I had  a dream of travelling;  just that - travelling, not  leaving, not staying ; travelling.
At the station
Faces look out from the bus, familiar faces, continuing on their journey.
Their journey. Not my journey.

No going back, or even looking back, I can't see the road behind, only glimpses
Of what it may have been.

I'll stay here a while in no- man's land. Or stay forever
Sit in the shelter at the roadside and pretend.
Tell all the people in the queue, ' No. Not my bus. I have a while to wait, a while to wile.' I say.
Scan timetables and adverts  idly,
Then sit and sit , then sit some more
And wait until a bus comes rolling down the hill with cheery driver and with all the windows lit.
Jump on and go with it.

The finger pointing at the moon,the steeple reaching to the skies;
Logic ,love and wisdom tries to pierce the gloom, to open eyes.
'Look up!' They say, 'Look over there!'
No! Look within now if you dare
To find the truth that's lying there.
The dons, the poets, the dance and the myths clear some of the way, but sadly miss
The heart of the thing
- just get the gist..........

First the moon, then the man full of awe, then the priest and the sage and the artist to draw
Out the meaning and help us to know what a small speck we are
In this infinite show.

Sing to the moon and dance through the night
Then look to yourself to see if you're right.

The myths are the map, the Dons hold the light, but the moon's ever there , perpetual and bright.
Unpick the poems, dissect the finger, deconstruct the song and analyse the singer,
Love the garden and crown the *****, praise the soil for the flowers he's made.
It's a great 'Whodunnit' a wonderful game, with the usual suspects guessing the name
Of the power behind it; the fame or the blame.

Sing to the moon and dance through the night.
Look to the heavens to see if you're right.
The myths are the maps, the dons hold the light
But the moon will be there
Perpetual and bright.

it operates like a glass ceiling
But is more often self- constricted.
It can come in a set;
One inside the other,
Inside another.

Some people are able to move
From the smaller to the larger.
There are no hinged sides
And any movement will cause shattering of glass
And sharp edges.

Sometimes after a breakthrough others follow.
They can see the shards of glass
And avoid them.

At first the glass sides are clean and clear
But they become clouded
By those breathing the stultifying air.

Those who grow inside the box
Become distorted
By its restrictions
And find their faces flattened against its sides.

Sometimes the box is a lonely place to be.

For those who leave
There's no return.

The air outside the box is rarified
And keeps one
gasping.

The glass was full; a heady mix of labour, love and rearing
He drank from it he sailed the ship and knew where it was heading.
The potent brew kept spirits high and eyes upon the horizon
With swelling seas, a threatening sky and no-one to rely on.
The storms came in and shook his faith, but he ploughed on regardless
Mislaid the way, lost sail, made new and hoped that he could harness
A kindly wind, a clearer sky, and strength within to reach the shore
To give that future strength and courage he'd been hoping for.

Put down the sails and drain the glass. that journey's at its end.
This new one takes a different path: that crystal glass needs cleaning.
In harbour now: no roles to play. You've time to spend
On seeing clear, through spotless glass and searching for some meaning.

There is a spot wherein I sit
A spot of light from high above
A spot of love.

It is a place that's everywhere
Within, without
A place to share.

There is a place where I can go
That's anywhere for me and so
I make it mine.

But it is there for everyone
Is now, was then, will be.
A place that's home for me.

A place where I can know myself
And know that I am part of all:
Of them of you, of those to come
And those who went before.

There's something's not quite right
Isn't there!
Isn't there?
There's something gone awry.
A picture that's not perfect
Or too good.......
A picture that's been airbrushed.

The case notes? Where are they?
There's pages missing from the bundle.
Bungle?
Rumbled?
Not a chance!

Who knows the way?
Who has the say and makes the rules?
Are we the fools
Who want it nice?
Sugar and spice and meek as mice.

Don't look twice. Don't glance behind, beneath
The sheath that shields the blade
That sliced its way
To reach the mountain top
Where sit the gods-
So puny, pale and pouting.

Oh look. They're shouting now
There's prying going on and peering
Hark! They're swearing. Profanities or oaths?
'You plebs! You oafs! And ' How dare you!s'
Float down from thrones
And pleas and groans and moans.

And all goes quiet
Shh! Not a word
Don't rock the boat.
Sleepy dogs drop off to sleep again
And little men creep up the hill
In full view.

A fat pigeon
Sat on my chest; solid and smug.

It's feathers grey and stunted
No flights of fancy here
It's beak sharp,peck-pecking,peck- pecking on the same spot.
It's glassy little eyes, beady and peering, short sighted and looking only down.
It's scrawny little legs scratching, stiffly stepping forward, no veering
But in a predestined groove.

It constricted my breathing
And the air that fuelled me was dark and dank.
I stalled and stuttered
And all roads led uphill through rain soaked mill towns struggling on the edges of
Barren moorland.

And then the pigeon left-
Just lifted its fat, grey body
Like a spacecraft in vertical flight
And my chest expanded
And my lungs filled with sweet air and my trapped self left the confines of my rib cage
And levitated
Into a clean and white and airy space
With windows flung full wide
And blue sky and breeze and a seagull calling
And a new day beginning.

