Light on the Page

WINGS

The true world is more than the one we see and move about in. Its dimensions are those of the soul, which are measured in terms of happiness, of love and of beauty. These give it depth and width and height in a true sense. Likewise the world that I am myself, is open to me if I expand into it, by means of those wings my soul was given at the beginning of its journey. If I can discover again the softness of those wings, as soft as the wool of a lamb in spring, I will find the path through light to where I began.

Nothing in the use of those wings would disturb the flow of air or the pattern of light on the earth below. New life depends on those things. But still I could choose a path which light and air, in their spiritual forms, had made outside of time. And there I could fold my wings to create the shade we need to understand things in their prime.

Wings

The true world is more than the one we see –

its width is the happiness of the soul,

its depth is love, which binds and then sets free,

its height that beauty which the stars unroll.

If I could show the true world that I am,

you’d see height and depth and width in a span

of wings as soft as the wool as a lamb

and a path through light to where I began.

Prime

And nothing in my flying would disturb

the pattern of the light on earth below,

and nothing in my span of wings would curb

the flow of air to where new life must grow.

But I would choose a path which light had made

and which the wind discovered outside time,

and there with folded wings create the shade

we need to understand things in their prime.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

THE CHORUS OF REBIRTH

The oldest part of us is the physical. It was the first to be made and has waited longest for rebirth. The soul is younger. No one would claim it has the perfection of the physical. We have such a long way to go! And when the physical is reborn – right down to the finest molecular structure – it will sing its name again where angel voices ring! I can see us walking, in the first light of morning. I can see the wavering gloom, where night gives way to daylight. And I can see our faces in that early light. First yours and then mine, lit up by the word that’s carried on the dawn, that the one who’s lain longest, the physical part of us, is the first to be heard in the chorus of rebirth.

The first glass of life is still pure. It tastes sweet, it has everything we need in it. It holds the flavour of paradise. But with age comes knowledge, and the second glass seems different, mixed with fruits of decay. Then the force of love in us must turn to its partner and search in her face for the brightness that life once held. Indeed, there are lines and caverns etched in the land. We can walk there again in the early morning, walk there without fail. One hand is warm, the hand which holds its partner’s. The other is cold. Then it will happen that the higher love, which spelt out its name in the night, will share with us, quite without hands, life’s golden flame.

You have to release your life to the spiritual again, to turn the horse free from the stable. It has to feed on the open prairie, to feel the sun on its body, the wind in its mane. Only then can you catch up with the power of time, and know how to be. And again, you and I, we can walk at daybreak and taste the first light. We can see how the shadows and moon-lines take flight. There is a power that gives back to us the choice of day. The power of love, which goes among us. Life then has its freedom – to gallop or to stay.

Heard

But the oldest life was first to the door –

a million years in the shaping, it sprang

like a new song to ancient lips once more

and hymned its name where angel voices rang.

And the light of the morning was as blue as the tomb

when our souls went out walking in wavering gloom,

and your face, first, then mine, was lit by the word

that the one who’d lain longest was first to be heard.

Flame

And when you have downed the first glass of life,

the second seems mixed with fruits of decay.

Then love in love’s name will turn to his wife

to search for the brightness that started the day.

Where the lines and caverns are etched in the land,

we will walk without fail, with one warm, one cold hand,

and the love which in night had last spelt out its name

will then share with us, handlessly, life’s golden flame.

Gallop or Stay

I turned the horse from his stable again

to feed on the prairie, open and free.

The sun flanked his body, the wind his mane,

he caught up with time, and knew how to be.

You and I at the daybreak have tasted the light,

we have seen how the shadows and moon-lines take flight.

And now love is among us and gives us the day,

so that life in its freedom can gallop or stay.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

WHAT HEAVEN CAN CROSS WITH A LEAP

How everything changes! I waited for darkness and it became light, the bell at the end of day chimed instead at dawn, and where I sat softly stitching the shroud, the body itself has gone. Those stiches are thoughts, but the body is real. It had no place to go, or so I believed. The imagination is deep, much wider than thought can encompass. The body has gone into its great width, and angels circle my thoughts with song. There is something that Heaven can cross with a leap!

The world is as wide as a song, round-rimmed like one eternal breath. What seemed so strong before, dead as the sinking moon, has risen like the sun from its tomb. I’d like to walk with you around that rim, where the angels sing. Look, then, where the deep imagination springs, and you’ll see that the angels singing are just you and I.

Throng

And so the dark I wait for’s turned to light,

the bell at the end of day chimes at dawn,

and all that has been won by my own fight

is to peel aside the shroud’s soft-stitched lawn.

The body inside has gone to the deep,

where angels circle my thoughts with their song,

and all that Heaven can cross with a leap

resounds in their ringingly tuneful throng.

You and I

At once the world is as wide as a song,

or held as one eternal round-rimmed breath,

and what before had seemed to me so strong

has risen like the sun from its tomb of death.

