed Nameless

I was lost, realisation, trauma
So bad
My friend of old took me to the coast
It was her birthday and I fell asleep on the train

Half sleeping I, murdered Nameless came
He showed me white stones, big pebbles
Told me to build them by the sea
So that he could be free

We wandered by the sea
I think I spoiled her birthday
I could see no white stones
She went into a shop with the children
I sat on a bench in an old harbour wall

Then, a man with a child came walking by
He pushed the pram, child walked in front
Child was carrying a huge white pebble
Walked to me and threw it on the ground
At my feet

They passed by
I picked up the heavy pebble and looked around
Friend and children said where was it from
I said I don't know they came this way
We backtracked to where the heavy tides wash against the seawall

Carried them in our arms to the point where sea darkens sand
Built a hollow tower
A child wrote goodbye in the sand

Sitting until the sea came and washed it away
No-one touched it
Not even dogs
Not the seagulls who circled it
When it had gone I knew I had freed him
Jul 2015 · 419
Last Lover
Sometimes I think of past lovers
It makes me feel lonely
Then I think of the implications

I wonder what they think
At this exact moment of my thought
Being an optimist
I hope they are all happy
Mostly they were the best, good guys
Fondness in my heart for them all

As for me there's no turning back
Love with it's highs and misery
Love with it's sorrows and guilt

Discarded it long ago
When my lover killed his other lover's lover
I walked away from love
Jul 2015 · 921
The tourists
We were up on Hay Bluff at summer's end
In a battered van with friends
A place where sky is and treetops
Where the Milky Way passes uninterrupted

Some American parents brought up their sons
For a night camping with us wild ones
They put their tents up for them
Fed them, left them in our trust
Like us they were young

In the night the mountain decided
To show us what a mountain is
Wind ripped through
Rain, thunder, lightening crashes
In the clouds there with the lightening
Way beyond terror, abandonment to the elements

They tried to hold onto the tents
As they flew away over the edge
And we took them in with sleeping bags
They slept on our floor
We fed them, gave them a smoke

Next day their parents came early
Took them away
Before they left they all took photographs
Jul 2015 · 624
Cantlin Stone
Cantlin Stone was no mans land
So everyone could camp there
But it was a sorry tale that made it so
In the tangled bilberries a man was found
He had no home no place he just lay down and died
Cantlin Stone had three borders, counties three
But all said it don't belong to me
And none would bury him
So as all counties said the land weren't theirs
It was a resting place for travellers
Jul 2015 · 748
Mushrooms on the Mountain
Sitting around a fire
Kindred spirits met on that mountaintop
Where the white horses run
A guy came holding his shirt in hand
Overjoyed he'd found wild mushrooms
Field, not the trippy kind
Someone produced a pan
"Does anyone want to wash them?"
"Get them in the pan!"
Plenty for all
Delicious we shared them
Strangers together
In retrospect I understood that bond
The trust in that simple meal
Jul 2015 · 403
First Memories
When I was laid in the white place and the giant fly came
I was a tiny thing and it came close to look at me
I wanted to hide and made myself smaller
Then another one came and they fought
Rolling over and over
My first memory laid in a pram outside

She sat me on the table and went outside
I saw her look through the window as I fell

I ran across the room and couldn't stop
So I ran into a chair
Because I knew I could stand up holding on to it
They all shouted in delight at my first steps

Leaning over the side of my pushchair
I watched the wheels on the muddy path

I was running looking up at the blue sky
There were pink flowers against it

She left me alone in the garden and went out
She took my sister in her pram and I wanted to go too
She said I had to stay in the garden
I stayed and I saw a plane fall out of the sky
I cried that the pilot might be hurt
She said I'd made it all up because I'd had to stay behind
At breakfast dad in his vest put the paper on the table
In front of me with a picture in it
Did he die? I asked
Yes he said
But it wasn't in the direction you pointed
Jul 2015 · 6.9k
The Progenitors (long prose)
There is beneath us the progenitor and we call it “Mother”. Above us is the progenitor and we call it “Net” for it takes us and tosses us into the known and the unknown.

