It is not somewhere over the rainbow
beyond Mother's breath or
in the devices of ancient
or modern hands bereft

we touch it in our pathos
and empathy from
time to time
through a shallow fading
gravel bed
filtering a bitter water table perhaps

whilst the tender leaf of spring feels it
in the autumn of unconditional
acceptance of the inevitable
morning frost
cold relentless rains
and colourful leaves
falling to their death
in beauty

so far removed from our bipedal posturing
and upright positioning at the computer
desk knowing there is no mystery here
no wild cry in the night
only electronic and organic
bleeps and drones and…

aw! there… I heard it again

a lost chord
a missing link
that the wild
creatures understand
of what we sometimes feel nearer in our shared limbic
brain seldom penetrated through
our domineering eyes planted firmly in front
of the gray dross from an eternal fire

we spend our given time on
this planet trying to douse when the rest
of creation knows the need for its
purification and leaps willingly into its
all-consuming heart as we
live in fear of the unknown
and of fear itself

keeping us estranged from the cosmic mysterium which provokes us to awaken
to the wondrous eternal
which will
alter our deluded consciousness
to see what has been seen through the
unknown eons to help us take to the fire

we only catch a whiff of in the twilight
of our hopes and selfless dreams
so we will rise through the
dry brown leaves of our once tender
green vision of an ever-changing universe
which whispers louder and louder in our darkness
until we cease our chatter and
learn to listen to the serene silence
of an eternal vibration heightening

morphing less organic much more
ethereal spiritual crawling further and further
from the pulse of the earth
as we shed thickened skin which
once replaced thin soft unprotected flesh
needing protection from extraneous
sources to cover what should have been

eternally naked bare to the elements
not limited to a frail carcass which
will ultimately be left behind as we
transform into our individual eternal temples to
join in worship with the rest of creation
to be the living offering
at the foot of the
eternal voice ineffable
not waiting to be obeyed
in mass procession but

as individual as one spark igniting
a plot of trees newly released as mystery
revealed ever so slightly in the wake of
the burial of earthbound mind steeped in
temporal ancient tradition fermented in
oak casks which were made to remain
and grow in their ****** state

as we hear distant yet distinct whispers of
the origin of our human calling above and beyond
Thoreau's distant drummer’s near silent tremors of the
most ancient rhythms now mostly echoes as we
march to
and follow our own drummer
leading the way back home

as we at times seem to distinctly
hear original rhythm's calling
as we try so earnestly to
respond like a dying sea
longing to once again sway
to the beckoning moon

often keeping in step
with our
own inner drummer who
is always trying to keep
time by asking

"are we prepared to give
in to what we will
inevitably meet in the end?"

A spider crosses my path,
its steps careful, calculated.
It pauses in my shadow,
uncertain whether to move forward or back.
We share this moment, the spider and I,
both caught in the web we did not choose,
each bound by the rules of our nature.

I do not crush it,
knowing there is no triumph in such an act.
But I understand, too,
that this same spider would show no kindness
to a fly ensnared in its silk.
And that is okay.
We all follow the scripts we are given,
finding our place in a world
that is neither cruel nor kind,
just indifferent.

We part ways, the spider and I,
it continuing its silent journey,
and I, mine.
In this fleeting intersection of our lives,
there is no victory or defeat,
only existence and its quiet persistence.

And as I watch it disappear into the grass,
the day carries on,
but the spider lingers in my thoughts,
a tiny presence that feels larger than it should.
It reminds me of the countless lives
we pass by each day, unnoticed,
each with their own silent battles,
each following the threads of fate
that weave us all into this tapestry.

I think about the webs we spin,
invisible to the eyes of others,
and how often we find ourselves
trapped in the strands of our own making.
How many times have I, too,
hesitated in someone’s shadow,
uncertain of the path ahead,
wondering if I should move forward
or retreat into the safety of the familiar?

And yet, like the spider,
we press on, driven by something
deeper than thought,
some primal urge to survive,
to persist despite the odds.
There is a strange beauty in this,
a quiet resilience that speaks
to the core of what it means to be alive.

Perhaps, in the end,
it is enough to simply exist,
to find our place in the world
not through grand gestures or triumphs,
but through the small mercies we offer,
even to those who cannot fathom them.
If I can shape the world,
if only for a moment,
into something resembling kindness,
then perhaps the indifference
is not as vast as it seems.

