Light on the Page

There are many things which are right-sounding, which give the appearance of truth, which you can’t help acknowledging as correct. The world trades on these things and, in spiritual circles at least, they gain their devoted followers. And yet there is too much which, despite its apparent truth, leaves you frustrated and confused, which makes you feel you have no further path to follow. And there is much which is actively, deliberately deceptive. So much for the right-seeming.

At the same time, however, there is a deep baptismal river which flows past us the whole time. It acknowledges the cold sky above, the meaningless light the world tries to thrust on us, and the clay on our soles which is the inevitable result of life on earth. Step into that river just once and there is a sudden song – a piercing small voice inside which says, ‘I am here with you in body and in soul’. This is the voice to look for, the one which stands over and against the noise and flux of the world’s ‘truth’. It is a small voice but the world will never know how much truth it contains. It will never know how those who have found it, who are alone, can hear so much in the silent ether, which no sound breaks. The sky and the light and the clay gain a new life from this.

Are we alone? If all the people in the world said at once, ‘I am alone,’ the bare sound of it would not make us together. But something in the light which is our real home will carry our calling back to a single source. No matter if we live or if we die then, we will all hold converse in one ringing baptism – what is alone is at one with the all, what is apart finds its way to the one.

You may say, that’s all very well but where can I find this baptismal river? The only possible answer is that the river lies in the seeking. Look beyond the world’s noise and the right-seeming, and you will find it. And the baptist? He will be there too.

Baptism

The deep baptismal river, the cold sky,

meaningless light, clay on the soles, and then –

sudden song, a piercing small voice inside:

I am here with you in body and soul.

Not now, not ever, will the world know

how we who are alone can hear so much

in the silent ether which no sound breaks,

how the sky and light and clay gain a life.

One

If we all say at once we are alone,

the bare sound will not make us together,

but something in the light which houses us

will bear our calling to a single source.

No matter if we live or if we die,

we hold converse in a ringing baptism:

what is alone is at one with the all,

what is apart finds its way to the one.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved

There is a joy in being together, alone. To know yourself as a single voice, crying, as it were, in the wilderness, with the millions of stars above you. And yet to know you will hear and be heard by all those who experience the same thing, from the realm of the living or the realm of the dead. I know that we are all there together, that we step into the same water, that our heads will rise into the sky above the sky. I know that all of us whose voices rise in this way will go together or not at all, into the light we have made by standing alone.

Therefore we are the many who are the only. We are the listeners in solitude who hear the quality of light which shines, so to speak, in our baptismal river. We find our singleness in this water, and are together. The great world, with all its tumbling waters, is our progenitor. We claim descent from it, our eyes and ears are born from it, for it. But the small voice inside is the limitless one, which joins our many solitudes in its single vastness!

Alone

I joy to be one in the wilderness,

in solitude, with you, and you, and you.

To raise our voice in the millions of stars

and only be heard by each other.

Let our feet step into the same water,

our heads rise in the sky above the sky –

we will go together or not at all,

to the light made by standing alone.

Solitude

We are the many who are the only,

we are the listeners in solitude

whose ear discerns the quality of light

shining in our first baptismal river.

How great is the world, its tumbling waters,

from which we claim descent, our eyes and ears!

How small is the limitless voice inside,

which joins our many solitudes as one!

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved

By dint of what it is, the daylight star will never falter, its light will always hold. Yet where it comes from and where it goes to is a mystery. It travels as and when it will. It will be there throughout the hours of day, although the lights and reflections of ordinary life will keep it hidden. It remains the brightest reality in the sky. Its shining wakes another way in the hidden world. It takes the past from everything that’s been.

There is a point of contact for the daylight star, which reaches through the blindness of our ordinary sky. This point is something which is also living blindly in the earth – something which peers so longingly into the question why, it fails to see that conventionally there is no answer. The brilliance of the sky, filled with its daytime distractions, will not see these two points meet – the star whose light never loses its way, and the dreaming head it comes down to anoint.

By night the star is everything I am – my best self, a radiance which knows no falsehood. The points of its crown pierce through every veil of life. We need each other’s eyes to see its light, to live in faithfulness to what we are – to recognize our inner truth and keep the promise of the daylight star.

It’s my wish that Light on the Page should help with this.

