F.A.T.E. - From All Thoughts Everywhere

Let us meet this with a tsunami of giving,
Let us each be nameless drops in a great wave of support,
For this is a chance to define our shared humanity,
And reclaim our common lot,
Let us find within an epicentre of love,
One that registers 10 on the Richter Scale,
Let us summon a shift in our perceptions,
As we rise up from humbled knees,
What then would we leave in our wake ?
If not a changed landscape, a better way, a different world.

(On the five year anniversary of the tsunami natural disaster that claimed over 230,000 lives in Asia, I am posting this poem in memory of all those who were directly affected by this cataclysmic event. I wrote this poem as an attempt to feel for an appropriate response to such an overwhelming yet distant experience. The title is taken from a passage in the book 'Conversations with God' where it suggests that acts of fate, like a tsunami, are actually a summation of many millions of individual thoughts that coalesce to generate 'real world' experiences. This thinking is based on the belief that we are creative beings who have the ability to 'move mountains' through our thoughts. Sounds crazy I know but we have all heard the phrase 'mind over matter' and this is simply an extension of this everyday phrase. It's as crazy as every truth for which our 'flat earth' egos are not yet ready to deal with.  Anyway, the poem issues a call for a different manifestation of fate, a tsunami of giving, an opportunity to use the tragedy of the tsunami to come together and define who we are and who we want to be on a global scale. And in this way too, the summation of our thoughts, words and actions has a similar power to that of the tsunami wave - itself a summation of many million 'innocent' particles of water moving in unision. Nature reminds us that this depth of collective expression does have the power to 'change landscapes' , internally and externally, inside and out. And we did give - six days after the tsunami hit a total of £1bn of aid had been pledged to victims of the disaster, a huge wave of money, a huge wave of humanity. A hint at the possibilities of the human spirit?)

Forever Ours to Keep

They're crowding in my throat again,
The many unspoken words,
Jostling and grasping for life,
The remnants of the truth,
Amidst my happiness they open up,
Like many petals in the sun,
Different voices from the past,
Absorbed through the perfect detail of consciousness,
Stored away under lock and key,
Now ready to walk free in this world once more,
So I breath them into this space,
And form vibrations from the emotions they contain,
I give words to the wordless, the invisible feelings within,
And as I speak, my shoulders drop,
I admit to peace in this strange place,
I complete sentences long cut short,
I walk in rooms where I never have been,
Yet I know them through my ancestors' hearts,
Held there in my panoramic gaze,
I see a journey of struggles and pain,
Yet also is there a silent love, a faith and a purposeful aim.

To all those who have lifted us up,
With their invisible grace and their well intentioned mistakes,
I now acknowledge and thank and celebrate,
To all those who died selfless and confused,
Know that this day you have been deified,
For love is eternal yet buried deep,
Love is eternal and forever ours to keep.

(As you get older and stronger and wiser then you can start to get to know your past again. Things that hurt you first time round can be re-visited from a different perspective. What once overwhelmed you emotionally no longer has that same power. This poem is about such a re-visiting of the the past, a re-living, a re-processing of what has been ('I complete sentences long cut short'). And sometimes you re-visit the past and realise that is not 'your stuff' that you are feeling but actually the 'stuff' that was passed down to you in the collective psyche of your family, your country, your race ('I walk in rooms where I never have been'). The poem mirrors many that I have written in that it starts from a personal perspective but naturally evolves into a collective awareness. As this poems reaches for its ending, the collective awareness fills the space completely and assumes a celebration. For beneath the buried hurt of personal emotions and beneath the buried hurt of collective emotions is discovered a different 'strata'; the love of the collective consciousness. 'Love is eternal yet buried deep, Love is eternal and forever ours to keep'. This then the surprising reward from a bout of rueful yet determined introspection!)

Learning to Love Failure

Keep enjoying, keep sharing, keep growing through,
The ups and the downs, the lefts and the rights,
The winning, the losing, the honourable draws,
Loving the failure that allows us to live,
Loving it like our nature loves us,
For this word is too fickle to be set in stone,
Too subjective to be meaningful,
Too lame to stop us walking upright and free,
We do not know nor can we judge what is success or failure,
For our eyes are clumsy and crude,
Just short of reptilian blind,
When we say
'Look at how I am failing',
'Look at how I am succeeding'
Someone smiles and dreams a silent dream,
Shines a silent light,
But a light so bright it will burn these medals to a crumbling dust,
Transforming our fear of failure into a shower of love,
Forgiving our forgetfulness and our lack of faith,
As all this and more recedes in the presence of the unfailing truth.

