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                                                                      wakey wakey
                                                                      time to get up



                                   I left my eight year old
                                   in Eglinton Hill*
                                   he wandered the rooms
                                   looking for Daddy

                                   he wasn’t ready to leave
                                   when we all left
                                   ‘I’m sure he’s here somewhere …
                                    didn’t see him … look again’

                                   I looked for meaning instead
                                   in Genesta Road**
                                   while he gazed sideways
                                   into rooms

                                   ‘Mum found me wandering one night
                                    I stayed and watched tv with her’
                                   up late at night finding possibility
                                   after lifetime finding thought

                                   I roamed superhero worlds
                                   and wore superhero stances
                                   against the invisible enemy
                                   wherever he appeared

                                   I found new superpowers
                                   distilled from the immediate
                                   music poetry art religion
                                   ingenious hope to salve the day

                                   but my battles never happened
                                   my victories never came
                                   the whale continued gliding past
                                   ‘… maybe look upstairs again’

                                   my face was always masked
                                   my self was never found
                                   I was haunted by an eight year old
                                   and Eglinton Hill

                                   go back home and find him
                                   take him by the hand
                                   c’mon boy let’s go outside
                                   show me what you found


                                   when moments are bland
                                   I sit in the dark
                                   and look to find
                                   what everyone has missed

                                   when I abstract out
                                   I can trip and skip
                                   with a hundred ideas
                                   that hang together

                                   so well
                                   they ‘get’ the world
                                   more than ‘being’ the world
                                   I prefer them

                                   they take me on a groove
                                   they weave me in a tapestry
                                   always slightly aslant
                                   always slightly after

                                   but never where I am
                                   averse to where I am
                                   nothing bad nothing evil

                                   these take-me-aways
                                   these dark glowing colours
                                   these resolved phrasings
                                   building the relief

                                   of a Perfect Human Rebirth
                                   before Death takes it away
                                   before Habit seals it in amber
                                   before Fame echoes away

                                   this emptiness of my life
                                   was it produced by my lives
                                   or is it the breath I have held
                                   for too long


                                   and here I sit in meditation
                                   with thoughts like Woodstock


                                                              dream 240606

                                              back at the Priory***
                                moved on in twenty years
                                              still lots of people
                                              large open rooms
                                pass Geshe-la**** in the corridor
                we exchange ‘hallo’ we recognise each other nothing awkward
                                              he is in robes
                but as I turn to look back
                                he is in tweeds and looking for something
                he is involved in something else

                                              I am in a room
                                              there is menace danger
                                a demon
                a sort of old god appears in the room
                                it is short but finely built an air of power
                                with a stone mask over its face
                and a stone club stood on the floor
                                hands resting on it relaxed
                                he is looking at me
                                              slightly sideways
                                I am going to have to face it
                                              here in the room
                we engage in a Captain Kirk-type battle
                                              I am on top
                and I am hitting the demon repeatedly
                                in the face
                                it is a girl’s face
                as I hit the demon it loses its appearance
                                and becomes a girl
                when I have beaten the demon out
                                I cradle the girl
                                I love her
                                I have saved her
                                              I pick her up
                I will heal her
                                              I will care for her




* In 1961 my brother was born, in 1962 my grandmother lost her husband, in 1963 we all moved into a house on Eglinton Hill.
** When I was eight my father just left the family and left my mother and grandmother to bring us up. In 1971 we moved to a smaller house in Genesta Road
*** Priory – Conishead Priory, known as Manjushri Institute, in Cumbria on the shores of Morecambe Bay. A Buddhist college; lived there 1983-1984.
**** Geshe-la – affectionate honorific used for the teacher, Geshe Kelsang Gyatso. I moved from the Priory to begin my career twenty years previous to this dream.



acceptance wormhole: I didn’t see it coming
breathing wormhole: becoming old
divorce wormhole: Grandad / Redford
dream wormhole: Dr Strange #6-13
childhood wormhole: “bring in as many / different kinds of leaf / as you can find”
Eglinton Hill wormhole: from my childhood
Genesta Road wormhole: 1976
identity wormhole: mirror
lifetimes wormhole: brave new world?
love wormhole: what …
meditation wormhole: … I think that / just about wraps / things up
Mum wormhole: oh
muse wormhole: silence
night wormhole: only
speech wormhole: ”whatdoyouwantmylove…’ on the train …’
stone wormhole: there
superhero wormhole: Woolwich Central – / making life better II
tv wormhole: 1969
superpower wormhole: and no one would know