SHINING

Ladies
Fingers adorned
The lonely green grass verge
With violets and campions
Colours
So bright
Glorious were those summer days
Shining with love and life
Now in the dark
I shine

Scenes come
Into my mind
From wondrous childhood days
Sadness
I knew
But always there was the shining
Nature taught me to love
In the darkness
And light

I WILL RISE AGAIN

Yesterday we went back
Sat once again where herons fished
And magpies, caught by the wind
Fell off wooden posts
Where once the geese arrived from foreign climes
With loud chattering announcing their arrival
And at the water’s edge mallards, dancing their own ungainly dance
And as we sat
Transported back in time
To days before cancer and blindness
Herons now gone
Symbols of resurrection
I wondered
Will I rise again
Or forever be chained to this body
And deep within me
I knew as magpies called
And swallows dived
That yes indeed
To the call of nature
I would rise again

STRUGGLING

Hi all.  I am struggling more and more as my blindness gets worse.  I am finding that I cannot find people’s postings like I used to be able to do, though I am doing my best.  I used to be able to use my iPad and make everything much much bigger, but that dud distort everything.  I just about managed.

However, now, even the BIT of sight that I had is going.  I am having real problems reading things.  I feel utterly devastated by this, and very afraid.
I know that many blind people have apps, to enable them still to use the internet, and I do have some of these apps but they are very hard fir me to teach myself how to use, and sadly I have no one to teach me.  I have triedg everywhere but there is no one locally and I cannot travel.
This means that I am having real problems in keeping up with everyone’s posts and this makes me so sad.  Also I cannot keep up with everyone’s lovely comments.  I sometimes fail to respond or to thank people because I simply don’t see them.
I am really sorry but I know that all you lovely people will understand.
I will keep posting and doing my best.  I am actually feeling very down and depressed about this and struggling emotionally with this new phase.
Thankyou for reading this xx

WHERE IS THE LIGHT?

I have survived cancer, and in a way, the darkness became my friend. I am not sure why that is, but it is in the darkness that strangely, we can see things all the more clearly. We see things with different eyes. Sometimes we think that we cannot see at all, but this is because what we are seeing is unfamiliar. We do not recognise it as something that we know. We think we know what the light is, but in the darkness we find it to be something totally different. We find it to be something that we ourselves cannot create for ourselves, for it is the Uncreated Light that has no name. It is the pure light that normally we cannot see. We need the darkness in order to see it.

In the Church of St. Edith, where we often go, we would not be able to see Mary’s halo were it not for the darkness of the Church. If the Church was totally light, Mary’s halo would not be visible. But it just is. You have to look craefully, but it is there, and has been for hundreds of years.

It is so with our lives. In the darkness we can just see the tiniest glimmer of light – if we look carefully.

THE PATH

The path had been made straight,
Smooth under the early sun,
Just in time for my arrival
Though no one knew I was coming,
It seemed it was just for me,
Time had been waiting

Long months had I been waiting,
My path had not been straight
Darkness then attended me
I never saw the sun
I didn’t see its coming,
Was shocked at its arrival

This was a new arrival
Light for me had been waiting
This day it saw me coming
My mind now perfectly straight
The warmth of the early sun
Was here, protecting me

Inside, She greeted me,
Seeing me on my arrival
Hidden from the sun,
In the darkness waiting
Her truth had always been straight
Eternity was coming

Even the birds were coming,
Singing their songs to me,
Is Truth always this straight
So joyful its arrival?
Eternity will not be waiting
And neither will the sun

Gone for a while is the sun
That shone upon my coming
Joy for me is waiting
Silence falls on me
Soon will be my arrival
Now that the way is straight

I walk straight along the path waiting for my coming,
Guided by the sun shining light on me,
Now is my arrival, eternity was waiting

#FOWC FREE. RISE UP

FOWC with Fandango — Free

Rise up and live, you blind,
There’s a world of wonder out there,
Don’t get left behind.

Break out, be FREE, you’ll find
So much beauty that we can share,
Rise up and live, you blind.

Throw off, throw off the ties that bind,
Release your every care,
Don’t get left behind.

Don’t get tied up in the daily grind,
Feast your eyes on rich fare,
Rise up and live, you blind.

For freedom and truth this life was designed,
So let the trumpets blare,
Don’t get left behind.

Blind eyes can see for what they pined,
There’s throbbing in the air,
Rise up and live, you blind,
Don’t get left behind.

THE HILL

One day I will climb a big hill again,”
So said I to my friend in deep longing
As I spoke I did not know where or when
One day there will be a new beginning
Memories sharpen the pain that I feel
I did not expect to be cut down young
The plans I had made i cannot reveal
Nor the facile assumptions oh so wrong
Now the hill I climb is deep in my heart
Struggling to do just the tiniest things
Pushing the light and the darkness apart
Trying so hard to believe I have wings
I fall into the void that’s left behind
My life taken up with the daily grind

JUSTICE

In the back of the church that day
You got me, locked me in,
It was for my protection you said,
All along you had planned this,
No one else must know,
To you I was easy pickings
Blind, wheelchair bound,
You feasted on my famine,
Nourishing your own ego,
Your voice loud and brash
Your mouth cruel
Words like nails
Assailed me
Bit by bit you crushed me
Pummelled me
Until I could not speak
And then you threw me out
“Confession Ma’am, you need Confession,”
And then you closed the door
Your sin behind closed doors
Would never see the light of day
But now I see the light upon the mountain
And the justice of God riding high
Soon will be seen the things that were hidden

A WOMAN’S SCREAM

A woman’s scream
Pierces the air of the Holy Place,
Like arrows, pointed, sharp,
Splintering the heavy stillness,
Fragments of her life lay all around,
Shattering the silence,
She sits in disarray,
Shame fills her very soul,
The unforgivable has been done,
You don’t scream in Church.
But what of the sin that was done to her?
Which sin was greater?
Silent she has been for far too long,
Swathed in shame and guilt,
Paralysed by fear.
But now, the life within her stirs,
Her bonds are loosed,
She fights for air,
And finds her voice.
Her scream is sacred

DANCE TO THE RHYTHM

Dance to the rhythm of your soul
Chance your life in abandonment
Lance all your fears let them all go
Enhance your world in the energy flow

Throw off the things that hold you back
Go to the place that’s really you
Grow in stature don’t let them win
Show your demons what you can do

#FOWC: FLOOR. This way to the Electrocution

FOWC with Fandango — Floor

The following story might sem a bit odd, but it is actually true. In the place where we used to live, I had this friend, but her name was not Lubby. E erything in this story is true!

“This way to the electrocution.”

These were the words that met Libby as she entered the house one Autumn afternoon. On the wall in front of her were a series of arrows, pointing the way to “The Electrocution.”

Libby was known to be eccentric. But this beat anything that she had ever done.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t a pleasant enough person, though with her jet black hair that looked like something from the twenties, and her lipstick and rouge, she did look rather odd. She always had this odd smile on her face. Almost like it had been painted on. It seemed firmly fixed.

I once had the pleasure of going to the theatre with her. We had arranged to meet in the Queens Bar of the rather upbeat hotel over the road from the theatre. I arrived to find her sitting at a table looking like Lady Muck, surrounded by all kinds of food and condiments. It was obvious that she had given the waiter a hard time. There she was, facing me as I got to the glass door of the Bar, still managing to keep the smile on her face even whilst eating. I felt panic rising within me. The show was soon to begin, and she was only halfway through her meal. But that was Libby. Late for everything. She had no sense of time. And neither did she have any sense of place. Especially in airports. She had once recounted to me a tale of having got on the wrong plane.

“How did she manage to do THAT?” I thought. I was never to find out, but she had got in the wrong queue, and somehow or other had managed to get aboard the plane for Dubais when she only had a ticket for Amesterdam. The mistake was discovered only when the plane was in the air. According to Libby, she had flown all the way to Dubais, only to be put on a plane and flown right back to Amsterdam.

Libby had once suffered very badly from depression, and she put a notice in her window saying,

“ALL WHO SUFFER FROM DEPRESSION WELCOME HERE. PLEASE COME IN.’

And they did! Loads of them! “It was the happiest time of my life,” Libby told me.

So really, it should not have been any surprise to her when she found the notices on the wall as she entered the house.

She followed the arrows diligently, until she found herself in the back room of the hoyse. There, she found her husband on the FLOOR, wired up to the television set, which was live. In fact, he was a television repair man. But this was no repair. This was a deliberate ending of his life.

Libby was telling me all about it the day I took her to visit his grave.

“I didn’t get any Insurance money,” she said. “He hadn’t insured himself because he wasn’t expecting to die.”

I STAND HERE

I am practising doing Octave Rima poems. Ahem!

I stand here in the clearing morning haze
With night’s sad dreams still living in my head
In this dark hour I stumble in a daze
By doubts and fears my spirit now is fed
In silence still I try to find the ways
That lead me from this Dark Night where I fled
To find the walls that I had built around
My soul that my True Self could not be found

TO LIVE OR DIE

Do we ever have the choice to live or die?
Or has something planned our span that can’t be changed?
Maybe the choice that we make cannot defy
The plan for us has already been arranged
And so the battle that we fight whilst asking why
Can only go one way, and nothing be gained
Except the knowledge that we are in good hands
Tha hold us as we travel to better lands

SPRING LIGHT

Well I know it is not Spring, here in the U.K. but I wrote this earlier this year in the Spring, and I am looking forward in time to next Spring and the lighter days and nights.

Sitting in the pale Spring light
Shimmering fields before my eyes
In times now past I had my sight
To watch the birds my greatest prize

Shimmering fields before my eyes
From which great raptors took their flight
To watch these birds my greatest prize
But now I only mourn my plight

Here then great raptors took their flight
These fields so ancient learned their cries
And now with them I mourn my plight
Knowing full that nature dies

These fields so ancient learned their cries
Absorbed them all without a fight
Knowing full that nature dies
Just for a season all is bright

Absorbing all without a fight
These ancients lived with spirits wise
The sky will soon be turned to night
I sit now in the pale Spring’s light

HOW FAR CAN I RUN?

How far can I run?
The hole deepens
Full of so much garbage
The weight of the world
That I inhabit
One day I will melt
Into the earth
In dust
Light as light
In darkness
Featherlight
Is all an illusion?
“I think
Therefore I am”
But am I?
Tell me my friend
Who are you?o

THE LONG SLEEP

Already the tree is stripped bare,
Grey fills the air,
The whole world seems to be yawning,
Everything is coming to rest,
Waiting to be adorned
With the lacy patterns of winter,
Frozen in time,
To everything there is a time,
And a purpose,
I hear the words once again,
“Come to me
All you who are heavy laden
And I will give you rest”
And now
Exhaustion creeps upon
The ones that were heavy with a fullness
Designed for that time alone,
Berries, fruits, wheat in the fields,
But now the grey is yawning,
The Long Sleep approaches

FADING

Fading
Summer passions
Time spent in memories
Of brighter things in olden times
Childhood
Joys lived
As I sat under the rowan
Linking with all the souls
Who rested there
May I

Rest too
Held in the joys
That made me who I am
Though now I live in darker times
Holding
Mem’ries
As darkness takes me into dawn
Beyond this sphere in time
May the new world
Come soon

KNOCKING ON HEAVEN’S DOOR

Please let me in, to where your God is,
I want to be with Him too,
I want to be where you are,
But I am where I am,
Here,
Outside the door,
Knocking.