Been

The star is ardent, always burning true,

its light will never falter, always hold.

Yet where it comes from, when it travels through,

and where it goes to, never will be told.

But it will be there all the hours of day

when lights and bright reflections hide the seen.

And where it shines it wakes another way

and takes the past from everything that’s been.

Anoint

A point of contact for the daylight star,

which reaches through the blindness of our sky –

a blind thing in the earth which looks so far

it fails to see no answer in the why.

How far removed the brilliance of the day,

which will not see them meeting point to point,

the star whose light has never lost its way,

the dreaming head it comes down to anoint.

The Daylight Star

By night the star is everything I am,

its shining is my best self looking down,

a radiance with no deceit or sham,

no veils of life to hide its piercing crown.

We need each other’s eyes to see the light,

to live in faithfulness to what we are,

to recognize our truth with inner sight

and keep the promise of the daylight star.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved

The daylight star is something which shines very clearly for me in my mind. In some ways its light is brighter than all the stars in the firmament of night. It lives, in reality, although it’s rarely seen and its name is never spoken. It slips its radiance in where the ways are narrow, the pathways slight. This star achieves its ends without affectation and needs no mirror to reflect its shine. It wanders softly where it hears the moans of all those souls who haven’t been touched by its light, or a similar light. And yet it moves without designs on anyone’s freedom.

Its light is thin but it leaves no area untouched and everywhere it goes the shine remains. It has no desire to possess or retain and leaves no mark on those things it holds in trust. It knows the world as a child knows a ball it has played with all its life. And though its steps are silent and the sounds it makes barely discernible, it has the whole of life within its span. The daylight star.

Design

The daylight star is only in my head

and yet outshines the firmament of night.

It lives, although its name is never said,

and slips its radiance in where ways are slight.

It pleads its case in unaffected tones

and seeks no gaudy mirror for its shine.

It wanders softly where it hears the moans

of vagrant souls, but goes without design.

Span

This thin light leaves no area untouched

and everywhere it goes its shine remains.

Yet nothing is possessed by it or clutched

and what it holds in trust it never stains.

And yet it knows the world like a ball

which it has spun since time itself began.

And though its step is silent, sound is small,

it has the whole of life within its span.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved

The answer to a prayer is invisible. It occurs in unexpected ways. And yet you can feel its courage lifting in the heart, you can climb the way it opens up for you as you might climb a stair, and can stand in wonder before its perfect art. Is there anyone who hasn’t waited down below, before any courage was felt, before any stair appeared, and whose faith dwindled to a tiny spark? Then it seemed as if the world had nothing left to show, all lights were extinguished, and you were left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

Time and time again the thought arose that the world is old and has nothing in it that can lift me up. The hand I held out is empty and the cup I drank from is cold. Yet in that same hand, left limply folded, the prayer lies hidden, and there is hope in the half-forgotten cup. And something comes back from an old remembered land, from paradise, to lift me up.

As a drop of dew is all that’s left of night, what remains of me is distilled prayer. The sun then transforms the dew-drop into light. Paradise, which in its essence is still in me, fulfills me with its care. Only bones and hours continued of what I carried from the past. Yet something in me, even if I paid no heed to it consciously, must have stopped to pray along the way. Something that remembered what I myself had forgotten – an age of light, the paradise I had been part of long ago.

Stair

I’ve never seen the answer to a prayer,

but felt its courage lifting in my heart

and climbed its way as you would climb a stair

and stood in wonder at its perfect art.

I was the one who waited down below,

whose faith was narrowed to a tiny spark,

who felt the world had nothing more to show

than lights extinguished, thoughts left in the dark.

Paradise

Twenty times a day the thought arises,

the world is old and cannot lift me up,

ways have left me here with no surprises,

empty is my hand and cold the cup.

A prayer lies hidden in the folded hand,

a hope within the half-forgotten cup,

and something from an old, remembered land

comes back from paradise to lift me up.

Long-Gone

This drop of dew is all that’s left of night

and what remains of me is distilled prayer.

The sun transforms the dew-drop into light

and paradise fulfils me with its care.

I’ve carried what I can from the old day

and stopped where only bones and hours went on.

But something in me must have stopped to pray,

remembering an age of light long-gone.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.