Though trees are green my spirit is a tomb, inscribed with letters telling of its birth. The spirit is meant to rise, it’s meant to appear in every human being. All the signs are there, the ‘letters’ which can be deciphered by passers-by, peering through the gloom. The spirit or inner being is held at arm’s length away from us – just an echo away, a gleam of light away. On its own it will never rise but is condemned to haunt its resting-place, searching the eyes of those passing strangers in the hope of detecting a divine and human Grace.

In this way I search your eyes for spirit’s rising fire which can inspire my sight to live again and reach upwards, forever higher, as if in answer to the timeless question, ‘When?’ Without that all spirits must abandon hope here. The hope of hearing in the human name the hidden Being who speaks to every ear and is for sight and sound the living flame.

Grace

Though trees are green my spirit is a tomb

inscribed with letters telling of its birth -

and passers-by who, peering through the gloom,

decipher what is written, seek its worth.

This spirit on its own will never rise

but must forever haunt its resting-place,

and search unseen those passing strangers’ eyes,

in hope of seeing divine and human Grace.

Flame

I search your eyes for spirit’s rising fire

which can inspire my sight to live again

and soaring upwards reach forever higher,

in answer to the timeless question, ‘When?’

Or else all spirits must abandon here

their hope of hearing in the human name

the hidden being who speaks to every ear

and is for sight and sound the living flame.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

©landar 2011. All rights reserved

(Picture: Two Men Contemplating The Moon by Caspar David Friedrich)

Yet sermons will not melt a mound of ice,

nor exhortations halt the howling wind,

and peace is like a pearl without price

which grows where pain and anger have been thinned.

I will exchange my old self for the new

when ice and wind have heard the hidden sun,

when all the salted teardrops formed like dew

have melted into vapor one by one.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

©landar 2011. All rights reserved

Self and world, the world and self – the pair are twinned. And if my self hangs in a teardrop the world’s does too. There is no single unhappiness that is not the world’s as well. The simple reason for this is that the world is straining for rebirth but can only do it if human beings address their own despair. Of course, if tears obscure the sight it’s difficult to see. The fact is that the birth of the new self within doesn’t depend on clear-sightedness. It depends on the strength of longing for it to come into being. The counterweight is what we characterize as the abyss. It’s what hangs in us like a pendant of water on a bud. Like a tear. The world is suspended in that tear. Self and world.

There is always that part of despair that doesn’t want to let go of its abyss. There’s a comfort in not understanding, in being all a-wash in its vastness. And yet for all its enormity the abyss is held by a tiny hook. And that is really just the crook of the finger that does not want to let it go. It might seem insulting to suggest that the monumental unhappiness people face – in terms of depression, despair and doubt – actually depends on the uncurling of a finger. But there it is. Release your tiny grip and the rest will fall. This is because the world responds. The weight of the world is in a teardrop. The crucial thing is to turn your face towards the hidden sun within the sun. That corresponds to the longing for the new self to be born. Unfortunately our prevailing culture hides this from us. Materialism spreads a thick gloss or veneer over reality. Our being is in a state of longing but too often doesn’t know it. The real truth would be liberating. The hidden sun is a reality. There is no option in the long run but to face it. Our own return to earth as true beings born will free our globe from its unnatural weight.

Abyss

Nothing will take pity on you, not stars,

not earth, not life which will go on with life -

so why take pity on yourself and cling

to the ancient abyss you claim is yours?

It hangs there by the hook that’s in your hand,

its vast eternal deep a pinch away -

and will you sing its songs for all of time

or let it go and claim yourself for you?

Weight

The world itself hangs baleful in a tear

and wants to be remembered for its light -

but all it has are waters drowned in salt,

its native radiance clouded and impure.

Ourselves, we turn the sphere, as sure as sight,

and let it face the sun’s most hidden gaze -

our own return to earth as true beings born

will free our globe from its unnatural weight.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

©landar 2011. All rights reserved

Here’s a fact: that pain transmutes into wisdom. What’s the significance of that? It is the Philosopher’s Stone, the transformation of lead into gold. What does it encompass? Prayers, strife, sorrow, weakness. What does it preclude? Bitterness. Unless the heart changes nothing else will. Every human soul at the beginning of its journey carries the injunction to spread what it is by nature into its environment. If this had happened the world would be a heavenly place, a Garden of Eden. Of course we fell foul of enemies in the undergrowth and betrayed our original innocence. But at different periods in our spiritual existence the miracle is reaffirmed. We regain that vision of the true gold of life and make a vow – not an injunction now but a vow – to transmute what is fallen, what is failing, and restore it to the world as the fruit of existence.