You do not even notice me,
Hear me knocking,
Crying, “Let me in,”
Your eyes are full while mine are empty,
Like my heart,
Straining to get to where you are,
Aching
To share your joys with you,
To be full once again .

Hungry,
I sit at the closed door in my wheelchair,
Starving
Craving your love and warmth,
But your eyes don’t see,
Your ears don’t hear
My knocking.
You go on your way,
I, invisible,
I cannot share your Feast .

I sit and cry,
Empty yet full,
For my eyes see more than yours do,
My ears hear,
“There’s none so blind as them that cannot see,”
And I am satisfied,
For i see the Cross,
And hear the words,
“Father, forgive them, they know not what they do,”
And to the blind and lame,
” Today you shall be with me in Paradise.”

WALKING

Some days however bad you feel, you just HAVE to keep walking on, pushing on through the pain. Raw and vulnerable. Sometimes you feel as if, if you let the pain go, you will cry for ever. But all that you can do is walk on.

Walking,
Pushing on, pain
Pressing every fibre,
Grief overwhelms, hot tears falling,
Why did
You go,
Abandon me to suffering?
Take away nourishment,
Leaving me cold,
Tell me

CARRY ME

Carry me
I cannot float
The waters pull me in
Deep calls to deep
I am out of my depths
For so long I swam
Against the tide
My arms flailing
Taking in water
Oh how I congratulated myself
But it was expected of me
Walking on water should be easy
Even the raging foam
But you never tried it
You never had to
Oh I did quite well you know
But now
I beg you
Carry me
I’m tired

PEACE BREATHING

Some of the autumn colours are still on our trees. But this week snow is forecast. The autumn colours and coming snow inspired this poem:

And now
The burning dark
Comes as autumn scorches
Cooling earth with flaming colours,
Fires rage
In souls
Seared by pains of night eternal
Let not these colours scourge
Your dying soul
But fan

Into
Life the embers
Of love laid low by fear
As red hot arrows wounded all
That lived
And grew
In the cold dark earth of winter
Let the dark now hold you
Colours fading,
Peace breathing

MARY

I may have posted this before. I don’t remember. But anyway, here it is! Apologies if I am repeating myself!

Woman
Are you silent now,
Pondering things in your heart?
It is the way of things,
Carrying so much,
Not just the child,
But all that is to be born from you,
As you stand waiting,
In silence,
There is within a fluttering,
That turns into a Dance,
Yet your silence knows
That one day will be born
A child with a Cross in His hands,
Too heavy in time to carry,
You watch Him stumble and fall,
And only you
Can help Him to carry it now,
Within your womb,
Knowing that even as
He is placed on that Cross,
His Spirit will dance
Through His suffering
Transforming the pain
Of the whole wide world

TAKE MY HAND

Take my hand and hear the birdsong,
Smell with me the forest pine,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.

Hear the beat of the bird’s wings flying,
Raise your face up to the moonshine,
Take my hand and hear the birdsong.

Hear the fountain burbling, gurgling,
Taste the taste of wine so fine,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.

Feel the trunk of the old tree leaning,
Touch its bark from ancient time,
Take my hand and hear the birdsong.

Though without sight the world is teeming,
Unable to walk pure joy is mine
Take my hand and hear the birdsong,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.

STARING

She stared at the world through blinded eyes,
From many different places,
In the warmth, the cold, the rain, the wind,
From her bed, the car, the seashore,
Saw forests, flowers and birds,
She smelled and tasted and felt
The weight of her grief
But also a wealth of joy,
Though now she had to remember,
But as time passed she realised
That she could no longer remember,
Even the faces of those she loved,
And so she said “Goodbye”
Made a new relationship with the world,
One that only she knew
And felt,
A place where she dwelt alone,
Sometimes lonely, sometimes sad,
But sometimes glorious in her insight,
Would she change it?
Ask her

BUGLE CALL

Leaves
Sliding down the windscreen
Enjoying one last whirl before the Fall
One by one they come
Crowding together on the ground
Like the many souls that lie here
Under the rowan tree
They too once were a crowd
Fighting for our freedom
So that we too can dance and twirl
Ashes to ashes, dustbto dust,
The bugle sounds
Reminding us that we too are dust,
That we must play while we can,
Before we too fall
To nourish the ground
Replenish the earth
Casting off vainglory
Remembering that we too are dust

ARE YOU A SAINT?

