I Will Be Life

I have no idea what inspired this poem. I write many poems in an almost endless stream of words. This is one such poem – sprawling its way to somewhere on a January day in 2016.

 

I Will Be Life

I am a red tornado
Rearranging the way things are.
I am a flying blue cobra
Ripping through the sky.
I am a white cloud
Stretching my fingers across the plains of love.

I am a sphere
Moving through all of creation.
I am a fractal wave
Waking on the shores of consciousness.

I am silence
Spiralling through the gardens of life.
I am a torturous scream
Rising from the fires that burn in hell.
I am a divine melody
That fills the body of all beings.

I am a small brown falcon
That hovers beyond the chaos below.
I am a small brown ant
Walking across the landscapes of the soul.

I am a mournful song
Echoing across the valleys of despair.
I am a joyful song
Celebrating the wonder of existence.

I am seven sombre monks
Guarding the doorway to the self.
I am eleven wise children
Standing with hands and hearts wide open.

I am a solid oak table
Holding up the weight of our suffering.
I am a pilgrims candle
Burning so that all might see.

I am a deep red wine
Opening the heart and setting fire to the senses.
I am a thousand grains of pepper
Exploding forgotten memories.

I am a raging violin
Leaping out from the tallest mountain.
I am a crying cello
Singing my way through the morning.

I am an unfathomable deep ocean
Carrying the creatures of dreams and nightmares.
I am a glorious green meadow
Filling life with an endless display of discovery.

I am the turbulent winds
That shred the architectures of suffering.
I am the inextinguishable and inexhaustible sun.
Always radiating from the core of all beings.

I am a towering sequoia
A bridge between Earth and sky.
I am an ancient gum
Who has endured and savoured everything.
I am the ancient lichen
Remapping the contours of rock and soil.

I am the bee sting
That wakes you up from your stupor.
I am the shark in your dream pools
Devouring your attachments and aversions.

I am the fellowship
That transcends all boundaries.
I am the tongue
That licks all wounds.
I am the ghost of memory
Reinventing what was.

I will be life
I am eternal.
I was the shadow
I held the thorns.
I’ve forgotten how to be wild.
I remember the things that really matter.
I am flawed but still I am perfect.
I am
I
am.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2016.

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The Heartscape Of My Hands (The Mouth Of Our Hunger)

Hands have always fascinated me and in 2005 I wrote this poem as a way of exploring human suffering.

 

The Heartscape Of My Hands (The Mouth Of Our Hunger)

I cast my hands around empty streets,
Sending my fingers in search of men at prayer.

See the heartscape of my hands,
They tell you more than I can say.

In me death is bound by division,
Touching the mouth of our hunger.

Yet you know we will always change,
Though we will always seem the same.

Hands hammered onto nails :                                                                                                             Nails yielding from the martyrs song –
How he beholds the work of men.

Your blood flows into the sea of human kindness :
Mingled with the blood of hate –
Where side by side we thirst for the charms of his suffering.

Within us we see eyes raised above the self,
And from the human clock tick seasons which cannot be measured.

My eyes study their pupils my pupils study their eyes,
Each transfixed in the abyss of the other.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2005.

 

The Probability of God’s Inflexion

I have spent most of my life trying to understand the world without and the world within. Sometimes understanding is beyond me and in this poem I explore the one thing I think I really do understand.

 

The Probability of God’s Inflexion

The probability of god’s inflexion upon all life
Is as unknowable as fate itself.
The tides of life and death sway to their own strange rhythm.
Each creature it’s own vessel of meaning
Each creature it’s own light of being.

And in my alien mind :
I imagine that an ant watches the black stretch enigma of a human road
With the same respect and acceptance as it watches the stars –
The mystery of isness as daunting as the mystery of death.

And in my alien mind :
I watch a bloody clash of ants and wonder how they can dump their dead
As if the act of death has taken away all honour and dignity –
Leaving the dead as meaningless as the mystery of empire.

But one creature among billions
Is nothing in the great sea of life.
Yet I – a simple human being think meaning is mine alone,
This folly of belonging to a species in which I cannot even understand my self.

