If this was real



Inspired by the video of an article I read in Emergence Magazine #1 called Lost World about the destruction of the Cambodia’s Mangrove Forests for their sands. When she sees the pretend waterfall in Singapore’s Lost World complex she says, “If this was real, imagine how beautiful it would be.” and the following poem appeared.

www.emergencemagazine.org/story/lost-world

Connecting the threads between ecology, culture, and spirituality – Emergence Magazine

I’ve not recorded anything for a long time now, and I apologise for my voice in this recording, it’s rather croaky.



If this was real
imagine the world
open
imagine the love
for the land
imagine the silence
of being
imagine the touch
of green
upon your heart

If this was real
there would be no pretence
no greed
no hunger
no theft

If this was real
you’d know her soul
you’d feel her
you’d live

If this was real
instead of her destruction
instead of human indifference
instead of the disappointment
of being human
guilty

imagine how beautiful it would be

so the spider hangs – New Book

My new book is now live!

It’s a short story concerning an Earth Angel, Love, Life & Death, Nature, the Universe, Imagination, Reality, Awakening and Existence.

It’s available here at …

LULU

Barnes & Noble

Amazon UK

Amazon.com

And other online stores.

~

The image with the prism rainbow is a reflection from my window and I think it looks pretty neat especially as it gives the shadow some light and fits pretty well with the story.

Thank you.

Edit.

I forgot to add some snippets from the book, so here they are 🙂

There is a silent calm travelling through his life, it permeates his being, his actions, his connections: he is a tree amongst the noises of humanity. Sometimes he thought of himself as wandering in soulless oblivion, then he thought of himself as wandering in search of she who understands. She who is equal to his silence; she who is the shadow to his tree, or he the shadow of hers.

~

Sitting one time in the silence and deathly stillness of an emerging sunrise he had a moment of acuity, for there on the horizon time was being born. He became aware of how mighty is silence and stillness and of how, even for a few seconds, this gap in time was magical and eternal. He lived in this moment and came to see the endless possibilities of thought.

~

The raven in the sunshine gleams in its blackness. Its bulky shadow gives flight to its consciousness and thus its intelligence. Its beak points while those eyes, looking beyond what mere humans can see, penetrate the arena and off into the fields of time and mystery where the knowledge of all things become known. The raven in the sunshine gleams deep in the pleasure of its secrets, and at once he sees the beauty of it all, but seeing is not having. He can hear the distant musicians. He can see the collection of art. He can see the butterfly dazzling the flower with its own beauty. He can see the clouds as they move in their silent caress of the universe. He can see the colours of humanity, and at once the pain of it all struck him with sharp needles of confusion.

~

Naked are the stars in winter as they caress the evening sky with their immense solitude, like so many leaves blinking when they fall and flutter in the breeze as moonlight kisses them. He lays upon the ground watching the rhythmic blinking where he drifts into an unconscious moment of trepidation. Dare he allow himself to sink into the flesh of life shining above him? Dare he allow his soul to touch those many deaths and births? Dare he begin to forget her so he can begin to know her? Dare he and if he dares, how does he begin?

It’s here! Proof copy, cover reveal.

The proof copy of my latest book has just arrived. The cover is more or less how I wanted it with it being a tad off focus, so I’m happy with it, although the grey could be a bit more grey, bit darker perhaps but screen grey and book grey do differ. Overall I like it and I’ve gone for a matte finish instead of the gloss.

Now I just need to read through and read through again, and even though I’ve read it so many times in Word and printouts I do tend to find blips in book form, but fingers crossed it’ll be ok. Aaaaand I’ve already found two items that need to be changed, grrrr haha, so it certainly won’t be ready until next year!

It’s a short story of roughly 9,000 words with poetic feelings. I’ve been calling it my Surreal, Elemental, Spiritual, Love Story. It concerns a man with his search for that mysterious elemental fragrance of life and love. We are at the end and the beginning of his transformations, his awakening, and his first steps into becoming a Listener – an Earth Angel, although as he says to a mother and daughter on a train when the daughter asks if he is one.

“There are many different kinds of Earth Angel and it isn’t our name or what we are, but it’s the closest to how we are.”

the art of seeing

This welcome sunshine
burns away thoughts of that sweet rain
which washed away that radiant sunshine
after it burnt away those morning mists
which dampened spirits of those moonilt fields
whose silence opened to breathe the stars
as they themselves woke the might of time
where it sparked imagination into being
and that life there, that simple dream
taught the soul the art of seeing
and that life there, that simple sight
opened doors to the unseen light
of this dark world, this world of
fragile alchemic blight
where the sun it shines to breathe new life
to give us hope for a world of sight

Buds of truth

We sometimes find ourselves
lost in a conundrum of dreams

We wander
we ponder, we peruse
and then we wonder why
and how and when, etc, etc
till our minds are so full
of bullshit we begin sprouting
young saplings of thought
all kinds of new ideas and ideologies
pychologies and philosophies
poems, songs, words and dreams.

Some kind of
implosion/explosion occurs
where we become trapped
in the void of unknowing
where the needle is stuck
and the world around us lets us go
and on and on we go
believing that if we reach
we can touch the sky.

Our feet are rooted in bullshit
our hearts, skin, blood and bone
get their nourishment from that gloop
our minds
strive to make sense of the loss
and here, our souls
they are the buds of truth
waiting for us to stop
and to believe
that the only way to reach the sky
is to know we are the sky.