SACRED GEOMETRY

A triangles fine, but the circle’s best.

A point begets a line, a line, a square.

The square unfolds till cubes are stacked in air.

The eye aligns the rows to map its quest.

The pyramid, the diamond, the cone.

The world we see... a matrix drawn out neat.

If order rules, the blueprint lies complete,

& geometry designs the knowledge known.

The heart however knows no ruler straight,

A circle grows from centre out beyond.

A raindrop falls from globe to ripple pond

& love in rings & spirals emanate.

The circle’s sphere of radiant light divine

The spirit luminous in sacred wine.

HORIZON

Each of us has a horizon etched into the silver foil of our inner mind...  a landscape of hills & valleys we know like the indelible pictograph of our destiny. For me a particular range of ancient mountains in the Laurentian shield over the scintillating stretch of water we called “the Lake”, north of Montreal incises my field of vision. Like the constellations of stars the pattern differs completely based on the point of reference. More than anything we long to belong. Where do you belong? Claim that precise silhouette of hills, valleys & lakes that tells you... you are at home... at last.

DUALITY

I seek the One. But it always breaks down into the Two.  I & Thou. Self & Other. Subject & Object. Soul & God. The Lover & the Beloved. The Seen & the Unseen. The Known & the Unknown. Our Creator created it thus: Division awakens us to the currency of Love. Love. In the flow of Love the difference dissolves. Take the call of the Loon. The male in the dark. The female across the black water. The echo echoes off the stark face of the full moon. You in your loneliness. Hear that call. Know that call. It is Love. Now you know.....It is going to be alright!

LA LUNE

Loon. Lune. Two words come together.  

That lonesome sound ricocheting of the dark cliffs of the Boreal lakes. If I could bottle the perfect perfume it would smell like Moon Light on the water with the echo of the diver bird. The taste of aloneness. The feel of cold black water. The chill of winter in the night sky. Pull the stopper. Deep breath in. Are you a northern person? That’s me: Homo Borealis

THE STARS ABOVE

I am a convert from a cold, empty religion. The religious order I was born into is named “Science”.  “Knowledge”. It is a Credo... an ideology like any other. I was a novitiate, then a mendicant & finally a master of the analytic method. Today I have converted to a new perception. I reject the monopoly of definition. I am a convert to the Mystery. Born under the sign of the fish just after the season of the Hunter I finally understand astrology. We emerge into the time-space continuum through a portal. This co-incidence is no less valid than the co-incidence of DNA that determines who our birth-parents are. I accept all the myriad  religions as useful vessels.... ways of knowing. The water of mystery flows through the myriad openings. That’s where I choose to swim.

PARENTS

“The superior man, while his parents are alive, reverently nourishes them; and, when they are dead, reverently sacrifices to them. His thought to the end of his life is how not to disgrace them.”  Confucius

I have the most beautiful parents. Dorothy. Keith. Married almost 60 years. Best Friends. Still drifting on the dappled, scintillating surfaces of this joyous life. My vision: the two of them together on Lac Archambault in the Laurentian Mountains  where they fell in love. Paddling in the moonlight. Beauty abounds. Alive in that mystery. Have you been there? Do you have a sacred space only you know about? You & your truest friend. I see my parents alone together in the moonlight & I know Paradise exists. Here & Now. I enter that stillness. Silence. Peace of heart. Peace.

LOONS

Lake.

Canoe. 

Paddle. Ripple. 

Water. Black.

                       Moon. 

Shiver.  

Cry. 

Echo.... 

                          Echo....