(I have just received some feedback from a conference presentation that is not what I wanted it to be. Part of me feels that I have failed. I know that there are many responses and reactions I could now have to this situation. This poem captures such a moment - the 'down', the 'losing', the 'fickle', the 'subjective', the 'judgement'. The feedback could lay me 'lame' i.e. it could tempt me to withdraw, recede and lick my wounds. It could tempt me into denial and I just plough on regardless, insensitive and cold. Or I could just sit here with this feeling and wait for it to pass, wait for the 'someone' that 'smiles', the 'light' that 'burns'. I could recognise that a life fully lived must include and embrace these moments in order to be a life fully lived. For without the feeling of this moment, I will not be able to experience the feeling of the other moments - the 'winning', the 'success', the 'ups', more 'judgement'. From this perspective, I am left with the ability to feel, to be human but not to be consumed by my feelings or be limited by humanity. I am left humbled by my successes and my failures as evidence of both the glory of human consciousness and its triviality in the scheme of things.)

The Return Path

The dust that swirls ahead,
The laden treasure of a worldly quest,
Gems that fall into the deserted ground,
As my limbs ache and my eyes strain,
Caves that glisten with their wares,
A world of opportunity,
Plundered with missionary zeal,
In a storm of forgtefulness,
Have I now the strength for the return path?

When this chill night draws in,
I cower with my claims of success,
And trade with these desperate pilgrims,
And we feel the hollowness of a conditional love,
We hear the demons that clamour for our souls,
As the camp fire smoulders,
Have I the strength for the return path?

Though I came to teach,
I forgot to learn,
Though I was given a map,
I became a lazy guide,
Though my first steps were true,
My grip grew frail,
For I granted reailty to a craven world.

Yet I know that a miracle is but a choice away,
I know that a dream takes a second to complete,
I know that the door remains open, unlocked,
The return path is here, broad and intact.

And lo, as I smile and turn away,
Fearing the solitude of toil and trek,
I feel a rush and a joy and a sudden peace,
For here are you all resplendent and made up,
Checked out, clean shaven and brimming with glee,
Let us set out my friends for heaven awaits our call,
As we surge and sway on this homely course,
A crowd that throngs on the returning path.

(I was reminded of this poem when talking to a colleague about the work of Joseph Campbell. Joseph Campbell was a student of mythology and developed the concept of the monomyth or 'Hero's Journey' which identifies the various stages involved in the heroic life - see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hero%27s_journey. Campbell suggested that these steps could be oberved in all cultures throughout history. He broke down the 'heroic' cycle into 17 steps with various poetic titles such as 'The Call to Adventure', 'The Road of Trials' and 'The Magic Flight'. Step 15 is called 'The Crossing of the Return Threshold' and, in hindsight, I realise that this poem was written from this place on the journey. A quote from the above Wikipedia article summarises this step as follows-'The trick in returning is to retain the wisdom gained on the quest, to integrate that wisdom into a human life, and then maybe figure out how to share the wisdom with the rest of the world. This is usually extremely difficult.' And later, in the same article, I came across the stuning beauty of the following description of the final stage 'Freedom to Live' - "The hero is the champion of things becoming, not of things become, because he is. 'Before Abraham was, I AM.' He does not mistake apparent changelessness in time for the permanence of Being, nor is he fearful of the next moment (or of the 'other thing'), as destroying the permanent with its change. 'Nothing retains its own form; but Nature, the great renewer, ever makes up forms from forms. Be sure that nothing perishes in the whole universe; it does but vary and renew its form.' Thus the next moment is permitted to come to pass." . What more could I possibly add to that?!)

The Long Goodbye

Heavy with the long goodbye,
The hollow smile of a parting guest,
A flare disappears into the empty sky,
And now this fragile paper mountain,
The fruit of our love, our favourite re-creation,
Floats into a hostile and blatant world,
My dream, my baby, my work of art,
I see you plundered under the trampling feet,
Let go like a poem written, lost and never read,
And though the tears tumble across the page,
Though I ache from this endless shedding skin,
I still button my coat,
Still shine my shoes,
In readiness for a bold and future step,
For this is who I am and this is who you wanted me to be,
Heavy with the long goodbye.

(This poem is about letting go and loss. I wrote it when I was grieving for my Mother who died of cancer three years ago. So it is, on the one hand, about losing something in particular ('The hollow smile of a parting guest') and, on the other, about letting go of anything you care about a great deal ('My dream. my baby, my work of art'). Whilst some may find it a depressing poem, I hope others will find the purity of its sadness uplifting. Once let go, the world does what it needs to do and you do what you need to do. Your inner fragility confronts an external world of relentless happenings. But somehow you find strength to face into the future.The poem ends with a resolute steadfastness, a defiant personal declaration. What you let go taught you something very important, like a Mother that long ago taught you how to button your coat, how to shine your shoes. These lessons never leave you. They are eternal in you.)

