choice

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

Free

sitting on our floe
we smoothe our iced place
among the crystals of snow
upholster it with moss
and cant our song
carefully

until one day we grow wings
and leave that lichen nest

singing out loud

those pinions
free

light and colour

light
is the radiating
flowing ur-substance
is pure consciousness
is living, seeing energy

when consciousness manifests itself
it becomes radiance and seeing,
subject and object,
and out of the energy of its
inherent creative wisdom
it creates the whole universe
in the act of refraction and condensation

creation is projection and refraction
of a ray of consciousness
into the limited form of
time and space

and just as light is the ur-image
of the all-permeating consciousness,
colour is is the reflection
and expression of life

life
welling up from the depths of
universal consciousness
reflected on the world's surface

just as the soul, colour is
the connection between material
and spiritual world

light, darkness and colour -
a trinity just as spirit
body, soul

colour mirrors the struggle of the soul
with the forces of light
and darkness

it shows its tension and motion
its searching, longing and joy;
harmony and conflict, sadness and enlightenment,
purity and impurity

colours are the

"deeds and sorrows of light",
as goethe says

soul reflects colour
colour reflects soul

they pour into each other
without end
or beginning

the wanderer

diving into past and branches
i find the word among pebbles
at the bottom of a creek
sleeping
in restless water
speckled with light

i dip my hand into the flow

kneeling on mosaic rock
sliced with shade and
scarred with snow

i bow
where moss
and centuries
grow

The River Rose

The river rose in the night, flooding the piles of time washed ashore. In this dream I stood in the wild light of moonshine and shadows, watching the alluvial years and matter being washed away. The river rose and gave company to my released yelling, purifying what I really was.

I saw the crow watching me, then flying away, leaving a crow-shaped hole in the air for all the rivers in the world to flow through. White lunar heat surrounded me, though I knew it should be cold. Cold, because it was night and the river was rising. Cold, because my planet was washed away. Cold, because of the waters curing the bed of my river. But it was warm, getting warmer, and the sky was tempestuous and wild. And a silver thrill filled out my moonlit dream and an inexplicable knowledge emerged, frozen by morning.

This night I woke to find the full moon shining onto my face. And I lay smiling within the warmth of my own shadow that had become a bed for me.

mirror

eye to
eye --

thought
reflected;
this facing
of sides.
different visions
shape the eye .
i see clearly.
can no-one
touch a horizon?
find a mirror!

m i r r o r

mirror a find;
horizon, a touch.
no-one can clearly see.
i eye the shape visions --
different sides of
facing this
reflected
thought;

eye
to eye.

luna

at night the moon
is so bright, a pulling of light, low
on the horizon - and she touches my face
and with a silver embrace her glow
finds my dream; white is her gleam,
her wondrous delight wandering
so slow through my soul
until i widen.