Our home star is not as bright as yours. We prefer your temperate lands when we visit, where the vegetation is lush and green. Those of us who remain inhabit your deserts and open spaces.

We are your brothers and sisters. Our development has been to grow in awareness and the development of our power. You have the potential to develop as we have, but your instincts are of a social group who need dominant members. You develop your material reality and your physical world. Your anchor is fixed and you grip the familiar and reject the unknown. There is a comfortable point where you feel the fullness, that is the anchor. In order to maintain this as a static point you develop belief systems to support it. This is your weakness, you are innocent children.

We grew and developed along another pathway, our anchor is not  rigid. We use Net for our anchor and so are able to change our perceptual reality. We move in ways that you do not understand and in any direction. We draw the fibers of Net around us and jump and fly. You see us only from your anchor point so that you see us change shape, appear and disappear.

Our voices and languages are barely accessible to you. You hear deep sounds and high pitched chirruping and whistling. Very few among you have remnants of language incorporating any of these. Those remaining are as clicks and whistles. We prefer direct communication.

We are masters of illusion. Our survival has depended on it and it is our instinct.
Our power developed so that when we pull around us the fibers of Net we create a shield and throw an illusion before those who depend on vision. It is one of our protections and also our hunting technique. We are hidden from your material probes and instruments of increased sight in this way.

Although we have been close neighbours for aeons, you have hardly seen us, except for the Few. Your interpretations have created problems for you. Your reliance on the anchor is so great that some among you do go to great lengths to maintain it. There are those among you who will silence the Few rather than lose the fixed anchor.

You are infants only, a seeding coming to fruition, and you play with dangerous toys. Your anchor is geocentric. You are in danger as is any youngster who plays with fire. If we showed you ourselves openly your rulers would not be gentle in their curiosity. We have technology and use material tools but we have had less to restrict us. We held back your development as much as we were able to enable you to develop power of the mind and independent thought.

Your grasp of Net is strong but you are rigid and anchored. You have learned to stand up and hold on. Now is the time to let go and walk, let go and run, let go and fly.

Around what you name “body” and believe to be “All” is more that you do not perceive with your restricted vision sense. You are aware of this. If you will learn acceptance and filter less from your senses, you will find the beauty of the universe of energy around you and available. A small perceptual shift would show you how you appear to those of us outside your narrow sphere.

Your body has filaments, which when translated to sight, appear as small moving threads which shine with rainbows. They move and ripple inside an energy body of light. This is your true body. It has abilities and senses that are dormant as you do not access them. They are accessible but as your anchor renders you blind to this you do not use them without intense effort or instinctively in extremity. The filaments are drawn together and pass through the anchor. Depending upon your ability to select filaments of the Net, your habitual plane and reality is selected and determined.
Those among you with abilities in your energy senses you ostracise and even ******. You succumb to misinformation to treat them as fools or freaks. This may be instinctive but it is a control mechanism to perpetuate the anchor and maintain the hive of your artificial society. So due to this, you have even less sense of true reality as it could be to you, by breeding out and suppressing your gifts. We have attempted to rectify this with limited effect in successive seedings.

You may notice that our words to you have reference to sight. Your terminology is geared to vision. You rely on visual information  so much that you have neglected physical senses of taste and smell, hearing, touch and proximity. Compared with our perceptions you are as blind as a mole is compared to to your visual abilities.

Your construction of reality is so anchored that your dangerous inclination to gather around you artifacts gives to you a sense of permanence. You are anchoring yourselves in time, yet to you it is dead because your senses are dead. There is an opportunity for your predators to use this to enforce your perception of, and control you within, your anchor's limitations. In this way, producing written or pictorial and symbolic records in permanent form is beneficial only so far as understanding continues to exist of the conditions under which these records were left. By changing current understanding and language to suit their purposes, your enforcers are able to manipulate your branch of humanity on a large scale.

You seal yourselves into the rejuvenation plane of the Mother progenitor where you feed and breed. It is so pleasurable to you to stay within this cocoon of reality that you fail to open your cast and therefore fail to fly into the spaces of Net outside where your true inheritance lies. The end result of this is greed and unrest. Your greed is paramount to you as you seek ever more pleasurable gratification. You enslave one another, buy and sell time and forget what you are. You are allowing the destruction of your home world. Without the home world you will have no place of rejuvenation, and worse neither will the myriads of others who share this progenitor.

