Moving swiftly on
packing my life
into cardboard.
Boxes lie strewn,
filled with folded clothes,
books, bits of paper.

Memories trapped
on the page all pile
into containers
destined for yet
another shelter.

A new home,
strange,
unknown,
exciting.
Apprehension
lies lost somewhere
in the debris of fast
approaching deadlines.

Beginning to piece together
the jigsaw of suitcases,
bags, holdalls, and
supermarket cartons,
packed like sardines
into the belly of my car
I journey into the future.

The wheels of
life accelerate.
Hardly pausing
to look back,
shifting gear,
I struggle to
remember
where
I packed
myself...

This is the place where faeries sleep, down,
by the river burbling over mossy boulders, beside
the pink Rhododendron caressed by the sun.
Where I wait, feeling my wanting,
my longing as I meet the Beloved.

The light is everywhere, shimmering
on the wings of a bumblebee as it swings by
lazily unaware of my desire rising from the root
effervescent like the bubbles chasing
each other on the surface of the water.

So alive,
so exciting,
so exquisite,
so magical,
so perfect,
so NOW.
This meeting
this touching
this connecting
this tasting
this falling...

This falling
truly, madly, deeply in
love with this moment,
this tender, fragile, faltering
moment that is me.

This exquisite Eden that I have
uncovered at my core,
this awakening of the unforbidden
so luscious, so delicious in it’s invitation
to taste it’s sweet aliveness that
my heart has abandoned all shame,
and is lost in the lust,
blown open in wonder
at the awesome,
the indescribable
thrill of this dance,
this movement
toward death.

Each moment so precious,
each moment  a jewel,
each moment in which
I am alive, AWAKE and wanting.

This is the place where faeries sleep.
Down, by the river.

‘What is it like
to meet me
without your
ideas about me?’,
you ask.

The question hangs
between us,
two strangers,
curiously suspended
in not knowing.

I don’t even
know your name
yet we meet
and share this
moment,
eyes locked
in tender gaze.

I had no ideas
about you till
you asked,
now they flood in
tripping over
each other with
habitual ease.

‘I have no ideas
about you,’
I think…
But why then
am I surprised
by the softness
of your voice,
the Irish lilt,
delighted by
your insights,
your honesty,
and open clarity?

Enchanted by
this moment,
this opportunity
to meet you,
to dwell in
the mystery
without fear,
no name,
no history,
no map to
show the way.
I cannot fix
you, pin
you down,
fit you in a
box and stick
a label on
your tongue.

And, I have
no mask to
hide from your
unblinking stare.

A Zen master
once said
‘Not knowing
is most intimate.’

Now, knowing
this to be so true,
a smile grows
in my heart
where fear
had once
taken root.

A crimson river flows
as life ebbs away.
Delirious,
body wasted,
all boundaries
are fading as
they cling to hope.

Clutching the straw
between my lips
******* in the promise
of my last chance
as white figures
surround me
speaking in tongues
that shatter my world
tear open my belly
to rip out the source.

The crimson river
runs dry and
I am reborn.
Floating upstream
on ripples of pain
and confusion
I ride waves
of gratitude
and self doubt.

Angry flies stick
to the molasses
of my mind
dragging circles
within circles,
thrashing,
sinking,
surfacing,
clinging.
Thoughts
oozing,
churning,
bubbling,
burnin­g...
Fire flies
who's hunger
consume my centre
caramelising reason.

Trapped wings,
frozen dance,
dead flight,
clenched heart,
fighting for breath,
I surrender and
open the cage.
Letting go,
letting life in.

Fighting crying
laughing playing
skipping running
playing ball.

Bell ringing
doors banging
voices fading
wind chasing
sweet wrappers
as silence falls.

Her spirit was lost
when I was born,
torn from her heart.

Start, from the
beginning, singing,
no lullaby for
this new born.

Cry baby, cry as
her spirit did die,
she fled, bled, dead.

Alive in body
lightening sent to
her brain drained
what fire was left.

Bereft this child
still cries in the dark,
hark! Where is the
Lullaby, hushaby,
For this new born?