1) Silence

I stand and calmly resist the pull, it is heavy, but so is my will
Ignore it, don’t hate it, stay together in this moment
Clarity of thought and purpose will take me far

I feel the pull strengthen, an itch, a craving
That bears not to be denied, even for a moment
My eyelids droop – resistance is exhausting

I abandon my attention to the rushing waters of scattered action
Frothing, violent and pulling every which way
There is no clear thought as I am submerged

Only relentless action, reaction, counterreaction
My head swirls and I cannot hear
For the cacophony of thoughts murmuring at every sensation

The day ends at last, and for a few blessed moments before sleep claims me,
The pull is gone

Misty pleasures, I rest a timeless spell in dreams…

The morning come, sweet silence a few instants, then
The pull clamours anew at my gates
Drowsy still, today I accept it in with grace
Resistance seems too savage a state for Sunday morning

Now again the waters around me rise and stir
But today they seem lessened
The roar quieter between my ears

For a blink it stops – and the Silence behind it is glorious.

The blink ends, and in the river’s pull again I am, but the memory
Of that silent instant has marked my body

Now each day the pull is there, inviting, but now too is another
A subtle quiet without wants or words, rapids or falls

A quiet that I love, ever more, and that waxes brighter in me
With the passing of seasons, slowly reaching behind the curtain

To transform, to wondrous, deep

Silence.

2) Stones

Into fire and time’s embrace,
Down and down and down.

The world presses in, needful and hungry,
Demanding its due.

Amongst ruins you find yourself, standing blind and afraid,
Stories of friend and foe written in the landscape.

There is no hiding from these stones,
Which lie scattered in the earth, farther than the eye can see.

They bear witness to an unforgotten past;
Wraths and losses, triumphs and slights,
Whose echoes simmer in stone, tripping unwary travellers.

Even today, you see them fall, strike ruined foundations,
Then stand bruised and stunned, covered in dust.

No wakefulness for these twice martyred sons, rather slumber-
Sorrowful of past wrongdoings – in self-chosen misery.
For the land is old and remembers, and its people too.

Time passes, and you learn that
Twice born is twice to die.

Twice, thrice, a thousand times.
The bread slowly rises,
Love stirs the heart and wisdom the mind.

You see the stones at your feet shift and sway today, tomorrow,
Shapes once thought eternal lose form below the beating sun,
And melt into the rich soil.

You feel yourself change and the land as well
The ruins thin, growing sparse amongst flowers,
Fewer travellers trip upon them now.

You learn that to walk this land is a gift,
A chance to earn and heal a few bruised knees,
Along a winding pathway up the mountain.

At whose summit you may behold the Sun,
In its infinite glory.