There is a luxurious lair of lies
Lovingly tended and layered with blanket truths;
A soft-bedding of sumptuous sycophancy
Tucked in too neatly with a pat on the bottom
delivered by hand.

Delusion drips from wet lips and silken tongues and
Lips smack with self-satisfaction and serial smugness.
Syrupy sentiments mist the eyes and blur the vision.
Charity is cold and cynical here with oily patronage to grease the wheels.
Fresh facts freeze outside the glowing house of harpy half - truths
as self- advancement holds the floor.
You need to wear a cloak to enter and hold it tight against you
You need to study the players
You need to act.

A viaduct looms over my daily commute; trains rattle above.
I pass through its belly each day.
A canal ambles beneath one armpit,
Scrubland loiters under the other.

In the belly , glaring headlights inch forward towards their kin;
Metal, rubber and glass jostle for place,
Engines thrumming.
Shiny shoes pinch and stiff collars tighten;
Fingers start drumming.
Deadlock.
Gridlock.

On the indolent canal a barge floats serenely, fat fish meander and
Skinny - legged moor hens tiptoe through the reeds.
An old man in rough tweeds pokes his stick through the scrub land on the other side,
Searching for blackberries.

Lights change futilely; amber, green and red.
Engines rev and teeth grit.
The belly rumbles.

Ducks fly in and land on the still water of the canal.
They swim in formation under the bridge.
On the other side the old man sits to eat his fill
His fingers purple with juice.
Clouds scud, a breeze cools and the sun appears.

Collars stiffen, indicators tick, nails are bitten
As the cars inch forward.
The bloated belly heaves
As a few cars cross the border to meet another impasse.

Concentric circles appear on the surface of the water
And gnats flicker above it.
A family of coots sets out for a morning outing
And a kestrel hovers above.

Deep in the undergrowth field mice
Scurry away from the old man's boots.
Dry sticks snap under his heel
and the sun warms his thinning pate.

He takes the slow path through the undergrowth,
Meets an ancient lane
And strolls the familiar path home.

Bubbling molten gurgles in the belly
Ready to surge and burst through convention,
Burning its way
Through convenient lies like a blow torch;
Scorching pure flesh on the way
To bring awful clarity.

Salt tears wash the grit from reddened eyes
And hearts rise as searing lava obliterates the ego.
Purpose may crystallise as the magma cools
But for most of us; shaken
We limp back to the habits of our
regular lives.

Unloose me
Gently.
Untie the knots and make a bow
That with a touch I can release.
No flying high, no soaring,
No losing sight of earth, no roaring
In the ears.
No mighty wind
But stillness.

I cease and hover and hear.
My thoughts are still, my mind is clear
No ripple
Just awareness of without-
Inside out.

Unhooked, untethered, letting go.
Untangled, stepping back
And moving on.

Two strangers in a rickshaw in Varanasi:
Two strangers who never felt like strangers.
Two people lost and alive in the moment,
The same moment
With every sense standing, antennae bristling..

Two in a bubble
Together, held apart.

Caught up in a parade and surrounded by shy , smiling faces
Waving modestly at the fair haired strangers,
Laughing
At their surprise and joy.
Knowing that moment's awe
Delighted to share the festival.

Rickety trucks gaudily decorated blare out the tinny music and
High pitched voices distorted by the tannoy add an urgency
To the motion.

Shimmering saris glisten,
So in tune with the  music that trembles with joy.
That joy spills out from the
Scents, the colours, the gleaming grins and the shy waving that marks our welcome,
Till every sense tingles
With life.


And then the sand storm
Swirling and circling the speeding rickshaw
Arrived mysteriously, magically,
Like dry ice in a theatre.

The air now tangible;
Surrounding us like the skin of a bubble
Lifting us out
Of ourselves as the scene comes and goes.

The sand screen clears to reveal
An elephant
A beautiful, smiling elephant
Dressed in splendour
Accompanying us on our magic carpet ride.
Close enough for us to touch his hide.

Bejewelled and glorious
Smiling too
And all is one in that moment
And each looks at the other and feels enchanted and wants the parade to go on forever
Just like this;
With motion
And music
And colour
And smiles
And laughter
And
An elephant.

Two large bubbles floating
Collide
And merge in the space they share;
A friendship.

Hands held
and eyes caught.

Holding together as the bubble bounces
Keeping the balance, knees bent, bodies arched
Changing shape to accommodate the movement
Moving together ; eye to eye.

Eyes drift,look away
Space shrinks
Bubbles separate
And drift away.

Zoom
In to my face.
Closer.
See the colours on my skin
The mingled hues so diverse that form the tone of my complexion
From a distance.
My complexities are neutralised by the distance from which they are viewed.
Zoom in
Closer.
See the fine pores and pale hairs
That lie on the surface of the ***** that is
Skin.
Just so today
And tomorrow
Metamorphosised by new cells that multiply and those that die.
Zoom in
Closer yet
And that surface now
Is unrecognisable
That picture now
A poster
One hundred feet in height and paper thin.
A surface with no depth.
Walk through it
To the night beyond
With all its stars
The ones you see and strain to see and those beyond
And know who
And what
We are.