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Old as the Hills

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In this world where all truths must have objective criteria, in other words -seen to be believed, day to day life functions on two levels. On the one hand we must adhere to directions promoted by the factual world for our material needs, on the other -inwardly define our present and future on a ‘what if’ basis. Invariably our ‘what if’ mind is a subjective narrative which is stimulated by our desires -more of, or less of, reacting to the strictures of our must have needs.

        Now, the question is this -should our must have needs be driven by the ‘truths’ of the objective world, or should they manifest from our higher nature -that state of consciousness which is not governed by the time/form expression of knowledge?

        The question is as old as the hills. In good times when our relationships are secure, daily needs equitably met, and futures holding no fears, it rarely bugged the mind for answer -in fact the question isn’t formulated. In our present world where needs at all levels have become insecure by an unseen enemy and fear underwrites all enquiry, many are running around like headless chickens because their state of consciousness is not governed by their higher nature.

        If you type into Google the word Soul, Wikipedia has the top spot describing it as a computer-animated comedy-drama film produced by Walt Disney pictures, if you refine the search to ask what is the soul of a person, you get this; ‘Soul or psyche (Ancient Greek: ψυχή psykh, of ψύχειν psýkhein, “to breathe”) comprises the mental abilities of a living being: reason, character, feeling, consciousness, qualia, memory, perception, thinking, etc. Depending on the philosophical system, a soul can either be mortal or immortal.’

The hanger is in the last sentence -either or! As I said to begin with, ‘all truths must have objective criteria’. To state the Soul can be mortal or immortal is frankly, nonsense! It gets worse! If you Google the word Spirit, top of the list you get a dictionary definition, to whit; ‘the non-physical part of a person which is the seat of emotions and character; the soul.’

Clearly, the information world, the governor of our daily needs, not only doesn’t know the difference between Soul and Spirit, neither can it make up its mind if its mortal or immortal. This is why my question is as ‘old as the hills’ -and why I’ve had to formulate it today. We seem to have forgotten what the ‘driver’ is!

I guess the next qualifying question is; ‘How do I know if the ‘driver’ is present?’ You can’t even begin to know if your mind is constantly cluttered with day-to-day wants and fretting about relationships. The start point requires SPACE -yes, space -periods of time when you are consciously clear of your concerns, when the moment is not an avenue to receive or give out, but a moment that allows all thought and feeling to be acknowledged -accepted, and released, in other words when you don’t try to OWN anything. You don’t have to be sitting cross-legged on the floor invoking a deity, or mentally intoning positive thoughts. There’s nothing wrong about such actions but they don’t create space.

To achieve space -walk, preferably unencumbered by bags with your phone switched off. The movement at walking pace, around 2-3 mph, enables you to observe by a process of acknowledgement and acceptance of what you see, hear, or smell, and the act of movement causes release. Provided it’s not your own back garden, nothing you are sensorily aware of belongs to you, so you can accept without conditions. If you do that, truly observing, your own possessive thoughts, no matter how positive or negative they might be, will not intrude, and the result will be a calmer feel better state of overall health on completing the exercise than it was before you started.

When you do this the ‘driver’ will be present. No -it’s not evidenced by a discarnate voice or the sudden arousal of a positive sense of wellbeing. The evidence is in how you subsequently deal with day-to-day events, and the needs thereof. The higher nature we all have is eternally present, it is not judgemental, neither does it demand, or relate to your own or others assessment of your worth. What it does do is give you awareness of self-purpose

Practise, and I can assure you life will have better meaning. Headless chickens will not disturb you!

The poem I’ve written for today is a herald of summer but it has just as much meaning in November & December!

Seeking Winds of May

Down the winding lane I walk
hid by hedge and under bough
that skirl their leafy sounds anyhow
in the seeking winds of May.

Going nowhere with a purpose
talking secrets with my feet
marching to the cyclic beat
of natural worlds at play.

Pausing at the path smooth head
over which the white clouds scud
stopping, watching cows chew cud
hear the dark horse neigh.

Ambition-less, I am asexual
just conscious of my nose
down I go where the river flows
to greet the end of day.

Not wanting less than everything
I sit rod-less on its banks
eyeing the silver fishes’ shanks
oblivious of time.

Then someone overshadows me
Bow in hand, feminine and fey
and about me SHE draws a line

in the seeking winds of May.

Evidential Messages

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If you have belief in the After Life you will know what is meant by the title of my blog this week -in short such messages can give proof loved ones are alive and well beyond the grave. Individually we will have different demands of proof as they relate to our personal relationship histories -and more dependent upon the balance of our mental and emotional health at that time. Guilt or anger can block reception, and of course feelings of grief following a loss can numb the mind to any form of evidence.

        In the current environment the normal concerns we have for the health of our loved ones has intensified and we endeavour to follow whatever advice is promoted by politicians who are adamant they follow the science. At present vaccine trials providing positive results is having more air time than the daily negative statistics of positive covid tests and recorded deaths. Everyone involved to produce a viral-free environment is doing their best to make it happen.

