The Turning of the Sun Dial

Here our faces find the clay which we had formed, when born amongst the sand and sea, we had crawled on trembling lips upon these temples steps to find how very free, our deliverance could be.

Here where we were never formed; and weeping children, so forlorn, had placed their drops upon the ancient web, where Indra had beheld the ebbing oceans of our naked selves, as a sunshaft through a broken column

Here, where shadows paint the image of a page, and fling their flicker dance across the curtains of our age; as the ceremony of the candleshrine bathes our roots in sunken light, and the breath of incense smoke writes the pathway of our flight.

Here these molten hands of clay seep back into the mothswept day; into splattered sunshine musk that dances in mosaic masks of darkness through the dusk, where threads of stillness intersect, and shafts of sunlight do reflect.

Here the golems in the stone pavilion quench the silence of their secret stillness; gathering a sentence out of this molten mystic mess to stare with open mouths of music into the heart of the mosaic; amongst the vapours and the desert drapers of the ancient Tree of Life, hung in tapestries around the columns of our former strife; and the pregnant earth is drenched in rain.

Here the origin of Sun Gods are raised in the birth of Raja’s flame; as silken Persian music empties out our soul and name; and only in the eye of every pupil is the truth both found so still, as it is scattered through the solar well; and the carving of a laughing legend on the wall tells of Nothing in the End…as All.

Here the streams of every ancient heart string flood into the blood of everything, and separate sides collide like river banks of diamond gold, spilling through these folds of illusionary skin into the temple of within, where lanterns and infernos dance with stars and supernovas; and the summit of our scattered worth explodes into the mirth of multifoliate inventions, breathing from the heart pavilion centre into infinite dimensions.

You Can

 You can disentangle the forgotten jungle of your earliest dismay

You can peer past the leaves, and taste the light of day

You can journey down into the great abyss,

You can return with your own redeeming light of bliss

You can quench the disaster, of your tragedy’s master,

You can define your own way on the misty, risky road,

You can chase your dreams, and forget what you were ever told,

Of how our freedom’s sold to circumstances,

You can reinvent your visions and romances,

You can create your ritual, and make it so habitual

To be a wheel that rolls of its own accord,

You can drown the smoke of darkness, and the lessons of your lord,

You can let your whisperings escape into the open pasture,

 And light a candle for your tomb-stone master,

You can make amends, and skirt the bends of a whole new world of fun,

You can ride the chariots of the past into the brightness of the sun,

You can release the anchor and the anger of ever needing any other,

And cry exultant as you re-name the earth your mother,

You can dispel the demons of your darkest fever night

You can arise, and stand alone, and feel yourself so bright,

You can take the lantern to the ocean blue,

You can breathe upon this earth anew,

You can be the step into your own beginning,

You can hear the reunion of the forest singing,

You can be the light that loves the candle shadows,

You can swing your wings into the lightning of these blessed arrows;

For where else is the sweetness of the marrow,

But in the sorrow of our wounded fears;

Swing your head up to the sun child, for now we’re really really here.