Time for something lighthearted, originally written in response to ‘Alabama’…

“He who would save his life, will surely lose it…”

Overboard

how I long for my home
on the edge of the sea,
among the cats on the docks
of old Galilee,
whatever possessed me
in that old shantytown,
to come all this way
only to drown?

overboard, overboard,
it’s overboard we’ll go,
the flood tide it rises
and the wind it does blow;
neither captain, nor bosun
nor galley of slaves,
can save us this time
from our watery graves!

for land-lubbing rats
the choice is but stark,
to hide from the beasts
that lurk in the dark;
what wouldn’t I give
for such sweet torment,
to escape the slow dance
of that long slow descent?

overboard, overboard,
it’s overboard we’ll go,
for the flood tide it rises
and the wind it does blow
now the captain and the bosun
and the galley of slaves,
can no longer save us
from our watery graves…

The Book of the Heart

Secrets written in the
Book of the Heart, do not readily
translate into words.

Lion and gazelle meet
face to face, neither makes a move.

A falcon disappears into
a forest and does not return.

A man on the gallows
finally puts aside his desire for revenge,
and his sentence is stayed.

When God sets traps for you,
enter them gladly.

The arrow that strikes
the eagle is made of
its own tail feathers.

The Bridge to Greater Worlds

Evening shadows lengthen and fall
Across your darkening way.
Strength that once carried you,
Beginning to falter and fail.
Do not fear the twilight, love,
Surrender freely all you may,
For as each purpose is fulfilled,
What need is there to rant and rail?

You know that old and broken body,
That garment now outworn;
Will soon return from whence it came,
And you’ll be finally free to soar!
Do not fear the darkness, love,
Or the ferryman’s quiet advance,
For birth and death are but a bridge,
To greater worlds that lie in store.

And when the rising whirlwind comes,
And the great dissolving does begin;
Deep within a remembering,
Not once not twice, but countless times!
Do not fear the day, my love,
Or the agony of being born.
There is a reason for the veil,
And why the morning bells do chime…

You know that old and broken body,
That garment now outworn,
Will soon return from whence it came,
And you’ll be finally free to soar.
Do not fear tomorrow, love,
Or the ferryman’s quiet advance,
Birth and death are but the bridge,
To greater worlds that lie in store!

A haunting track written after beholding his newborn baby’s eyes, composed and played by contemporary German composer and multi-instrumentalist, Stephan Micus. A single steeldrum provides the rhythm part, while the melody is played on an Indian bowed instrument with 4 metal and 24 sympathetic strings known as a dilruba. It is fretted like a sitar while the bridge runs over a goat skin, its range encompassing roughly that of a viola.

Stephan Micus; “Yuko’s Eyes”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_p4DtMK6RA

man outshines the sun
but for an hour, but what
an hour it is!

the falcon,
hearing the drum, flies back
to the king’s forearm

trust, exert and rely
constantly on God, and you will
come to know IT’s ways

when oceans meet
and mingle, a new unknowable
vastness is formed

opening one’s eye;
a glimpse of the hidden
depths within…

Thanks for sharing your heartfelt story, emersonreturn.

I wanted to comment briefly on this; ‘he’s there, you just aren’t picking up on it. you’re too caught up in yourself.’

This smacks of a lack of empathy from someone who’s supposed to demonstrate sensitivity acc. to their station, but I would like to add that our loved ones, knowing us better then anyone else, pick and choose the right time to make their love, presence and whatever else they wish to communicate to us known at a time of their choosing, this usually being when the wave of heightened emotion recedes to some extent.

What I learnt, and continue to learn from my experience, is that, even though they are on the other side, they remain aware of events/occurances out here, but generally appear to have a more detached view while maintaining their end of the exchange of love, even though the nature of the love must transform to some extent.

The wonderful thing is that the bond of love between Souls continues throughout time (since the nature of that love, if true, has its origin in a “nameless, placeless place” to quote Rumi), which implies that we will indeed meet again in another context when the “time is again ripe”.

Thx for your posts here, and I would like to also tip my hat to our friend, ‘ahh’, for keeping this ship afloat and moving. The man is a wonder.

there is nothing in life but love,
and that love resides within us;
death simply takes everything else away
until nothing stands between us
and that love

waking up into the realisation
of Divine Love, the banality of evil
disappears like a puddle
in the noon-day sun