Beyond the Bridge

Beyond the bridge lies the ocean,
Majestic in its scope and depth,
Beyond the bridge lies the final step,
The creational freedom of our dreams,
And though I dance with you, with the waves,
Though I feel the salty spray on my burning lips,
I am also that which holds us, defines us,
In its all encompassing embrace,
Though I feel the movement of my earthly limbs,
I am also humming with the joy of the absolute,
I am that I am,
The Alpha, the Omega and all that's inbetween,

So with this choice we become the causal field,
The creator and the created,
The architects of our world,
With this choice we bless ourselves,
And let go the final threads,
And as we leap high above the waves,
With the glee of our evolution,
We mirror the steps of our predecessors,
Evolutionary strategists all,
The insect, the fish, the amphibian,
The reptile, the mammal, the human being,

Beyond the bridge lies the truth,
A new being waits to greet us,
It is you and I and them,
Beyond the bridge lies the truth,
The great homecoming of Man.

(A grand poem for sure. What could be grander than this vision for the human race? A vision that we will replace ourselves one day with that which will  follow us, that which is to come. A 'beta' version, a better version. And that this will happen as an inevitable, thoughtless by-product of our consciousness rather than as part of some grandiose human plan. For that is what has always happened on the evolutionary trail. The poem is written from the perspective of being 'in the sea' with the fish at the time when the first one of these leapt out of the water and discovered a 'new world' - the world beyond the ocean that consisted of something we later decided to call 'air'. How strange that must have been for that first fish 'out of water', how freaky! And with only gills with which to 'breathe'. Not a world in which that fish could yet survive but a world that it would never forget having glimpsed. And how would it talk about that glimpse to its fellow fish in a watery way? With great difficulty I assume. Maybe through a fishy poem or two he/she had a go. But inside that fish and inside every fish, an evolutionary vision had been created and was stirring itself. The genie was out of the bottle, the fish was out of the water and the amphibian was already more than just a dream.....) 

Partnerships

Your turn to score the goal,
Not for competition or petty ties,
But rather to humble me with your skill,
Your turn to score the goal,
Not as a test or a silly game,
Not for anything more,
Than to keep me an equal in your eyes,
For I will not provide the help that creates dependency,
I will not create a pedastal to deny you who you are,
I will not be a 'great leader' who diminishes the common spirit we share,
Your turn to score the goal.

My turn to pass the ball,
Not for lack of guts or selflessness,
But rather to play a different role,
My turn to pass the ball,
Not as a test or a silly game,
Not for anything more,
Than to keep you as an equal in my eyes,
For I love to watch you score your goals,
I love to see you being who you are,
Creating a pedastal from which you will shout,
"My turn to the pass the ball!"

(Like 'The Hinterland', this is a poem about relationships. It is only through relationships that we can experience who we are. 'The Hinterland' spoke of the risk of dominating or being dominated in our relationships. 'Partnerships' describes an alternative mode - a mode where the relationship has gone beyond dependency and independence to inter-dependence. It is no coincidence that the company Bill Barry and I co-founded in 2004 is called '121partners' for it is partnership relationships that we aspire to create with each other, with our clients and with our colleagues. Partnerships are the essence of the 'flat' organisation, which is much spoken about as a structure but not as clearly understood as a set of behaviours in my experience. The poem uses the metaphor of a sports team to describe a partnership relationship. The goal scorer is interchangeable and the goal-scorer refuses to be the only person scoring the goals even though they could monopolise that role if they wanted to. As in sport so in leadership where the 'great leader' can monopolise that leadership role denying others and themselves the opportnuity to work in a genuine partnership of shared responsbility. As the poem alludes, the motivation for 'passing the ball' is 100% focused upon refusing to 'buy into' a belief system that puts one person above another, that creates pedastals from which people fall. As Marianne Williamson says in her wonderful book 'A Return to Love' - '..and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.' ( see http://www.amazon.co.uk/Return-Love-Reflections-Principles-Miracles/dp/0722532997/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1257413537&sr=1-1 )) 

A Thousand Names for Joy

What if the world were a reflection of my consciousness?
A mirror into which I peer and judge,
Each person a fragment of my own self,
Just an interpetation, a shadow, a vapour trail,
What if we were a temporary distortion of God's thoughtlessness?
Pieces in a puzzle we are creating,
Lovers in a game of our own making,
Just an expression of life's grand will,
From this mindset, where would we then explore?
Like animals again, dumb and free,
Living the living so painlessly,
Dying in the arms of a benign reality,
Losing the will to be separate and terrified,
How would I feel without this thought of being?
Would I stop and fall like a battery dead toy?
Or would I shine with an eternal brightness?
A portion of the collective
A dancing, aimless, magnificent, unknowing child.

(The title of this poem comes from Byron Katie's book of the same name - 
 http://www.thework.net/ProductDetails.asp?ProductCode=298. I have been inspired by Byron Katie's writings and I have practised with her technique 'The Work', both on myself and with my clients - see http://www.thework.com/thework.asp. This poem plays with some of Byron Katie's thoughts on the nature of reality and also combines this with similar thoughts from the leading physicists. For example, if you read David Bohm's book 'Wholeness and the Implicate Order' http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wholeness-Implicate-Order-Routledge-Classics/dp/0415289793) , he alludes to the same possibilities, although expressing these via a logical, 'mathematical' language in contrast to the more poetic musings of Byron Katie. Whilst I do not pretend to understand or live by all that these authors decribe, I do believe that they have glimpsed something exciting and transformative. I believe that they are pioneers and that, one day, their way of looking at the world will become mainstream and that this will lead to many positive changes in all aspects of human life. Not if, but when?)

Books

That which is left unexpressed,
Remains shrouded in doubt and question marks,
Let my faith not fall into this shadow land,
Let it be expressed with conviction, courage and clarity,
Without fear of critique or adulation,
So to align itself with the Universal Will,
That which brings forth the miraculous,
From the womb of a future, open and free.

(Is that it? I had forgotten how short this poem was! Still, 'they don't make diamonds as big as bricks' as my Mother used to say - God bless her soul. I am writing a book at the moment, with my colleague Ian Day, so this poem strikes a chord for me right now. Maybe it does for you too, maybe not. The poem is about finding your voice and giving yourself the permission to express that which is in you to express, regardless of what other people might make of it. For anyone who has started a blog, wirtten a book, composed a song or simply presented to an audience that you respect then the sentiment remains the same. Don't allow yourself to be placed in the 'shadow land' for fear that your truth will be criticised or that it will be praised. Some of us are frightened of failure, some of us are frightened of success but as Kipling famously said 'If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster , And treat those two impostors just the same.....you'll be a Man, my son'. When you free yourself from these 'imposters' then you are left simply with the joy of creation - that which brings forth the miraculous from the womb of a future, open and free.)

Remorseless Joy

Slipping slowly and gracefully, Long shadows and creeping time,
A cycle draws to a close,
A glorious, glorious time,
An era of great struggles, great achievement and great learning,
A long sunset to a shining day,
And tomorrow you wake up in a different world,
The new, the emerging, the implicate,
An open space, a blank sheet,
The looming gift to write new tunes,
As others gather in musty rooms,
Will you strike out with the edge of your creativity?
As others embrace familiarity,
Will you choose a strange, uncertain path?
And so the wheel turns and turns again,
Gathering pace then slowing down,
Propelled by the remorseless joy of our reinventing souls.

(I recently read the book 'Nature and the Human Soul' by Bill Plotkin - see http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nature-Human-Soul-Cultivating-Fragmented/dp/1577315510/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1255103054&sr=1-1. It was an inspring and challenging read with many wonderful snippets of poetry scattered through the prose. Bill's premise is that life has many stages and that each stage feels like it is the best stage of life when you are in it! So much so that individuals, groups, societies can cling to a stage far beyond its useful life. He suggests that Western society is trapped in a permanently adolescent stage with little access to the wisdom of later stages of life. This poem mirrors this feeling of transition from one day to another, from one stage of life to another. A great day draws to a close because this is the natural cycle and, in the morning, you start again with a 'blank sheet'. And whilst there is an inevitable sadness associated with endings, there is always the excitement that follows with new beginnings, possibilities to create, to engage the unfamiliar. The last line of the poem highlights that sometimes, even though your mind and your heart might wish to stay in the known and the familiar, the soul can only find joy in the act of creation and it is this that it seeks with patience, persistence and passion.)   

Leap before you Look

The steps that freeze us, The illusion of barbed wire,
The sheer agony of becoming who we are,
Like a yawn, a stretch, a chasm,
You stare into the abyss of freedom,
And it stares into you,
Side by side,
With the birds on the runway,
Waiting for something to happen,
Forever watching a looping film,
Waiting for it to come to us,
We pray for the courage to take a tiny step,
We pray for the fresh air of liberation,
We pray for support and strength and grace,
As into an open future we fall.

(I recently had the pleasure of attending a workshop with the 'corporate poet', David Whyte, who kept me spellbound for a whole day with his love of words, rythym and intonation. One of the poems he recited to us and my favourite of the day was called 'Start Close in' - you can check it out at http://www.panhala.net/Archive/Start_Close_In.html . 'Leap before you Look' has a similar message to 'Start Close In'. They are both poems about the first, terrifying step - the one you don't want to take - not the second or the third step, but the first step. They are both about finding your own path, not following 'someone else's heroics', creating your own destiny rather than 'waiting for something to happen', having the audaciousness to become that which only you are, not a pale imitation of someone else. Another 'sister' poem of 'Leap before you Look' is the poem posted earlier called 'Birds on the Runway'. The 'birds' appear again in this poem as a metaphor for the little things that get in the way of the big things. The phrase 'you stare into the abyss of freedom and it stares into you' is a shameless copy of Nietzsche's comment '...if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you' )  

High and Mighty

Fallen leaves,
Were they so proud?
In the height of Summer,
Were they so green?
In their full bloom,
Now trodden underfoot,
Mulching and mulshing away.

Tall trees,
Were they so humble?
In the height of Summer,
Were they so browned off?
Amidst their full blooming,
Now starkly defining the night sky,
Bold and brazen in their permanence.

(This is a short poem about seasons and cycles. About how quickly the trappings of success, the 'leaves', can fall away. They have had their 'fifteen minutes of fame' as the superficial foliage that comes and goes, is admired then forgotten then 'trodden underfoot'. Whereas the tree that spawns the leaf is a different representation of 'success'. Hidden for many months by the fluttering leaves, the tree's true beauty is only revealed in the Winter when it stands proud and permanent, enduring the cycles, the seasons, and being the source of growth rather than the evidence of it. It prompts thoughts of what it means to be successful, how to react when you are praised or admired and how to sustain your beliefs when all seem to be against you. It is a timely poem as the leaves start to fall at the start of Autumn and as the economy starts to recover from the worst recession for fifty years.)

Warm Tears

Falling like warm tears,
Your words bless the ground we're stood upon,
Like a warm hand grasped,
You sense the life and truth within,
And all recedes, contracts, withdraws,
Against this endearing declaration,
All egos cower and hunker down,
Like so many warm tears falling,
On the fires of this Earth,

Pick up this torch my friend,
For the next leg of the journey is yours,
And no one else has this route etched in their hearts,
Take courage from those who have gone before,
Take hope from those who will come,
On balance this was your choice,
And the many doors have closed behind,
On balance this was your calling,
And the many faces turn your way,
Like many warm tears falling,
Let your heart flood with joy,
Like many warm tears falling,
Drown out the craven world,
And as you step gingerly into your full, holy self,
Will we all bask in your radiance,
Will we all be halfway there.

(This poem was written following a coffee in Starbucks with a fellow coach. One of those conversations that creates a connection and stirs your feelings. Reminds you of a shared sense of purpose. But also reminds you never to judge the path of another. Paths that might converge and diverge in a seemingly random fashion yet reflect an individual choice, conscious or otherwise. As with many of my poems, the metaphor of water and floods and drowning is used to symbolise the rising spirit. In an interview, shortly before his death, Jung said 'What comes next? Aquarius, the Waterpourer, the falling of water from one place to another. And the little fish receiving the water from the pitcher of the Waterpourer....But there is danger in the water, on the banks'. Maybe the 'danger' that Jung was referring to was the risk of an over-reaction, an over-correction? Maybe it was something else? The poem closes with a hint that in finding our own individual fulfilment we inspire others to do the same, despite the apparent paradox of such a self-centred approach.)

Keep Me Sane

Memories of a fighting world,
Litter the hall,
The spikes and sharp objects of another life,
When wedded to my status and my achievements,
I forgot how to breathe, how to care, how to love,
........and be loved,
.......and be cared for.

One night woke with my own hand grasping my throat,
One night woke driving a hot poker through my own heart,
Life fighting life fighting life,
Trying to prove a point that was already proven,
Like a mad dog chasing its tail,
And not sensing the whole that is self evident
........evident self,
.......evident life.

Pray keep me sane,
Far from the maddening crowd,
Pray keep me feeling this breath,
And tending to the little things,
Whilst gving my all to the All,
Pray keep me sane,
Amidst all these fantastic illusions,
For I know that from this vantage point,
I can share in the grander will and be the innocent blossoming of life I was born to be,
.....born to be,
....born to BE!

(This is passionate poem, a passionate plea. Having glimpsed release from worldly temptations (status, achievements,..), there is always the risk of falling back and becoming insanely attached to them again. Attached to the outcomes, attached to the pain of a competitive, fragmented life. The poem highlights the self-defeating nature of such a vicious circle, the absurd use of consciousness to create an 'unwinnable' illusion. Versus an alternative perspective where focus is upon the 'little things' like care and love and breath and giving and a letting go to that which is greater than you, whateve you might call that. The final line reminds me of the phrase that we are, first and foremost, human beings not human 'doings'. It is in the 'being' not the 'doing' that we can stay sane.)

