THE FURROWS AND FURLONGS OF DEEPEST EARTH

Dying is a symbol. A symbol of coming into being. We know this from dreams. The  unconscious is a gifted poet who reveals emerging life in the image of death. How much greater would be the supra-conscious, which handles and metamorphoses the gift of new life itself? The opportunity lies open to become poets in the higher sphere but the process of growth is, as ever, a painful one. Who cannot love the flight of leaves in autumn? But the transition to a new state requires surrender and sorrow as well as delight.

 

What is asked of us in terms of belief, of vision and prayer and faith? Churches will give their own answer but above me there is always a ring of gold which is ready to receive me and to gift me with the power to live on earth’s ever-shaking ground. The world, left to its own devices, is empty, a wasteland of gloom. But if we pray for the truth to appear, sometimes a glimmer, in the form of a word or thought, may reach down through the circle to light us.

 

To consolidate our pains and fears and pass them through this circle remains a process of evolution. It’s where we take a hand in it ourselves. Does evolution stop at the limits of the physical? Life-tasks and callings are often difficult to discern on earth – the conditions of life may be fractured and broken – but their true standard shines clear, like a banner or flag, above. Below, the world too often gives way at the weakest fault-line. Then human failings pour in to gaze at themselves. But above the true features of life are painted very finely – tasks and callings appear where sight delves for them.

 

Therefore the golden horizon encircles me. I can allow life’s passions and griefs to fade away. The true being inside will express its name. The furrows and furlongs of deepest earth return their fears gladly to the circle.

 

Circle

A circle of gold in the air above

is my church, my prayer, my vision and faith –

it receives me and gives to me always

the power to live on earth’s shaking ground.

The world is empty, a wasteland of gloom,

except for the truth we pray to appear –

and sometimes a glimmer, a word or thought

will reach down through the circle and light us.

 

Faces

Is this my path, to speak the unspoken,

to listen for words no other may hear?

Callings are fractured, life-tasks lie broken

below, but above their standard shines clear.

The world gives way to the weakest fault-line

and failings pour in to gaze at themselves,

but there where life’s features are painted fine,

faces and fortunes appear as sight delves.

 

Horizon

The golden horizon encircles me,

within life’s passions and griefs fade away.

Trouble of living, prison of dying,

yield their grip softly to the ring of gold.

All the heart’s pains are over if only

the true being inside will express its name.

The furrows and furlongs of deepest earth

return their fears gladly to the circle.

 

Best wishes, today,

Landar

 

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