Will you take with me this walk by the world’s round spring,

listen in your heart to the words the angels sing?

And if you’ll look more closely with your deep mind’s eye,

you’ll see the angels singing are just you and I.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

THE SPRING OF ETERNAL LIFE

Clearly life isn’t equal to death as it’s overturned by it. Love is the basic substance of our being – originally divine but eventually our own element to handle, therefore our origin and our goal. As the power which calls life into being in both a human and divine sense, it’s also the place we return to when life is complete – therefore it holds the balance over the beginning and the end. I believe in this sense death can’t surpass love and love is the equal of death. However, we’re just beginners!

Our life is dissolving in us all the time – the breakdown of cells, the ageing process. So where do we have to look for continued life, during life? Do we look for it in the non-physical part of our being? No, because during life every part of us is oriented towards furthering our existence on earth. That includes what we ordinarily call the ego or the soul. We have to look further, to what I call the Well of Youth, or the Spring of Eternal Life. This occurs in stories or sometimes as landmarks in sacred places. The Well of Youth is the ever-renewing inner part of our being. We have to look for it in times spent away from the realities of physical life – moments of silence and inspiration. The eternal part of our being then works into the temporal. This is the Self beyond the self. It rests in the hands of the Being who is Love in the highest sense. This Being lives and moves within the inner self. Therefore the Fountain of Inspiration, the Well of Youth, the Spring of Eternal Life, all give hope of life before death and certainty of continued being afterwards.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

LOVE IS EQUAL TO DEATH

Does the fact of death make a nonsense of the whole of life? In a few seconds everything’s gone. Nothing’s left. No part of my life on earth remains. Even my thinking about this will be gone. Does this render life null and void? Does this turn my naive belief that life is sufficient into a laughing-stock?

Of course life has meaning and value and no one goes about thinking that the answer to this question is yes. But there it is – it won’t go away. This question makes itself into the most important in the world and has to be faced.

Death retains its immediacy. Every weekend for a long time I suffered what I called a ‘Saturday-doom’. A feeling of doom or a sense of dread which almost incapacitated me. I realized it had to do with my father’s death when I was a boy. He died quite suddenly on a Sunday. The Saturday was the last full day I knew him. This translated into a deep sense of foreboding. It attacked my own adulthood. The only way I could deal with it was to say a prayer for help on a Thursday night and to be attentive all weekend.

The question of death making a nonsense of life first struck me when I was seven years old. I remember running from the dinner table in tears when my sister mentioned that a friend’s grandmother had been cremated. My father came to comfort me – the same father whose own death affected me so much a few years later. He talked about Heaven and how everything we love will be there. But the force of death remained with me.

Now I feel I have to face it, to look at it full-on. To go right down into it, as it were. The results are interesting. Quite the opposite of making a nonsense of life the fact of death now deepens my hold on existence. It brings the whole inner being into view. Ultimately this is because the inner self is rooted in the Being of Love. And there is no greater fact than this – that Love is equal to Death.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

I’LL LIVE AS ONE WITH YOU WHO FIRST MADE ME

Every molecule and particle in me was first membered in the name of its creator. They shine, they dive, they line up in the form I’ve been given. But whether or not they can be lifted from the grave remains the question which God also gave me on their behalf. It’s as if they rise up to my hands or mouth and ask, for themselves: if they are to be left to die is there anyone who can render like for like, same for same, so that the universe will not be one molecule less? I believe that matter asks this question.

Everything in the universe is embodied and ensouled. Therefore it can’t be lost. At the same time, just as the plant wants to climb up to the sun, the life within me cries out, “Light!” and flows towards its source. Life shines and burns within the body for a time and then streams away. The body is happy to play its part. It gives itself in joy, created as it was by life for life. And what it leaves behind has been learned and loved in the strife of existence.

So where does that leave me? I stand beside the fountain of my inner being. The current of life flows through me in its many colors. Death debates above me, as it were, and eternal life holds itself aloof like a dream. I can only wait, while the world turns just a shade, to where my body lies within life’s tree. And there, as sure as worlds have been made, I’ll live at one with the one who first made me.

Molecule

And every shining molecule is mine

which can or can’t be lifted from the grave,

and every diving particle or line

of being within me God first made or gave.

They rise up to my hands or mouth and ask

is all that’s mine still membered in His name,

and if it’s left to die whose is the task

to render like for like, and same for same?

Strife

And yet the life within me cries out, “Light!”

and will not cease its flow towards the source,

as if it’s pulled away from its own fight

and turns back to its maker as of course.

Therefore the body gives itself in joy,

created as it was by life for life,

and what it leaves can happily destroy,

which learned and loved to burn in its own strife.

A Shade

So there beside the fountain stands my self,

and colored life flows through me like a stream,

and death debates above me on its shelf,

while life eternal holds itself in dream.

I wait the turning of the world a shade,

to where my body lies within the tree,

and there as sure as worlds have been made,

I’ll live as one with You who first made me.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.