I am aware of the theology in this – that something has to touch the heart to set the transformative process in train. And that something is the power of life itself, or Love. But our concepts often seem to grow remote from reality. Only – which reality do you take as your own? The one which presents itself only in physical terms or the one which you swore to all that time ago, before your life on earth began? It is hard to conceive truly with concepts – for that we need imagination. We need the artistry of our heart, of our life, which refuses to be defeated. It is this hidden fibre of existence which recognizes the Philosopher’s Stone in us, which sparks off it. And then the vow we made becomes fruitful. Despite the vagaries of life, the pains, sorrows, strife and weaknesses, the gold of our original intention starts to show itself in the world.

Therefore I say that not even the greatest visionary can tell how it is that failure is not what it seems. My vow remains intact. Similarly, this striving for the unknowledgeable, buried like gold in our souls, is proof – proof past-perfect – of the life before birth. And finally, it is a miracle foretold, that what believes itself in deepest night will mark the page in symbols, from a past when light lay undefeated in my heart.

Vow

And this life is a vow both taken

and forgotten – a striving to achieve

its ends without recall of what they are:

I solemnly swear to do as I must.

But failure always dances at our heels,

haunts the imagination and deceives:

not even the greatest visionary

can tell how, having failed, my vow is kept.

Restore

This striving for the unknowledgeable -

buried like the deepest gold in our souls -

is proof past-perfect of life before birth,

is witness to the greatest hour of all:

when the vow was made to restore that gold

to the leaden, forlorn skies of the world,

which preserve no comfort for the sighted,

nor for the blind who long to hear of light.

Undefeated

And if I could I’d publish what I vowed

before the faults of life had intervened.

But sorrows, prayers and failings line the path

and change the words to something unforeseen.

And yet it is a miracle foretold

that what believes itself in deepest night

will mark the page in symbols from the past

when light lay undefeated in my heart.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

©landar 2011. All rights reserved

Human life is an infinitely varied thing, constantly changing in its patterns, and nothing captures its majesty and fluctuations so well as the image of the ocean. How much pain can there be in the world except that the ocean is able to contain it, how much light and change, how much mutability? Somehow it’s a fact that darkness must always think its way back to light, disturbance to peace, and mind itself to the resolution of song. The ocean can achieve this for you, even if you only stand on its shore. Therefore the poet has to bring his verbs and nouns into motion, to emulate the crests and depths of the sea, to let them learn their trade again from the great teacher of life. And adjectives will sing the timeless now!

Then there is despair. If my heart is that ocean it holds in it a place where the deepest shelf of rock heaves in silence and the darkest currents flow. I may think I know that place. I may think I can visit it with my thoughts of wished-for light. But really I have hardly begun to own it. And yet if life does lead me there it may be that I will find someone else sitting on that ledge – someone who knows the depths far more thoroughly than I. There can hardly be a more important experience than to find that person there, who speaks in tones that every heart can recognize at once and know its own.

And so the oceans are no counterfeit, but rather are they true expressions of the extensive human heart. And if some continent – an Atlantis – sank long ago, another will arise to rekindle hope. Such things happen although we may not be aware of it. Therefore all our rivers long to reach them, and land to feel their energy and pride breaking on its shores. Life will always teem in their wildest places, while deepest peace may trace its path for miles undisturbed.

Deepest peace.

I Bring

And on the ocean’s surface colors change

while in its chasms darkness still holds sway.

What’s dark must always think itself to light,

what’s mutable to peace, and mind to song.

Do you hear me, verbs and nouns at your work?

I bring your consonants to crests, vowels

to sullen depths, to learn your trade anew.

But adjectives will sing the timeless now!

Own

Yet if my heart was that ocean and, where

its deepest shelf of rock heaves in silence

and darkest currents imitate despair,

I’d visit sometimes with my thoughts of light,

and find that someone else was sitting there

who knew the depths more thoroughly than I,

who’d speak to me with tones that every heart

could recognize at once and know its own.

Miles

And oceans are no counterfeit but true

expressions of the wider human heart -

if some Atlantis sank so long ago

another will arise to freshen hope.

