Notebook impressions from a week in Devon a few months ago.
Before the Floods
Ashburton, Devon – September 2012
Outside I hear the traffic, morning crickets,
a bird’s low hoot, a fierce rustle of trees and voices
making plans for the day. I will spend it going within.
I need to. No, I choose to, this stuff is beginning
to reek. A negative assumption acting like a positive with
more of the same fixing to stick.
I feel pain in mind. Why does it hurt so?
The energy of this motion, this discordant moment
of moving through, jars my natural motion to happiness,
satisfaction, love, harmony, hope, peace, love, living.
I did hear one truth: I needed to get over this.
To rest my case upon the green, green grass
of new growth. The otherside, where hope meets
glory and life affirming nights become.
Beyond the trials exists the unexpected; the unexpected
exists beyond life’s trials, without which nothing changes,
the opportunity to evolve, thwarted.
Outside I feel the fresh winds in the town market,
colours bustle and people shine. The road is cobbled.
The mountain peak backdrop reminds me of the heights
we can climb, reaching the top, leaping in faith.
I cannot hear much, I can mostly feel
everything is perfection. This is what I will
hear tomorrow morning.
Does it matter when I hear this, if all is perfection?
Tuned into vibration when so I did, I know that
all of life is on purpose, divine, faultless, flawless.
I listen when it does not feel this way.
In Devon, I did not pack warm enough clothing.
Glacial voices clamber up a curved stairway,
undulled by carpet fibres and echo through thick
stone walls in this quirky terrace house by the pub
where I am paying rent. I want to charge damages
for the injury to my unclothed soul.
A word called, ‘who?’ Where wings of thought
spread from East to West and the war rages.
And, how? Can Dr. Hawkins believe that war
is perfection? Soldiers taking the lives of others
along with their own souls.
The filthy alleyway he spied strewn with garbage,
the ‘cute’ dead animal and the hungry tramp who
I imagine felt much less a rare oil painting.
Poverty, war, hate, conflict. Why do we mess up
in such an organised way? Perhaps this is perfection.
September 11, 2012
First of all I want to send out love an light
to all the families who have lost loved ones.
I want also to send love and light to the hearts
of the perpetrators of evil atrocity.
May our Gods help them.
- flooded stream, dartmoor, devon, uk (by rowena caine via photobotos.com) (digger666.com)
- How Britain went from a drought to a deluge as south-west is drenched again (guardian.co.uk)
- Mum saved by tree after being swept from car in Devon floods (dailyrecord.co.uk)