Light on the Page

I’m really talking about going to and arriving at a place where time, and its symbols, are pushed aside to make way for love. The symbols? minutes, seconds, hours, days, sun, moon, stars. And with them go such conditions as shadows, darkness, and daylight. The importance of being in that place is immeasurable. Love alone repairs the darkness and the light. Our inner being is born there. There’s nothing false or counterfeit about that inner being. To stay there is to create a time of our own and – to shine with all the brightness of our days.

Uncurving

So time itself explodes, its minutes pop,

the seconds crackle, when I think of you –

eternity nestles in a murmur,

in a cupped hand, and it is ours to stroke.

Our timeless being rolls back the world then,

to leave us free with stars to spare and moon

uncurving in our promises of love.

No Counterfeit

And night dispenses with the sun so time

will not be lengthened by its shadows cast

in imitation of the longer dark

in which we have the eyes to see and light

which is no counterfeit but truth of love.

And so we’ll lie enclosed in our own time

and shine with all the brightness of our days.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010

The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the prior permission of the author.

Delight and despair abound in one lifetime. Is there a way of making sense of them? The infant’s smile comes from another world and yet is hungry for this life too. The dying man smiles because he sees the light coming through the door from that other world. He’s thirsty for its life. The unspoiled light joins the two ends of life. In the middle it exists as colour, dancing colours, delight and despair. It turns a lifetime into a minute, and a minute into an age. So set out even now to find that light, to reach for the infinites.

Infinites

And even at the other end of life

the infant’s smile will light upon the face

of a dying man right up to the door

he will go out by, knowing what he saw

when there was nothing in the world but light.

He will be small again, then, small enough

to reach for infinites, and they for him.

Seconds

And through that door the unspoiled light resides,

which joins the infant’s smile and the old man’s grasp,

pain with wishing, delight, despair, and all

creaking with eternity in a hinge.

Then set out even now to find that light -

an hour is round with it, a day no more

or less, lifetimes loan it to a minute,

and seconds tremble from the wonder of its sight.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010

The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the prior permission of the author.

What’s simplest is hardest. The vision of the world that a tiny child has. The world is like a word then, the first word that you speak. To hear that word again, the sound and the song of the world, will return the infant’s smile to your face. What could be simpler? And what could be harder?

Sign

Sometimes upon a high cliff, or alone

in a firmament of crowded stars, you

may listen for the child’s heartbeat still

that played you into being long ago,

and hear the first word springing to your lips

when words were not yet bound with sense and time.

Then carry that word with you in the crowds,

on the pavement’s edge, to the market cross,

and let it be a sign unseen by all.

Smile

Then again the sound, the song of the world,

waking like a star in the dawn, was first -

music that could make a baby smile

and reach for the infinites in its sight.

I should live like a wise and happy man

if I could have that song again and care

for it like a charm kept in my pocket,

which none may see, and yet they’ll find in me

the source of some enchantment, and will smile.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010

The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the prior permission of the author.

It’s the power of the deepest being within you to walk right through to the truth. For me the world of snow and ice is the pure realm we all come from. In reality, it fills up our tracks with new flakes as we go, it paves our walkways, without our knowing it. But snow must thaw and most likely will give way to fog. This fog remains as the condition of much of our lives. The deeper being within you is like the child. Notwithstanding that the snow has gone, this part of yourself is still able to part the veils of everything that remains hidden – and to walk right through. It’s a task of transformation. lightonthepage would like to help with that task.

Veils

So winter’s vastness dwindles to a fog;

children part its thoughts like veils, forgetting

how their tracks filled up with snow, how the ice

paved their world before they woke, how nothing

could ever be the same again, but white.

That winter, whose dominion is the truth,

the children part its veils and walk right through.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010

The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the prior permission of the author.

Well, the snowman has been up and about and walking. He’s very central to my theme in lightonthepage. After all who makes who in this world? I’m finding it hard to say, without his help, how that pure being, living as the deepest spiritual self, wants to know himself, to glide across the world in my footsteps. Therefore his footprints are there in the snow, although you might miss his elusive presence unless you rise very, very early.

The snowman has to reckon with the thaw as well. I love him also for his greying, leftover mound when the rain has come, for the way his thoughts flow into the earth.

lightonthepage is about those thoughts and more, much much more. You might say it’s a spiritual blog, a poetical or literary one. The main thing is that the words come from that pure inner light – and that the footsteps of the early-rising man of snow are not too far away.

Can I wake and walk with him, that snowman,

melting as he his? Must I dissolve my dreams,

let all my thoughts like water flow away?

Give up my well-pressed words and let him speak

for me, from the depths of wild, snow-filled heaven?

And so, if we have walked beside the snow’s first life,

how long before our footprints lead us round again,

as friends, to where he first shaped me, and I,

with coal-bright eyes, gazed into the world anew?

Then what will be my mind except the snow,

melting and pouring into distant heartlands

where I long to be, to walk with you and feel

how everything I love is spread around me

in glistening streams and silvery-minded paths?

And he is there, the man of snow, washed free

of my creating, burning his hands in a world

where snow had never fallen or thought to fall.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010

The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this page may be reproduced without the prior permission of the author.