All rivers long to win them, land to beach

their long-created energy and pride.

And life teems in their wildest places still

while deepest peace may trace its path for miles.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2011. All rights reserved

Why is it that nationhood and belief are such sources of pain in our time? Is it, perhaps, that with more people crossing borders than in any other period in human history, no one is crossing borders? Then we’re inclined to say, “They have to learn our ways,” or, “We have to understand them better,” as if history is going to give us the chance to go back to school. History is as unremitting as the stars in the sky. Is there some other form of movement that has to take place, other borders that have to be crossed? I ask the question with pain because – to be honest – the state of the world’s nations and faiths brings tears to my eyes (how can it not?), but also because the birth of a new world demands that each and every person cross a border into a new selfhood. This of course takes time, but history says, “There is no time.”

There is no time left for feeding the instincts and desires which make us less than truly human. And if we examine our needs and habits, our patterns of living, closely enough we can see that the majority of them serve exactly those instincts and desires. It makes no difference then what country you move to, what tradition you subscribe to. The crossing that has to take place is into a being-hood that is truly human. And, if I may say so, the being that is truly human is also divine. To look up to this as an ideal is to start effecting the changes. There is no solution to the world’s problems while our understanding of races, nations, borders and religions remains as it is. The best we can hope for is ever more and more ‘intelligence’ until governments creak under the weight of their own security. The truth is that the time has already passed. The need to start looking at what makes us human is the only one which history can support. – For in the world that’s coming nothing lasts but what has changed its nation in an hour.

Borders

So many nations crowd into one land,

the very hills and seas might change their names,

and hear their ancient tongues on every strand

converse with strangers, sizing up their frames.

I’m foreign too, in any language now,

and glad to make my difference known here,

but all that’s crossed my borders will somehow

transform the country, making land appear.

Value

Migrations, emigrations, creeds and castes

will verify the truth of what we are,

for in the world that’s coming nothing lasts

but what has changed its nation in an hour.

So when we’ve grown into something new

there is no longer tribe or faith to prove,

just what has gained its value through and through

by staying true while learning how to move.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2011. All rights reserved

The world is entering its time of greatest trial. The choice is stark and clear – between good and evil. And evil will certainly present itself as the new good. The burden of the coming time is something many people feel. It brings a tear to the eye, mainly because of the fear of what will happen to those who make the choice for evil. We’re talking about the loss of a large part of humanity. Nevertheless the time comes to make your mark on this stump of the world-tree.

Such travail is also a sign of birth. It is primarily a sign of birth. Only the birth must take place in a corner of the being which is unheralded, uncelebrated. Its birth is in the hands of the angels, the stars and your own tender affections. It is nothing less than the birth of Light in us.

Therefore when winter’s crystallizing has begun to circle every hill and whitened slope, I’ll take my own flame to the leaping Light above and allow it to be kindled there. Then nature itself can see what has the power to continue – to live, to grow and evolve – through Love. For everything in life gives its shine to that which is coming, abandoning what is here, and the low earth must patiently resign its stewardship of what it held dear. And where my own life has gently dropped its aim, it now lifts up its gaze to the greatest height.

At last we’ll see that what is weight and burden – trial – is really the choice to grow from age down to infant light. Then all the different ages in me can turn as one towards the birth that will restore my sight. What is longest coming is the very thing which longs in me to end the world’s pains and strife, to ease its burden and set it free from the age-old conflicts threatening its life.

Flame

Towards the midnight I’ll bear up that sun

which shines in me as nature’s purest hope,

when winter’s crystallizing has begun

to circle every hill and whitened slope.

And at the darkest minute I’ll present

my own flame to the leaping light above,

till nature can survey the full extent

of what continues in the power of Love.

Height

And everything in life then gives its shine

to what is coming, leaving what is here,

till patiently the low earth must resign

the provenance of what it once held dear.

Then every crystal link within my frame

prepares its half-dreamt coloring for Light,

and where my life has gently dropped its aim,

it lifts its gaze up to the greatest height.

Birth

Then what is weight and burden but the choice

to grow from age right down to infant light?

And all my ages turn with single voice

towards the birth that promises me sight.

And what is longest coming longs in me

to lift the world from its pains and strife,

to ease its burden, start to set it free,

from age-old conflicts threatening its life.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved