Charts, Thangkas

There are caves            buried rooms
whose walls map out
all that is            and will be
We know thought is false
but so serious
– damp, like the walls
and charts, thangkas
never touched by daylight –
daylight, now there's a thought

~ ~ ~

The Wraith

I saunter along the clifftop
the moon has vanished
soft-blowing breeze refreshes me
Time slips its hold
the future escapes, the past cuts adrift
cause and effect subside

I walk down to the Cathedral
Cows and sheep drink beside a stream
I pass chapel rooms and incense jars
enter the sacred (again, the breeze)
intrinsic outspreads to commune with apparent
touch the altar, walk across to the door, step out
Everything is good
in the sky, no grey obscures the sun

At the hilltop, concurrent details combine
to encompass an inherence which is whole and balanced
entire, present

Later, in a field, near to a wood of Elder trees
I understand the passion within the heart of nature

Today was not meaningles

~ ~ ~