Defenceless and Waiting

I open my palms,
And drop all defences,
Weapons that clatter to the floor,
But you keep coming at me,
To leave feints and whirls, ducks and dives,
We can play this game all day,
If you really want to,
If you really want to,
All those hours of sweaty practise,
Through raining blows,
Now you see me, now you don't,
We can play this game all day,
If you really want to,
If you really want to,
Yet outside the sun is shining,
The birds are singing,
God is creating in all his glory,
Children are crying for a better world,
Yelling for us to stop it,
Stop it now you foolish fighting men,
If you really want to,
If you really want to,
For a pregnant future awaits your choice,
If you really want it,
If you really want it.


(I was talking to a friend last week who is focussing her coaching work on 'helping Type A's achieve results without creating collateral damage'. Our conversation reminded me of this poem which is a metaphor for working with 'Alpha Mammalians'. Often such leaders are male but not exclusively so. This type of leader tends to want to 'fight' with you, if not physically then mentally. Everything is a competition and everything leads to either domination or being dominated, to win or lose, to victory or defeat. This is the only 'lens' through which they appear to view the world. With many years of t'ai chi training, I am familiar with t'ai chi as a self-defence technique and the poem visualises me employing self-defence techniques to avoid being 'defeated' but getting very tired of this 'game' to the point of giving up ('I open my palms, And drop all defences, Weapons that clatter to the floor'). Beyond this point, you just use feints, side-steps and sleight of hand to avoid being 'hurt' - again ,this shoud be interpreted at the emotional and soulful level even though it is presented in physical language. Meanwhile, outside of this energetic cameo, the world is in a mess and there are many, many problems that need to be solved through getting beyond the 'win/lose' paradigm. A different future is possible but the poem questions the 'will' of the alpha mammalian ('If you really want it'). Does the alpha mammalian simply enjoy fighting too much to give it up on behalf of a more sustainable future? We shall see. If you enjoyed this poem then you may also enjoy reading the article 'Coaching the Alpha Mammalian - see http://www.121partners.com/downloads/Coaching_the_Alpha_Mammalian.pdf )

New Born

These stories can be revealed,
Now that peace has broken the seal,
Our ancestors' fighting and our Mothers' screaming,
Are long ago in our consciousness,
We are rising like a cork escaping a wreck,
We are rising like a heaving chest,
We lay our shock at the door of the truth,
And know what we knew not,
Letting it pass like clouds and thunder rain.
A torrent of violent emotion spills us past,
Yet we are not drowning any more,
What once overwhelmed is now knee deep,
Retains no power, no vengeance, no recurrent tide,
What once hypnotised our vulnerable minds,
Now spins child-like to the floor,
A tantrum of a willful, unbridled nano-sense,
A belch in an eternity of grace,
A hiccup, a distortion, a perturbing crease,
Amidst the still, crisp perfection of cradling hands,
And so we lightly close the door,
On a child's last feint sobs and red stained eyes,
Inviting sleep to erase the day's devils, its dogma, its dramatic turns,
Trusting in the clean slate of tomorrow,
And in our forgetful, forgiving selves.
Trusting in the benigness of our Universal space,
And the first smile of a new born face.

(Well, what can I say about this poem? Like many of my poems, these words are about the possibility of transformation, of escaping from the past with all its frightening memories. Not just at an individual level but at a collective level. The poem describes a feeling of having emerged from a traumatic history to gain a new perspective and then leaving this history behind once and for all. The trigger for this possibility is a period of peace ('Now that peace has broken the seal'), the likes of which we have been fortunate to experience in our lifetimes in the Western world. A history which once overwhelmed us and controlled us and therefore was acted out over and over again is maybe no longer 'in the driving seat'. This history is likened to a child-like state of mind, a temporary stage from which we can 'grow up'. It is also positioned as a peculiarly human stage that we have created amongst a wider Universe that does not share our 'tantrums' but looks on and waits for it to pass, waits for 'normal service' to be resumed ('amidst the still, crisp perfection of cradling hands'). The poem closes with the image of a parent leaving an upset child just before they fall asleep. As every parent knows, the child wakes up in the morning having forgotten and forgiven, having wiped the slate clean, fresh, hopeful and smiling! A wonderful vision for the human race.)

Maybe its Going to be Alright?

What if it were going to be alright?
At the end of the day
What if you could not fail?
To live your life
To be yourself
What if it will all be taken care of?
With or without you
One way or another
What if it isn't your job?
To save the world
To make me happy
What if it really doesn't matter?
What you achieve
What you obtain
Who the hell you think you are?

In these imagined spaces of the psyche
The gaps between synapses yet to form
Lies a strange, unchartered path
A path which draws me into its mystery
Charms me with its innocence
What if I were to venture down its course?
In the glow of personal freedom
With the lightness of a baby step
What if the peace that laps at the edge of nothingness
Were a permanent ocean of joy magnificent?

(This poem was written whilst waiting for a flight in Heathrow's terminal 5 - a great space for writing! It is about faith and humility. The faith to trust that we don't need to strive fearfully, that other people are on their chosen path and that the world will keep spinning regardless of the human will. The faith that, despite our worries, it is just possible that we will die with a smile on our faces. The humility to recognise that our story, however dramatic, will be washed away in the blink of an eye. These ideas scare the ego silly and challenge existing belief systems. The 'gaps between the synapses' refers to the scope for new belief systems to be created in our minds, new beliefs that reflect these ideas. New links between neural synapses, new ways of thinking, new 'paths'. Creation. The 'nothingness' referred to in the last lines refers to the death of the ego. The 'joy magnificent' is the peace of God if that is a langauge that appeals to you)

Confessions of the Western Psyche

Wish I was born a black man,
Without the guilt of bleaching skin,
Wish I was born a Muslim,
Without the shame of Christian hands,
Wish I was born a woman,
Without the hard wired, violent head,
Wish I wasn't this demagogue, this hulking ego-beast,
Wish I wasn't a slave-master, an empire-builder thief,
Wish I hadn't dropped the A-bomb,
On all those yellow-skinned folk,
Wish I wasn't so clever,
So full of tricks and lies,
Wish I wasn't so far West,
That I am scared to kneel and pray,
But more, much more than this,
I just wish two thirds of the world could forgive me,
For 2,000 years of pain.

(This is an angry poem written from the perpsective of the WASP male - the White Anglo-Saxon Protestant male. That collective identity that has placed itself as the 'top dog' in the world and ensured that there were plenty of 'bottom dogs' on which to prey, whether that be on the grounds of gender, race or religion. And of course I am a WASP myself so I have this in me to some degree, it is in my genes and my conditioning. I know how it is possible to use the intellect as a means to post-rationalise loveless acts because I have done it myself and continue to do so to various degrees. For thirty years I too was too scared to 'kneel and pray' i.e. to admit the possibility that there might be something more powerful in the Universe than the human will and the human brain. If I can feel this anger in me at some level when I am one of the 'top dogs' myself then maybe it gives me a glimspe into how it feels to be have been on the other end of the cultural divide for 2,000 years. What anger lurks in those hidden depths?)

River Deep, Mountain High

Be at your mountain top,
Let the plains be flooded with your bless-ed energy,
Let the clouds take your heavenly shape,
Be at your mountain top,
In the fullness of your creation,
In the bloom of your latency,
Be at your mountain top,
And I will be at mine,
And as you survey this wondrous scene,
Our eyes will meet and greet within,
The waters will surge in the valley of our dreams,
And we will lift our world unto a new domain,
Forever each one of us.

(Like the poem 'Closer', these words use the mountains, clouds and landscapes to create a metaphor for self actualisation at the individual and collective level. The 'wondrous scene' is the prospect of so many million mountain tops stretching into the distance, so many million self actualised individuals, each with their unique beauty and full self-expression. At the point of connection, the 'meeting of the eyes', the mutual recognition, this triggers a deep stirring in the collective unconscious. The metaphor of a rising, flooding energy hints at a shift in consciousness, a new world, a new domain. There is a feeling of pure joy at this prospect!)

The Hinterland

To not invade nor be invaded,
To realise what I am does not need defending,
For it is eternal and invulnerable,
To stand on the border of you and I,
And stand down all the armies that led me here,
Firm and upright and looking you in the eye,
To feel the power that flows through me,
Yet to know that it will not consume me,
Nor will I be tempted to use it irresponsibly,
Nor will I shy away from it such that others will falsley lay claim,
And there to balance the polarities in me,
Recognise, be with and then unite,
A masculine feminine red blue left right hot cold composite,
And here to live and breathe,
Connected to my source in joy and release,
Not fixing you nor being fixed,
Not caring nor caring not,
Not rushing on nor rushing back,
Not looking away nor staring down,
Blazing in a neutral glory,
As God intended me to be,
Like a flower opening its petals to the sun,
Giving without ego, receiving without guilt,
Breathing in and breathing out,
Like a tide that ebbs and flows around its core,
And knowing that in this space all who find me will find themselves,
All who reach out will be reaching in,
All that could be will forever be,
As gently in forgiveness a healing stream washes through this world,
When we stand together in the hinterland.

