Thank so much, Sudhi. It’s an unassuming poem yet its message bears repeating. We have the choice of being either our own best friend or worst enemy, yet it’s surprising how often we choose the latter, if only because the Being or Force whose task it is to keep Soul moribund and ineffectual is so effective in Its rule of this world. By and large, Soul is left to Its own devices and must make the commitment to walk the spiritual path of Its own volition, yet when It does Its fortunes take a turn for the better. A line from Episode 3 of the excellent series, “Shogun”, [https://movies7.to/tv/shogun2-jw2l2/1-3], uttered by the protagonist Toranaga to his impatient son comes to mind; “When will you understand? You are playing a game of friends and enemies, when you have only yourself in this life”. Toranaga’s advice to his son explains the importance of self-reliance, but there is another very important part of the equation that the father leaves unspoken being that when Soul applies Its creativity to the problems of life, the Great Spirit steps in to take up the slack, and so enables miracles to occur. So how do we tap the great mystery of life known as the subtle yet very real line of communication between Divine Spirit and Soul? The first thing to understand is that Soul is an individuation of Divine Spirit, ie; Soul is made of the very same substance as Divine Spirit and hence It inherently has the power to know, be and see. Further, Its destiny is to become a co-worker with the Spiritual Hierarchy and this is done simply by doing all in the name of Divine Spirit, in the name of Divine Love, in doing whatever we can on a daily basis to consciously further the Divine Cause. This all begins with self forgiveness which enables Soul to step out from beneath the burden of guilt which the Negative Force imposes upon It (which is nothing more than Soul’s karmic burden). To this end, I’d like to share a story that came my way;

A horseman was riding along a road and far up ahead, he sees something lying smack in the middle of the road so he approaches and sees it’s a little sparrow and it’s lying on its back. He says, “Are you hurt?” The little sparrow says, “No”. The rider asks, “Well, then why are you lying on your back like that for?” The little bird says, “Well, I heard the sky’s going to fall today.” The horseman laughs, and says, “Why that’s foolish. Do you think you could hold up the whole sky with your spindly little legs?” And the little bird says, “One does what one can.” And that’s how it is with all of us. We’re drawing on this creative element within us and doing what we can, the best we can, one day at a time.

That’s the one I have as well.

One form of inspiration I have often referred to is to take a line from Shakespeare, to contemplate on it and then write a poem around it. The first such poem I will post here proceeds from Henry VI Part 3; “My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not deck’d with diamonds and Indian stones; Not to be seen. My crown is call’d content; A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.” The title comes from an Irish jig.

Apples in Winter

I’ll bring you apples in winter, kisses in spring,
Bouquets of lavender and wreaths for your hair.
I’ll bring you songs that celebrate midsummer’s fling,
And content will be the crown I wear.

I’ll bring you apples in winter as crisp as snow,
With two strong arms and legs to bear.
I’ll bring you laughter and joy and friendship to grow,
And content will be the crown I wear.

I’ll bring you apples in winter, both tart and sweet;
Red, gold and green, should you ever despair.
I’ll bring you fire at midnight to make you complete,
And content will be the crown I wear.

I’ll bring you apples in winter and kisses in spring,
The fruits of high summer and autumn so spare.
I’ll bring you bouquets and banquets, the envy of kings,
And content will be the crown I wear.

whoosh of owl’s wings
as a mouse scurries away;
petals scattering

Thank you for your kindness, AHH, (you too, archeon). Yep, ancient Macedonian ruins of Heraclia Lyncestis, statue of Filip Vtori in Town Square + River Dragar in Bitola.

The Immortal Toše Proeski ; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To%C5%A1e_Proeski#Songwriting

“Ako Odam Vo Bitola” (If I Go to Bitola) (w. images of Bitola)

Ако одам во Битола
Ако одам во Битола,
ќе прошетам по Широк сокак.

А на Дембел чаршија
кафе ќе се напијам,
младост мило ќе си спомињам.

Еј, мори моме, како да речам,
за Солуна, за Стамбола,
неа не давам.

Ако одам во Битола,
ќе нарачам до три пајтона.

Први мене ќе носи,
в’ други чалгии ќе свират,
в’ трети товар, мерак ќе носам.

Еј, мори моме, како да речам,
за Солуна, за Стамбола,
неја не давам.

За Солуна, за Стамбола,
Битола не давам.

If I go to Bitola
If I go to Bitola*,
I will walk on the wide street.

And on the Dembel* street
I will drink coffee,
I will remember my lovely youth.

Hey, oh girl, how can I tell you…
for Thessaloniki, for Istanbul,
I wouldn’t give her.

If I go to Bitola,
I will order three carriages.

The first one will carry me,
and the second one will play chalga*
the third load will be my joy.

Hey, oh girl, how can I tell you…
for Thessaloniki, for Istanbul,
I wouldn’t give her.

For Thessaloniki, for Istanbul,
I wouldn’t give Bitola.

Night

When night descends and veils the earth,
The bat wings t’ward its twilit quest.
The traveller procures himself a berth,
And welcoming sleep, takes his rest.

The moon begins its nightly climb,
Kissing each and every star;
As children dream their dreams in time
And place their wishes in a jar.

Simple folk lay down their cares.
Kings and queens remove their crowns.
Both alike send out their prayers,
And naked, lay their bodies down.

Falsehood feints on bended knee,
And dons its mask to hide its face.
The audience pays its entry fee
As players join to take their place.

When night descends and veils the earth,
The instinctive self is energised.
All good men reveal their worth,
As truth steps forth undisguised.

Please Hand the Devil His Walking Stick

Well, he used to be bad, he used to be lit,
The life of the party, the ultimate wit.
I’d always fall for the same old schtick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick.

Bedecked as he was in diamonds and pearls,
With his circle of the best looking boys and girls.
Always irresistible and oh so slick;
Please hand the devil his walking stick.

And if you were one of the lucky few,
You knew you’d always be skipping the queue.
Should things get tight, he’d be there in a tick;
Just hand the devil his walking stick.

I was always jealous of his sure-fire technique,
But there’s some kind of dent in the old mystique.
When I’d try to catch up he was always too quick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick!

We used to run together every day of the week;
He was always obsessed with his perfect physique.
Now he’s ragged and thin as an old toothpick,
Please hand the devil his walking stick.

Came by the other day when I wasn’t home,
Came back again when I was all alone.
I couldn’t resist him one swift kick;
Please hand the devil his walking stick!

For such a long time we were best of friends,
But all good friendships come to an end.
Finally called his bluff and gave him the flick…
Someone hand the devil his walking stick!