In my journey toward embracing compassion as a way of being, I’ve come to understand that the path to selflessness is not about denying myself, but rather expanding my sense of self to include the wellbeing of others. Every moment presents an opportunity to awaken the heart, to lean into discomfort rather than avoid it, and to cultivate a deep empathy that transcends personal interests.

I’ve learned that the practice of compassion involves recognizing the suffering in the world without becoming overwhelmed by it. It’s about training the mind to meet challenges with patience and openness, seeing others’ pain as a reflection of our shared human condition. When I make a commitment to serve others, I am not striving for perfection but rather accepting my own imperfections as part of the learning process.

Through mindful awareness, I realize that my own difficulties and struggles are a gateway to greater understanding and connection. By confronting fear and vulnerability, I begin to soften my heart, not just toward others but toward myself. Compassionate action is not grand gestures but small, consistent choices to live with kindness, equanimity, and courage. It is a practice of being present, attentive, and fully engaged with life as it unfolds.

The key teaching is that real transformation comes not from external achievements or recognition but from the inner work of shifting from self-centeredness to a broader, more inclusive perspective. True freedom arises when I let go of the need to protect my ego and embrace the interconnectedness of all beings, recognizing that my happiness is inextricably tied to the happiness of others.

—

Compassion is seeing what hurts
and staying close anyway.
It’s the hand that helps you up
without asking for thanks.

It doesn’t turn away
when things get hard,
and it doesn’t fix,
just shows up.

It’s the quiet presence
that makes room for pain,
a choice to stand with someone
even when you can’t solve a thing.

Compassion is simply being there;
eyes open, heart open,
willing to share the weight
for as long as it takes.

— Sincerely, Boris

"I am a victim of circumstance."
Are we not all?
Play not devoid
But freely strum the chords
Of sympathy and even empathy,
Far from pieces which are familiar,
For situations one might sparsely fathom.

When someone's fallen
Reach out a hand to help them up
Even if it slows you down,
Even when it is not expected.
For when is a fall the expectation?
And who among us is the exception?

Reflect, act, remark.
If I am to cross the line which signals finish
It will be knowing you
Have completed the marathon.
Having waded the haze that is "competition,"
In a day & age where that means so little
And should still mean less,
I will have been obscured by nothing.
For in that trek, I won;
In the journey of the sport of love
I went the distance for a companion.
When I knelt,
I chanced a "prize"
But it was you who made me champion.

In the glow of screens,
we gathered,
Farmville requests from aunts,
a world of laughter,
simple joys shared like sunlight,
photos blooming like flowers,
each snapshot a moment held close.
But shadows crept in,
voices grew louder,
arguments ignited in the digital crowd,
once a haven for stories and cheer,
now a battleground,
where fear and anger drown out connection.
Oh, to step back,
to mute the noise,
to cherish the small moments,
to find joy in simplicity.
Can we learn to listen?
To hold our space with care?
To share our truths without fear of judgment?
Imagine a world where we pause,
where empathy reigns and understanding flows.
Let’s reclaim the joy of a simple post,
the warmth of shared memories,
the bonds that matter most.
If we could remember how to talk again—
to share our lives without the weight of expectation,
to celebrate each other’s stories as our own.
Maybe then we can find our way back,
to laughter and support,
to kindness woven through our words.
And maybe one day,
we will step into that light again—
not as warriors in an endless fight,
but as friends seeking connection,
hearts open to the beauty of being together.

I cradle your worries,
your burdens I share,  
yet I carry my own,
a weight hard to bear.
Each word that I offer,
a balm for your pain,  
while I swallow my tears
like a soft summer rain.

With every embrace,
I hide what I feel,  
for the hardest of battles
I fight to conceal.
So if you could see me,
just for a while,  
you’d find in my sorrow
the strength in my smile.

©️Lizzie Bevis

In this world, I find myself alone,
surrounded by a chaos of troubles,
including my own
and you expect me to stand strong
as everything crumbles,
because you want me to help you atone?

I am a dancing light through the darkness
for many, it seems, through their stress.
My heart grows weary,
yet I remain humble,
as you plead for me to protect.

Through all of your worries and woes,
I stand with you, and I oppose;
But when all is resolved,
I'm left to struggle
as life deals me blow after blow.

Why is life so ominously wicked
to those who are giving and committed? Through it all,
my priorities are juggled
and from my time you greatly benefit.

But these questions keep manifesting
in my mind:
Why do I care so much,
and why am I so kind?
Why must I carry everyone's burdens
when they do not feel inclined?

©️Lizzie Bevis