Of all that is
I understand nothing.
Of all that really matters
I can find only love.
And in that love I find a god that is –
Is only is.
In one hand a thing that reaches out
In the other a thing that turns away
But in all things love.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2007.

The Ghost Of Monumental Silence

I have used my life in part, to understand the nature of reality, the nature of mind and the nature of suffering. In this poem, written in 2000, I explore God and it’s relationship to mind, suffering and memory. You may however find your own meaning in this poem.

I borrowed this title for the title of this blog because I like it and because I felt that this poem pretty much sums up much of what I want to say in poetry.

 

The Ghost Of Monumental Silence

‘Twas the twilight of the frogs and a black mosquito symphony called,
When my eyes walked there – to that cauldron of scorpions –
The journey – twisted, like a lean road through a hedgehogs back.

I am the accident that sired meaning – The little ripples of death,
Having put away prophecies with blood – I am crazing myself in a word –
Now in my inhuman way – I am like a dusty parable.

Bearing the bodies of my dreams to you –
These cells embellished with suffering –
Their eyes reappearing – the only hope of empty men.

Whaled like a beach – Like solace, spawned from tasteless dust.
Ideas are beheaded – dawning forever, in the partitions of the eye.

At sunrise they leap from their cradles – broken before the light,
And in your mind, cataracts wicked and unmoving –
Prey like a snake upon the mouse – The sun dividing itself inside of me.

Ah, the pleasure of the mind is to say nothing,
Mystical intelligence – circling from the whole of my wake –
Oceans of creation, breaking like freak textures of the mind.

But the notes of your certainty bring a vengeance – to The One –
He, who feels – wisdom in His eyes – as You stare into My open hand –
The Who of the How – The Ghost of Monumental Silence.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2000.

The Great Force

A reflection from 2015 on the great force within and the power it has to shape all reality.

The Great Force

The force arises,
As if from nowhere.
In its wave,
Come murder, death and destruction.

From far, far away,
A force of equal strength arises
And thrusts its wave into the other.
Between two waves,
Come murder, death and destruction.

But beyond them,
A far more powerful force arises.
A force that stems from understanding and love.
It’s game is small – attending to root causes and shifting power.

The great force cannot be extinguished.
It does not live in time
But dwells in the heart of all living things.
It seeks vitality through difference and sameness
And it does not take sides,
Because it knows no right and no wrong.
Only how things happen.

The great force moves however fast or slow it needs to,
Through the minds hearts, actions, speech and feelings
Of all living things.
It has no name and needs no name.
Yet it has been called countless things.

It arises where it is most needed –
Spontaneously
But there are few who recognise it
And even fewer who know how to express it.

It is there,
In the darkest moments of human history
And there in the greatest natural catastrophes.
It is there,
In the dawning of the ages of awakening
And there when all life is thriving.
It is there,
In the glory of the day light
And in the secrets of night.

The great force is ever unfolding
And always renewing.
It has no preferences
But illuminates all choices.

When all that man perceives,
Turns to darkness
And all that he feels is despair.
The great force will continue playing away inside him,
Waiting for just the right moment to emerge.

When enough humans feel despair,
A great emergence will leap forth from within
And the great force will forge the way.
Always ready to bring man to his knees
And lift him up into the light.
Where at last he can see what he is
And let the great force blossom inside him.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2015.

The Miracle

A simple remembrance. Written in 2013.

The Miracle

I am the miracle –
The spoken and the unspoken,
The manifest and the unmanifest,
The Separate and the One.

I am the miracle –
That binds all languages of the heart and the mind,
That contains all the aspirations and imaginings of mankind,
That embraces all that arises within and without.

I am the miracle –
That gives birth to the butterfly and the bomb,
That is always becoming,
That rises from the void.

I am the amness that flows through you –
The one that is emptiness and being,
The force that pervades life with and without the body,
The self that looks back at the self.

I am the ruins of memory and the memory of ruins –
A face that seeks recognition,
A face that knows only love,
A face that lives inside you.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2013.