Sometimes from my doorstep on a morning
Of drifting pollen grains I can hear the silence
Hushing about the eaves,
Pouring its attention into mountain streamlets.
By mid morning the vast rolls of the sea
Break around the blue cliffs,
Splitting apart and merging into wholeness
Like the wrecking and healing of time.
Sometimes fragmented rhythms chance upon
These knotted flows of sound;
Warnings of incoming gales beneath shafts of sunlight
Demanding step-by-step negotiations.
But such mornings should always be undertaken
With great respect for its own moods.
Even tricky surfaces are holy ground,
Twigs, pebbles, stones and seaweed underfoot,
Touching, scraping, padding the skin
To give us memory, to give us a life
Your life is a ripple in time;
A chain reaction of events sparked
By your birth.
Wether you walk amongst wildflowers,
Or trail along a heathery marsh way,
Pushing a cloud-spun meadow
On the blue horizon, or
Dragging along the sun,
Your seasonal skin will keep falling;
Peeling off coats of arms, smoothed
By currents of interchanging keys,
Until nothing remains but a soft wind,
Tossing upon someone else’s waves.
I am hovering above myself
As though my existence is a circle
Painted on borrowed beach sand
Drawn by sticky fingertips
On someone else’s reality,
Its oily prints trailing a whole universe
Upon a silent sky.
Your worth cannot be increased
By doing good deeds.
Doing good deeds can only increase
Your own sense of joy and purpose;
Knowing you have made a difference
In someone’s life.
But if you do good deeds to prove
Your worth, to harvest acceptance
And acknowledgement from others,
Then you will never be satisfied or content.
True happiness comes from acknowledging
Your own worth, obtained just by being alive.
There is no greater peace than
When you can accept this.