(This poem uses the metaphor of the 'hinterland' - the undeveloped, rural land outlying a coastal port. What might we find in the 'hinterland' of personal relationships? Relationships based on mutual respect and diversity rather than the need to dominate others or be dominated by them. Many relationships are grounded in fear. To deal with the fear, a person chooses to 'attack' another or to get their 'defence' in first. It is a cycle that we all have learnt as a way of getting by but ultimately it leads to 'war' between people, between groups, between organsiations and between nations. Some give away their power too easily for fear of its potential. Some steal the power of others for fear that they don't have enough for themselves. The poem challenges this world view and challenges the reader to find the power within, to claim this honestly but to use it responsibly. This then is a natural, sustainable power and beauty like that of a flower, like that of the tide. It is a hugely attractive power because of the example it sets to others. It leads to reconciliation, forgiveness and intimacy.)

Birds on the Runway

A thin veil, a cloudy sky,
The flutter of settling wings,
Birds that stall our progress,
Like mice and lice and other little things,
Strange mix of phobia and respect,
Welds us to a past we loathe,
And yet they wait for us,
Those smiling faces on the other side,
Forever waiting, forever smiling
Forever hoping and keeping faith,
Sketching the good times to come,
How could we let them down ?
How could we mothball our dusty engines ?
We scatterers of the birds,
We clearers of the mist,
When will we change our minds,
And honour our forgotten selves ?
When will we stop using our past learning
As the light to guide us now ?

(This poem was inspired by looking out of a plane window as it taxied down the runway and seeing how a huge flock of birds suddenly took off from the concrete as the plane fired up its engines. It is a metaphor for all the 'little things' that can get in the way of us fulfilling our potential. So many excuses for not unleashing our true selves. Why do we do this? Because we are 'welded to a past we loathe'. Yet we know there are people who have fulfilled their potential, we know how happy it has made them and we know they believe we could do the same. The poem challenges the reader to start to move forward, to 'clear the mist', to 'scatter the birds'. The last two lines are taken from the book 'A Course in Miracles' , they challenge the limiting belief that past experience is the best guide to future possibilities.)

Biting the Strawberry

If I snapped off the future claims
And the past travails from this holy instant of Now,
I can sort of see how something new would break free,
Something fearless, smiling and aglow,
If I could live in that space inbetween,
Then I can sort of see,
How my bruises would be healed,
And my expectations rendered obsolete,
Yes, I can sort of grope for this new domain,
And I can sort of open the door,
Sort of free and straight and star spangled light,
Sort of born again in each moment's grace,
Sort of heaven, sort of nice.

(The title of this poem comes from a zen koan - see http://www.zenstrawberry.com/about/ . It is about living in the present moment. The 'space inbetween' is the present moment between the past 'bruises' and the future 'expectations'. The repetitive use of the phrase 'sort of' implies that, on the one hand, this feels like an easy step to make but, on the other, it is strange and full of trepidation. The fear of who we really are?)

Closer

So far now, So far now,
From the tents below
Beyond the tiny point
Of no return
A bridge collapses behind
A rock falls past in silence
To leave the sound of breathing
Breathing in, Breathing Out,
Where are we taking we ?
With our new lungs and limbs
Where are we taking we ?
In this matrix of opportunity
What keeps us going ?
Save the spiritual rope between us
What keeps us going ?
Save the thrill of tomorrow
And looking out on a new sky
And pausing to drink in our laughter and say our prayers
Before commiting ourselves again
To find our highest selves in this changing world

(This poem uses the metaphor of mountaineering to explore a journey of personal development. The 'tents below' represent the starting point of the journey. The 'collapsing bridge' means that there is now no way back. The traveller is left transfixed, frightened yet exhilarated by the possibility of going further. The poem shifts from the 'I' to the 'we' as the traveller recognises that he/she is not alone. There are other travellers on the mountain side and in that realisation can be found strength, excitement, laughter and the shared will to move on another step.)

Bring it Home

Bring it Home,
That which we have found,
Bring it Home,
Make the stories shorter,
For you are the seed,
And this is your garden, your back yard,
Let them know that the knot has torn open,
That which bound our vision,
Let them know that the gates have swung free,
There is no other side of life,
There is no dark side of the moon,
Save in our child-like dreams.
Bring it home,
Make the stories shorter,
For here is the heart of our concerns,
The cradle of our courage,
Amongst the love that has not been forgotten,
And the lives not left behind.

(This poem is difficult to grasp at first read. It comes from the depths! It is open to many interpretations. One interpretation is that it is speaking of the end of a heroic journey when the hero needs to return home, and home is where the heart is. The 'stories' referred to are the dramas and adventures of everyday life. 'Making the stories shorter' refers to getting away from the drama and returning to the things and the people who are really important. Often these people are close by but are ignored or neglected in the rush to make an impression in the world. The hero also returns with 'good news' from his/her travels, 'the knot has torn open', the dramas we were taught as children are not necessarily true ; they are modern myths that keep us small. And the alternative to coming home is to 'leave lives behind' and to 'forget the love'. How many of us have done this then realised our mistake too late?)