Are you a saint, my friend?
I hear you saying “No”
I too would say the same,
I am no saint, but wait,
Does perfection define a saint?
No, it is the love that’s borne within
That makes a saint
The ones whom we pass by
Sitting in the streets,
Begging,
Pleading to be loved,
Pleading for life,
They are the saints
For when we look into their eyes
We look into the eyes of Jesus
When feed them, feeding Him,
When love them, loving Him,
Saints are wounded, bearing battle scars,
Torn by life’s dark vagaries,
Crucified by those who judge,
Who bear hostility,
Crucified by cruel blows,
Yet still living on,
We cannot judge who is a saint,
But bear to each one love,
It is love that makes a saint

BEHIND THE DOOR

I wrote this some time ago as a possible start to my story. I am posting it here out of interest to see what reaction it gets. I would also like to know if it is something that anyone would LIKE to read or not? Is it WORTH writing? I do not want to do it as therapy for myself. This is not the idea, but to create and interesting and sparkling story. Here goes:

BEHIND THE DOOR

I would like to welcome you into my world. It is a world of the most brilliant light, and deep joy. But in order to enter my world you will have to go through a door. It is a door that you may not want to go through. But it is the only door that there is, if you wish to come into my world and enjoy the light and the joy.

There is, moreover, one condition that must be fulfilled before you can enter through the door. You must cast everything off that you ever knew. Every attachment. Every desire. Every preconceived notion. You must travel light. And as you enter through the door you must open yourself and be completely committed to seeing new things – things that may be unfamiliar, and maybe even, sometimes, uncomfortable. But I can guarantee that if you are prepared to take on this undertaking, and go through that door into my world, you will be changed for ever. And you will never then be able to UNknow what you now know.

We go through many different doors in our lives. Some lead to good things, some to bad, some to a mixture of both. Sometimes we get to choose the doors we go through – sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we take a risk when we choose to go through any particular door, and once behind it, we have to do our best with whatever we find. Some doors are heavy to push on, some are easy. Some just open on their own. But whatever, it is what we do with what is behind them that matters. It can indeed be a magical mystery tour. There can be stones and rocks and hard places behind them, but there can also be the most precious gems. Gems that sparkle and glitter. Gems of the most beautiful colours, the depths of which we have never seen before.

My world is a world of wonder. A world of the most exquisite beauty. A world of singing, and music, and dancing. A world of light and life. But as you come behind the door, as you accept the invitation into my world, you will come to discover that these things are hard won. They are won at a price. But the cost makes them even more beautiful. More exquisite. Mostly, they are simple things – things that even a child could appreciate. And maybe, in order to find and appreciate them yourselves, you will have to become as little children, and open yourselves to wonder, and the simplicity that is what true life is all about.

In order for you to be able to come through the door, I am going to have to tell you my life story. Part of it may be difficult to hear. But remember – I told you there was a cost. The reward is, however, way beyond what you could ever imagine, if you will travel light, with an ever open mind. The door awaits you, inviting you to open it and go behind it. Once through the main door, you may find many more doors, and it will be your choice as to whether you go through them or not, to see what is behind them. Everything is always your choice. The invitation begins here.
P.S. TO ANYONE WHO READS THIS DO YOU HAVE ANY OPINION ON WHETHER IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN IN THE FIRST OR THE THIRD PERsON? I AM UNSURE, tHE FIRST DOOR I AMZgOING TO TAKE ANY PROSPECTIVE READERS BEHIND IS INTO A WORLD OF UTTER HAPPINESS AND WONDER.