Light on the Page

The Temple

Love raises the vaults and architraves of our lives over and over – not just once but repeatedly, to accommodate the many different lives we lead on earth. It’s as simple as that – a temple houses our lives here and we come back to it each time we’re born. I mean this literally – life is a temple we long to fill. You could say our different lives are its pillars, reaching up to the far-distant moment when it will be complete. Why don’t we see this? Because we’re too busy living life. The clock obstructs our vision.

Where do you find those other lives? You find them in the lost minutes, which hide like shadows or reflections behind the ordinary ones. And who do you see there? You see yourself as the wise child who experiences the world in its true nature. Only, it’s so, so difficult to remain with that child. He or she is constantly being stolen away by forces which want to prevent our true development.

You also see those other lives through the eyes of love. ‘Through your eyes I look into the heavens and see what priceless treasures lie there.’ This makes it our task to reflect the inner being – the wise child – in each other. This means that we share the responsibility of raising that temple, through many lifetimes.

Are we too old and cynical to be that child again? The clock-self is. The eternal being who came down to earth again at the beginning of your life isn’t. Neither is the being you are when you set foot on that worn doorstep into the life after death. Why else would you want to come back? The clock existence doesn’t make it worthwhile. So I would turn this page and write again the poem that has never been heard – the one where lives are filled with time’s lost gold, feet at rest on the worn doorstep of love.

 

Poem

 

Through your eyes I look into the heavens

and see what priceless treasures lie there -

the laughter of things forgotten at birth,

the limitless peace of green before green.

And I would turn this page and write again

the poem that has never been heard -

the one where lives are filled with time’s lost gold,

feet at rest on the worn doorstep of love.

 

Blossoms

And when I slow the minutes down to think,

I find some others there worn out by time,

and in them is preserved love’s every blink,

and seconds saved to capture every rhyme.

Before I lived, I lived another life,

which comes to light as blossoms heed the sun -

I bore life’s fortunes bundled in with strife

and whittled down the years till all was done.

 

Temple

Like a boy I wonder through those minutes -

the ones I lost being busy with my life -

a foundling inside a temple precincts,

learning why it is that people praise.

Lost minutes – in them voices ringing out,

paving stones I hollowed with my heel,

and love, erecting vault and architrave

over and again to house my lives.

 

 

Best wishes, today,

Landar

 

 

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