        If you are looking for evidential messages -trying to gain comfort and reassurance in the welter of information streaming abroad through all and every media method of communication, and not yet satisfied, you are one of many. Ultimately the goodness of your health, physical and mental well being, is based upon what you personally do to promote it -actions that are evidential.

        During the earlier lockdown phase that began in March I published advice on how to care for yourself and your loved ones -in addition to the sensible public advice on washing hands, social distancing etc. One of the first things I mentioned was using coconut oil on hands and face (in particular nose and lips). A clinically conducted trial in the Philippines on taking it internally positively recorded preventative benefits, which is interesting because the population uses the oil more so than we do in Britain, and their death rate due to Covid is less than 2.0% -and that in a less socially controlled environment. If it interests you to read more about this study, click here https://www.euroweeklynews.com/2020/10/19/scientists-in-the-philippines-claim-coconut-oil-destroys-coronavirus/

Unless a mask is close fitting to the skin and has a ventilator it cannot be a 100% form of protection, though it will guard you against the coughs and splutters of covid positive people. On wearing any other type of mask or shield will generate a moist atmosphere from your breath and the air breathed will mix with that before ingested to the lungs -hence why I recommended coconut oil which breaks up the outer coating of the virus -which is its means of attaching itself to you.

        What can you do to maintain good health, or otherwise fight off cold and flu like symptoms?

        Take vitamin D -why D? Because naturally you would get that from sunlight, and we don’t get much of that this time of year. What does it do? Vitamin D helps regulate the amount of calcium and phosphate in the body. These nutrients are needed to keep bones, teeth and muscles healthy. It also helps lift depression and mood changes. Take Zinc -why Zinc? It helps the immune system fight off invading bacteria and viruses. The body also needs zinc to make proteins and DNA, the genetic material in all cells. And if you have a stuffy nose and mucous in the throat -have a warm water and salt gargle, works wonders.

        Given most of us have to get our food from supermarkets detoxification is an insurance against build up of toxins in the body caused by the ‘preservative’ elements in food. Drink herbal tea, or just green tea, ginger, or rooibos tea. Got a sweet tooth then add honey, don’t go down the sugar route! And what can you include to your menu to further help? Fresh garlic, cloves, ginger, and if you are spicing things up -turmeric. And if you are not spicing things up -take turmeric as a supplement, you don’t have to be suffering aches and pains to get benefit from turmeric.

        We are spending much more time indoors, not only because of the time of year, but because we are restricted on outdoor activities. Most of us have central heating -it dries up the atmosphere and that facilitates the spread of viruses. If you don’t have a humidifier -drape damp towels over the rads or place containers of water in the direct emanation of their heat. Have some essential oils? If so, any one of these have natural antibiotic antiviral properties -cinnamon, peppermint, eucalyptus, geranium, lemon, thyme, or oregano oil. Put a few drops in the water.

        Given all the right things you do ingesting food and drink, it won’t have much effect if your BodyMind ‘clock’ is too slow or too fast. What does that mean? If you eat after 7.00 p.m. the body takes longer to process it and not so efficiently and you tend to sleep later, or you sleep when the body is still dealing with your food. If you comfort eat that also will upset the ‘clock’. All this means you get up later and again alter the body ‘clock’. So, quite simply develop a routine of eating and sleeping -and stick with it. Ideally get up by 8.00 a.m. breakfast before 9.00 a.m. Lunch 12.30 -1.30, Evening meal between 6 and 7. A warm non-alcoholic, non-caffeine drink late evening is fine.

        Now lastly, what are the evidential messages that show you are maintaining good health?

  1. You sleep well
  2. You get up feeling refreshed
  3. Bowel movement should be at least once a day
  4. Mentally your mind should be clear
  5. Emotionally you are not moody
  6. Physically movements do not fatigue you (you can get tired from over exertion, but that’s not the same thing).
  7. And most of all -you feel good in yourself; not worrying or cooking concerns.

Poem I’ve written for this week is:

The reassuring Voice

Ah, winsome love, what aches your heart, breaks
the rhythm of your mentor’s rhyme, stuns you into silence?
Does the world debase and sully your native innocence
trade on your gentleness, draw on the giving Self?
Do you fear the well has gone dry and life’s effort
a hoist of cold rocks, the brain tired of strictures,
Of duty -duty denying the Self?

Let your fears flee to the winds
Let go memories that haunt you
Have them find oblivion in the shifting sands of time.
The healer’s hands cup your face
The power of love turns back the clock
Years vanish and youth smiles
The mystery deepens
wordless expressive
timeless love

©TonyAshenden

Childish Things

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Last week I wrote about our greatest enemy -fear. And fear is the No. 1 stress maker. The effect of stress upon relationships can cause breaks, in any event it will affect how we express and change the nature of the bond we share. It can turn the emotional mind inward -at best needless self-reflection, at worst causing anxiety. When a child sucks its thumb we are inclined to believe it is reverting to the emotional bond with its mother -comforted by the breast, in retreat from an insecure world. When we are adult we ‘put away childish things’ (to quote 1 Corinthians 13:11), instead we revert to our smartphones, computers, and TV’s.

