meadow

always I wanted to be loved

was I always addicted to pain?

the pain of waking, unsure of whether I was still

the beloved, of the one who was my beloved

or even worse, where once devotion had ruled my every gift

every action of tender affection to my beloved

replaced by banality, habit

or just as bad, my lover got there first and eyes of indifference

soon to be replaced by pools reflecting  another, to tear my heart out.

 

why, logically, would I expect perfection

unwavering love and attention

from another person just like myself

who was neither unwavering, nor certain in my affections

except for the intensity of a firefly moment

 

There were times

when I basked in the sunshine of

another’s devotion, adoration even.

Glorious to begin with, a reminder of unconditional love

from an unknown memory, that nonetheless nagged for recognition.

 

It could get to be a bit much to be honest

a bit overwhelming,  and I’d long for freedom

to run away

like from a job in a grimy factory that

kept you chained from 9 to 5

and somehow you broke free

and ran out into the meadow singing

across the stream, following butterflies nowhere

 

Do I see a glimmer of hope

Now I’m way too old for someone to look at me and go

ooh he’s cool, think I will give this person my love.

 

There’s something.

I’ve spent a lot of time when I was young

and again recently

trying to look beyond

If I’m very still, very quiet,

as quiet as if I was watching faery folk weaving gossamer

I catch a glimpse, a thrill of recognition,

a homecoming reasonless surge of joy

because I see something unconditional

about the feeling that life has, for me.

 

Why unconditional? Because the cells and atoms of my body are held together

by something which has no name

and comes from that which has no form,

the ineffable, let’s call it

When it adopts form, then it has form, and that form is everything that is

I call that female aspect of existence,

that brings everything, including me, into being

I call Her the Goddess.

The nature of anything she creates, anything that exists

is to be held together by threads of adoration

the love of life for itself.

 

There’s nothing to attain in this

How could there be?

What else am I? I may imagine this or that

But sooner or later there comes a time

when I needs must lay in the meadow where I belong

lay back amongst her perfumed flowers, every scent a gentle shiver of delight

 

No wonder nothing else comes close!

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10 thoughts on “meadow

    1. thanks for appreciation…I’m actually a fairly untogether crazy person…this was written from the heart after a beautiful morning meditation…so think..if someone as crazy as me can be allowed to see such beauty, then it’s most definitely available to us all!!

      Liked by 1 person

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