… the discipline of shamatha / the waft of vipashyana

Tags

'scape, 2013, Bournville, carillon, chimney, communication, constancy, direction, drops, glass, gutter, moss, rain, roof, seeing, shamatha-vipashyana, sky, sound, time, trees, wind, windows, Woodbrooke

 

staying at Woodbrooke again for a short break, I need to celebrate by posting one of my favourite poems, written here, again …

 

 

                the frame stays constant

                the trees tall and wave
                in constant negotiation
                with the drifting sky
                the Bournville Carillon
                strikes ten in all directions
                some faint some bong

                a telephone wire draped
                from a chimney to a ridge
                like a skipping rope and
                the constant run-off onto
                gutters despite the moss

                the frame has ghost-shifted
                double but remains constant
                the pane is not seen at all

                until I notice the drops run
                and then the frame snaps clear
                and c – o – n – s – t – a – n – t

                such useful things: windows …

                … the discipline of shamatha
                the waft of vipashyana

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

chimney wormhole: the breath of London
communication wormhole: currency: / assent for statement – / ‘smakin’alivvin’
glass & sky & sound & windows wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
rain wormhole: south horizon
roof wormhole: library: start where you are IV // all the distance I have travelled!
seeing wormhole: out!
shamatha-vipashyana wormhole: Do Nothing Usually / Take Everything Regularly / Consider It All Clearly / And Step Aside It Waltzingly
time wormhole: if left alone
trees wormhole: new garden
wind wormhole: Hotel Room, 1931

 

Brugges April 2015 – looking lost

Tags

2015, air, archaeology, architecture, brass, Brugges, buildings, calves, carillon, church, compassion, faces, finding, ghosts, girl, gold, grey, happiness, history, identity, infrastructure, lemon, letting go, lifetimes, lime, looking, lost, mantra, measure, nuns, oak, passing, people, portrait, posture, purple, saints, scaffolding, seeing, silver, simplicity, sky, society, sound, space, speech, station, step, sun, time, train, wheel, wood

 

 

 

                Brugges April 2015

                looking to find myself at the international train station – all
                the people passing – I’ll feel stone-faced and unmoved until
                I let their faces pass with all manner of their step ‘n’ roll
                looking to find themselves at the international train station –

                looking is found when letting is seen – lost     the civic
                detail of architecture in spikey scaffolding       turning; the
                bite in the sunny air before the grey girder holding     everything –
                the tracks and posts of infrastructure turned by brick-weight

                and wooden wheel found archaeological, built space high
                into the sky with threefold holy design – life spent and time-
                worn in silent healing sitting collected and still in a lifetime
                of ghostly movement before brick pillars clear as history

                makes them; “time is just a measurement” said John right,
                before he died “happiness is very simple” said Ediccia;
                the purple skirt was settled then the lime shirt veined lemon
                with om mani padme hum threads was procured and the slipper

                slipped from the waitress’ heel as she used her fine calves
                to find free tables; golden saints on pinnacles languidly
                show something that the 7 year old strutting before the
                Open Light Brass Band cannot as oak twigs bud in the sky;

                the dark-carved wood gilt with silver effulgence to a higher
                record than the fine-branched brass scales that measure
                the herbs porcelain to the touch while the carillon plays
                dissimilar tunes discordantly to forgotten time and history

 

I am very pleased to present the above, cultured from a short stay in Brugges at the beginning of this month; we travelled by Eurostar leaving from St. Pancras station and passed through Brussels, then out to Brugges; there is no newer building in the centre of the town, the spires and towers still rise down side streets no matter where you walk (Spire of the Church of Our Lady); there is a large photograph of nuns dedicated to life healing at the exhibition in Sint-Janshospitaal and an exhibition ‘Right, Before I Die’ by Andrew George of photographs of people towards the ends of their life and the words they have to say; we visited the old apothecary back at Sint-Janshospitaal; there was a music festival happening but we only saw the Open Light Brass Band play …

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

air wormhole: I’ve only just realised / after so many decades / that the smell of neglected land is lilac buddleia
buildings & girl & identity & passing & people & seeing & sound & time wormhole: sight / seeing
church wormhole: Trinity Arts
compassion wormhole: the dash is magnificent / the shadow grotesque
faces & society wormhole: mass
ghosts wormhole: under silent direction of architecture
gold & speech wormhole: gold wedding band
grey wormhole: Hypnopompia
history wormhole: ha ha ha
lemon & lime wormhole: crumpled / notebooks / at the end of a gentle retreat
letting go & space wormhole: between
lifetimes wormhole: what heavy and cantilevered structure
looking wormhole: bottom of Herbert Road to the / foot of Eglinton Hill dream
oak wormhole: corroboration
posture wormhole: oh,
purple wormhole: the edge has come …
silver wormhole: new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to / walk the bridges across the Thames, and / listen to the voices say it is, and was, like, / but get back home before the fireworks / obliterate it all in the emptying twilight
sky wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
sun & train wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
wood wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop

 

sight / seeing

Tags

2015, architecture, awareness, Brugges, buildings, carillon, connection, dancing, father, girl, hair, identity, mind, mother, passing, people, rooftops, seeing, silence, sound, talking to myself, time, walking, windows

 

 

 

                                              sight
                                              seeing

                        I will write of people and architecture

                eleven o’clock rings involved and particular
                from a whole neighbourhood up the tower
                while people pass with step and difference
                from whole vistas behind their eyes

                        but you don’t look for what to see
                        that you need to be alert and open
                        for to connect the compulse too distinct

                the girl tests the chosen cobbles with pirouette
                the mother looks up to phone the father in the
                exhibition; the carillon rings down the steps
                of gables and dissolve across the tidal rooftops

                        waking the mind which
                        allows the connection always there
                        but that identity made it otherwise

                the pause is settled        before the girl rides fast past
                the windows only the architecture of hair adjusting

 

stayed at Brugges in Belgium for a few days – a change is as good as a rest to a blind horse

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

awareness wormhole: gently straighten
buildings wormhole: Dionne Warwick
dancing wormhole: ‘the dining room …’
father wormhole: Dr Strange III – the needs of billions
girl & hair & passing & walking wormhole: oh,
identity & windows wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
mind wormhole: I am a solid block of stone
mother wormhole: Desolation Angels
people wormhole: the lines are not that straight / after all
rooftops wormhole: the streets just fill with business
seeing wormhole: just words wiped across a line
silence wormhole: under silent direction of architecture
sound wormhole: after the storm
talking to myself wormhole: enjoy the activity
time wormhole: Trinity Arts