An Opportunity

The everyday as I  see it

Is a mask, a disguise

A mock constitution

Of half-truths and lies


You think you stand with a crowd

But you’re actually alone

The voices you hear around you

Are really your own.


Then why do I experience

The same world and the same you?

Why do I bring old eyes

To see the new?


We are in a sense blind

Till we begin to see

We’re born enslaved

And we must set ourselves free


How will such a freedom

Come to be mine?

Through the thick walls of my being

How will light come to shine?


Why does my heart, I wonder

Never utter a word?

Why does it suffer in silence

Never to be heard?


The mind is a vacuum

I’ve mistaken for a missing part

It sucks in fear and hate

That silences the heart


The heart will speak

When one is all of you

And not till you stand fractured

Dismembered into two


How do I join together

Parts of my being?

How do I accept your half-truths

As flaws in my seeing?


Where do I begin

Where do I make a start?

How do I silence my mind

And listen to my heart?


The heart I understand

Is the mind of a higher face

Its power of feeling

Removes all distance and space


Let me not just hear your bitter words

But of them also make sense

To the kaleidoscope of the everyday

Let me bring a whole new lens


The everyday is not

A displaced fragment of eternity

It’s what you are and

What you have the opportunity to be.

A Room Full of Ghosts

I sit alone in a room full of ghosts

Each one of them claims to know me the most

I know not who I may be

As each one of them screams their image of me

So shy! So bold!

So hot! So cold!

You’ve got it all right! You’ve got it all wrong!

Pathetically weak! Incredibly strong!


I sit in silence

Absorbing the noises

Till a momentous insight

Reveals them as choices

Choices I made a long time ago

I chose to let them stay

I never let go

Just as I made them then

I can make them now

So I get up and leave this room full of ghosts

How dare they claim to know me the most!


Our economic system is flawed.

Our political system is flawed.

Our education system is flawed.

Our society is flawed.


Because they thrive on falsehood

They need lies for profit, for leverage

And in and through their design

All work is sacrilegious and a curse.

Poverty is immanent in wealth

We only graduate in degrees of ignorance

And man is bound to man in a wretched dependency.


The root of all this is the individual

Fallen from Grace

He seeks his Self

He tries to know who he is

By being who he’s not (a sum of different parts).


Filled with deluded notions of grandeur

He procures. He makes. He sells.

And he is celebrated for the profit he makes.

In this blinding business of generating profit

He is left with sight, but loses his power to perceive.


With such an impairment

He can find worldly sustenance only through profit

He woos gain

And fears loss

He is wide in mirth

But shrivelled in sorrow

He wants only part of what life has to offer

He has no faith in the whole.


And the Truth cannot be anything but whole

The Truth Is.

It need not be created

The Truth cannot be measured by numbers or degrees

It is all-pervading and all-embracing.


Truth does not grow

It does not favour

the rich over the poor

the strong over the weak

the haves over the have-nots.


Infallible in its system

It awaits our homecoming

If only man could find solace

in the knowledge that it’s okay to not know…

And simply accept his being

Forego the contrivances of “who” or “what”.

And celebrate am-ness…


Then Truth would speak

And Truth would need

That which only Truth can give

Truth would ask

And Truth would answer

And Truth would accept

What Truth had made.





Contemplation is my shrine, my sanctuary

Therein lies my peace, my solace and my freedom

It is in this space that I give of myself and receive

It is this that is my essential nature

And all that I have is offered

In obeisance, in worship and in sacrifice

For its flame to be eternally kindled

And I protect it

As one would protect something dear

I share it with the listeners

Or with those who ask of my thoughts

Or with those in need

And all of this happens naturally

With effortlessness and in eternal wisdom

There is no conflict

No division of myself

The giver and receiver

Are not two but one

There is no higher or lower self here

And no question of prudence

There is just this

Complete in itself

Independent of my ‘knowing’

And now it feeds me with this thought

Offers unto its own flame

Must there necessarily be a way to God

Or is it not that God is the Way?


image These are my conversations with silence. These are my encounters with beauty and wonder. These are my invocations of the highest in the human condition. These are my commentaries on living. This is the poetry in the prose of my everyday. These are the sacred offshoots of the mundane. Flashes of inspiration that occur in the here and the now… And underlying all of this is a quest for wisdom beyond the known.