There is a song from each mother progenitor within Net. It is a combined song and made up of the host progenitor together with silent voices of each and every life form. Together from each home world, the inhabitants send out a pulse. This is not a song from one species of a world but rather it is a song from all species, in fact every particle of every organism that lives.

To our developed senses the song of a world is brighter than the star it orbits. They are filaments of Net. The varied forms of life all send out their unique song. Many of us interact, harmonise, visit, commune and combine. You feel isolation only because you fail to harmonise and join your own song.

In your past and present we have felt the song of your world. Those of us belonging are part of that song. It is the song of being from the many. It does not end at the perimeters which you imagine. You have a problem in that, for the majority, you do not join your voices to the song. Mainly it is in dreaming, in childhood and in old age that we hear you.

We attempted to observe and commune and found many of you receptive to us. We have taught to you methods of development and given you gifts and tools. You have kept and preserved some of this knowledge only for a select few. Fears and distrust among others has caused destruction of a great proportion of the gifts that we have given to you. We found many lines of breeding where potential for development was possible. Your greed and your predator class destroyed many of them due to the competitive desire to have power over others.

In past seedings upon your progenitor and in the oldest times of your present incarnation, we have been known well and respected. Acknowledged for our seniority and loved as cousins. You did call us gods to distinguish our abilities. Then what did you do? Your control mechanisms changed the meanings of your language, whole languages were lost in wars over territory. You developed power structures and religions. Powerful rulers accumulated and isolated your shared knowledge.

You reduced your development by selective education in the Way. Territorial disputes and greed over resources divided you. You ceased to listen to the Mother. Instead of harmonious living which you had managed in agreement with each other already, you were divided by hormonal impulses, insecurity, violence and greed. The natural openness of the female within it's central domain became enclosed, imprisoned and the natural desire of the male to outwardly discover and interact was turned inwards until it became a sedentary desire for dominance within the female domain. You lost the harmonics of the song. Your religions underestimate the power of borrowed tools. Your ruling classes made deals that they didn't understand, with predators they didn't recognise, in order to save themselves.

We stood on ground over ground and were called Immortals. We gave you wisdom and were called Kings. We moved and played among you and were called Jinn. We moved among the small folk and were called Faerie. We appeared in light and were called Angels. We wandered in places where you too did once wander and were called Ghosts and Demons. Those who spoke to us and attempted to impart to your hive our knowledge, you raised as prophets or slandered and ridiculed. You stole their words to make them your own words of power, changing them to your own ends or you murdered the messengers because you feared the changes that increased understanding brings.

You incorporated the experiences of your murdered victims into a celebration of your own power structures, twisted and out of synchronisation with the song. There are some among you who are in communion with the Great Spirit of life. We seek to heal your song, your complete home world song for the benefit of the myriad sentient beings who rejuvenate here, including yourselves. We seek to set you free to wander the threads of Net. It is within your reach but not in the ways that you  are taught.

Your world is about to change and you must change with it as you are a small part of it. Holding the threads into your own anchor point will break them. You have reached inertia, entropy. The movement has to come, it is inevitable. Imagine one of your large machines of cogs and wheels and bars. Your insistence upon a rigid anchor is like a bar within the machine that doesn't move. A point of inertia in a moving system will be removed. This has happened over and over among your kind and our kind in many places and worlds. You do not remember when worlds underwent cataclysm, forgetful of trauma you have followed a similar path.

We travel along pathways of energy, both upon worlds and in the Net. Moving bodies follow these paths. We follow comets and small bodies able to move freely within Net. Net permeates your mother progenitor.

Survivors mapped the movements of Net after the slate was wiped clean and you were reseeded. There is a secret that your rulers are aware of and you are not. The secret is that there are no rulers within Net. You all have the freedom and capability to access true harmony of the song. You allow a faction, to call themselves an elite class. You fear this as a hidden power, a predator. It's aim is to amass Time: a power based on material wealth. They take this power easily as they have taken and twisted truth and history. The gifts are shared among you equally and these few know this. Resources are plentiful and yet you succumb to their restrictions. A predator cannot survive without it's prey. We are not your predators although we move among you. Your predator is within and feeds upon your fear.

You are not in the tribes now, you have no shaman, no guide to take you in and out of the gate and this role cannot be allocated to parasitic Blind Time Hoarders. These whip up your passions and lead you into war and destruction to further their material wealth. It leads you away from the song, as these think to enhance their own survival which it may do but never can as they understand it. They seek to steal your dreams and make them their own, they are helpless without you. They care nothing for the song because they are aware of successive seedings.

Net is a dream reality, changing, immeasurable, boundless, filled with infinite possibilities and you are creators. Blind time hoarders drive you by combining the minds and dreams and belief systems of many to focus onto what they themselves desire, in order to bring it to fruition. They employ dream stealers to prevent your development. They believe that their own song can exist independently and they guide you only to anchor yourselves into your own prison.

All is a dream, all is ephemeral, changing, dynamic. There is no death after death, no damnation on any particular plane. Reality is how you construct your song. Your rulers create inertia for you the many and profit for themselves using you as the tools of your own entrapment. There is no death and no damnation, they are constructs of your reality made by material anchor points and you are controlled by fear of the inevitable. It is a statecraft to use belief systems to control perceptions of reality in order to fix the anchor point to a rigid point of convenience. In this way you are farmed, you are a crop in each seeding. Who seeds you? You seed yourselves. Sentient beings are all naturally regenerated by the mechanisms of Net when conditions exist that are compatible, world after world, in each growth cycle of every celestial body. In the regeneration, holding to your rigid anchor point, you seed into your prison after each cataclysm, each breaking of the inertia.

If you would be open to the mechanisms of the place you inhabit with it's creative forces, it's sentience and it's dynamics you will learn to fly the progenitor Net's pathways and return home for rejuvenation to your progenitor Mother of the tribes.
I wrote this a few years ago. It's a bit long
Jul 2015 · 627
Californian sunshine
Tripped out on Californian sunshine,
In the fields a whole troop of us
Running giggling round the fishing lakes
Or sat under the deep dark trees
I once found a whole city with streets
In miniature on a path
Citizens of blue and green and red walked different paths
Sue, Foxy and the others shouting to come on
I said no I'll just stay here a while
At least I had a reason
Splodge spent the whole day walking round the same tree
Sid had to drag him off
Then we built massive fires in the barn with no roof
They thought we were satanists doing rituals
Pulled it down
Ghosts in my head, some are gone
It was stranger the day I watched the Sun melting
Dripping onto snow drops of gold
Jul 2015 · 837
Layers of the Onion
I was washing clothes by the river
With other women laughing chatter
Draping from basket to bushes
It was a happy dream

Came the dream other
Said time to show you something
I was thinking of the other women
With my share of the work

But then

I was lifting slowly upwards
They became smaller and smaller
Into grains of sand
The grains of sand began to move
As a child lifted a giant foot
From beneath.
I saw the child but I was rising slowly
The child smaller and smaller
Into grains of sand
Another scene lifted from the sand
Again, again, then faster higher
Sand on sand,
Each it's own reality within
The other said then
It's like the layers of an onion
Actual dream
Jul 2015 · 388
An earlier dream
In a dream in another place
Were children of the tribes
In a large open grassland
Playing games running and laughing
Elders were around the perimeters
All busy and people and horses

In the space a rectangular stone
Suspended by ropes hollow beneath
I stood under it's interior
Looking up I began to sing

I sang from the heart in a language I don't know
It was taken into the stone bell
Amplified and my whole being was in that song

Long afterwards when I was sitting
A man came to me and he said
The elders have heard your song and translated it
Then he went away without telling me the words.
Jun 2015 · 192
***
***
Under stars
Bat steals apples
In shadowed leaves
Jun 2015 · 1.0k
Meeting by the Water Tower
Wide awake in a dream.
It was a bright stadium.
Wide empty lanes of the perimeter
I felt there were some within

A girl rushing, couldn't stay
Spoke to me urgently
"Meet by the Water Tower"

I wandered aimless there were none
To ask the way,
I came upon the edge of moorland
A hill that rose away,
Above, stretched flat on rising *****

Grey stones
Laid together close, as game of tiles.
I could stand on one, both feet

Walking along the bottom edge.
I picked up the left cornerstone.
It was large, heavy carrying at first
Brushing off clinging earth,
Seeing the shadowy shapes engraved,

Went to find the Water Tower.

In the stadiums lanes of white, forlorn,
A woman came to me in uniform
Asked of my purpose.
I told her my plight, she sat me in her car
I looked up

High above.
Shining translucent white container, a tank;
Generating power, suspended along cables and
Containing water.
I wondered at this,
Then she brought a sort of bike
Said "I'll take you now"
Riding pillion both hands holding stone
Thought "I'll surely fall"
As we banked

It was so fast, colours a-blur
Long, far, perilous, vast distance,
When we stopped, she turned.
Alone
Abandoned on the moorland
Rough ragged tufts of grey, green grass,
Forever each way, in mist faded substance

I know this place but I am lost,
The moorland has no directions
Standing so with the cornerstone
Now heavy
Rough, heavy as a world's reflections.

Then from the mist striding t'wards
Tall man upright in strange dress, feathers,
Hide, hair streaming weathered,
Coming into focus stands before me greets
Takes the cornerstone and reads it, hard worked hands
Deep blue eyes, into mine and mind, translating:

" We are of the Sz'ip p T'ik k "
There were clicking sounds,
Means the first ones,
" You are to take a message.
" The message is:
" 'To The Survivor of Your People, say this..

" Survive!' "

Then I am pulled away he's gone,
I open eyes.
Repeating words
Reach for my pen
A real dream experience.
I experimented with disjointed and delayed rhyme
Jun 2015 · 366
Conway Castle
We went to Conway castle
Charlie and Ibbo and Foxy and me
We climbed up a very tall tower
So far the view almost space we could see

Then Ibbo said,
"Wow look down 'ere"
Peeping over the edge

Being one for a lark in I went and looked down
There was a small interruption
In consciousness
Then I came round
In Charlie's arms as he carried me down
Wobbling on stony steps
Round and round
Down to the ground
Jun 2015 · 517
Sorry to complain but...
Pinkle Purr died on a cold winter's night
The ground too hard to bury her right
So Spotty and I sat by her fire
Till all that remained was the frost and the ash
We went inside and I glanced through the glass
As a small puff of smoke rose from embers last

It was shaped like a cat

My mother was taken and her service was held
Family gathered in sorrowed farewells
But after they gave her to a god she'd not known
They all turned so did I and left her alone
No one to watch as the fire did it's task
Only strangers to watch her spirit unleashed

There's a right of people to care for their dead
But we give up the right to a stranger instead
Jun 2015 · 744
Charlie the Sax
Charlie was my friend, he was a chef
Then packed everything in to play saxaphone
When he played the universe stopped to listen
But ****** was claiming him, this he overthrew
In favour of wine

One day on a beaten track I found him sleeping
A woman had told me to beware the *****
She stood at the top to watch me walk past
So that I'd be safe.
I saw my friend and sat down, we smoked a smoke
Talked of old times
Fields on either side and the woman
Stood in amazement until I waved to say it was all alright

One night I was sleeping and woke in the dark
Charlie was saying "Wake up wake up"
The wind was howling outside
He took hold of my shoulders and shook me awake
I said
"******* Charlie, I'm trying to sleep"
Turned over and closed my eyes.

I found out a few days later
He'd died that night
In another place far from me
Of a final old times shot
Jun 2015 · 467
The Astrologer
The astrologer with his computer
Plotted my life on a small screen
He looked up and said
My you are an old soul aren't you
I looked at him and said yes
And thought, well aren't we all
Remaining silent
Jun 2015 · 309
Random Memory
I went a walk, I'd been to school
Over the fields
All along I picked flowers, pretty ones
Mysterious plantains and dandelions too
Some tiny pink things and frondy grass
I brought them home and gave them to you
And you put them into a clean glass
Sun shone into the water
Sparkling diamonds
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