I know, I hear what you say, smartphones are essential. In our present world of restricted social and work interaction the mobile phone has become a lifeline; a means of staying in touch with loved ones we cannot see, to shop, manage the business of making a living, monitor and make decisions on how we spend -but it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s a comfort -if you leave the house without it, you are not dressed right, or if it’s mislaid, everything stops until you find it. We may not like to admit it but we are addicted to the damn things. And for many social media is a mental and emotional environment that begins before breakfast and doesn’t cease until they fall asleep -for them it has become a compulsion -without it, they don’t feel connected, feel unwanted, unappreciated, lacking purpose. That innocent looking wad of metal and plastic in your pocket or handbag can ruin real-life relationships, suppress the ability to be conscious of real time, change the nature of your BodyMind energies, fill the heads with useless information, and determine what is done next.

We don’t initiate -we react. A Brave New World scenario where the elite govern by suggestion, where freedom of choice is the mantra of power, refusal is not smart, and people without phones and computers don’t count.

IT gurus hire people they call attention engineers. Experts in usage statistics from which they develop advertising strategies and give birth to new applications designed in such a way people stay connected for longer. Whenever we upload a picture or update our status on social media, we wait to see how many people will like the picture. How much like has gone to us? How many social shares and comments our post has got. According to research, when you use a cell phone, a chemical continuously discharges from your brain, which is called “Dopamine”. This Hormone is called the “Feel Good Hormone”. According to studies, this hormone is released if you drink or smoke. It means we can be addicted to our cell phones or a soap on TV as we can be slave to drugs. There are restrictions over the usage of drugs and cost alone can limit how much you drink or smoke, but cell phones, computers and TV’s are made easy to buy and there are no restrictions on usage. Whenever we feel uneasy or lonely, more often than not, we think about using our cell phone, laptop, or switching on the TV.

And how often do some people represent themselves on social and business media not as they are -instead how they would like to be known? You know it happens a lot, so in turn you become cautious on how you represent yourself to them. They fake you and you fake them. Not good is it? It is a fact that the way some people represent themselves on social media is not the real way they show a fake lifestyle. As much as they seem to be happier on social media in real life they aren’t as happy.

Stress, anxiety and depression are the outcomes of reactive lifestyles. We are constantly being addressed by the media 24-7, even when we are asleep, so to speak ‘dead to the world’, the subconscious mind is mulling over concerns and needs, and though you might not realise it also open to ultra-high frequencies that propagate like to like communications. So, how do you deal with it?

To start with we must accept that the world of IT is here to stay -the need of phones, computers and TV’s won’t go away. What we must do is reduce the level of reactiveness in our lives and regain our true identities. The way to do that is to uniquely create -it can be as simple as doing something with your hands, making, repairing, gardening -even cleaning. Any activity requiring focus and attention which provides a pleasing result. It can be artistic if you are so minded, and if you’re not, crafting is a capability open to all -again simple does the trick as well as a more skilled person does. And if you can’t engage in a practical way -give a service to another person. Why creative -why do I call it a game-changer?

Before you had the ability to speak and interact consciously with the world you had a very clear idea of what made you happy. Consciously that was comfort from eating, sleeping, and knowing you were cared for -feelings that arose from the instinctual urge to live. That urge is a maker, a creator born of a higher Self. When we get older and ‘put away childish things’, see in a mirror darkly, know only in part, we forget who we are, take comforts to assuage anxieties. Giving rebirth to your creative nature is the road to regaining your true identity -love of oneself.

I hope you like the poem I’ve written today -it beats like the heart, remind us of our true self.

Love Chant

Who moves my hand tapping the keys,
whirls my head, weakens my knees,
fingers my heart, turns works into art?

Who is the voice stopping all fears,
providing true rest, drying all tears,
shaking my head, raising the dead?

Am I the puppet in a God like play
centre stage on a Summer’s day
pulled by strings any which way?

How am I able make gold from waste,
hold the tongue and check its haste,
cause this poem chant like a heart?

Feel the force that heals by hand,
Instantly causing the lame to stand,
Or know how I’m able to speak?

It can only be Love that truth of old
Creation’s cause made to one mould
Power to all to prevent Man’s fall.

©TonyAshenden

Avoiding the Plague!

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                Hey ho -here we go -again! I last wrote to you in July, ‘Actions to blend Body & Soul’ with the expectation, as us all, restrictions easing would mean a gradual return to normal life, but no, it’s been anything but normal and now we have our fingers crossed Christmas will be sort of normal. No doubt like myself you’ve been doing your best to avoid the plague -no I’m not talking about the virus; I’m talking about fear.

The news, when we feel we must listen, is continually advising statistics that are skewed to promote the ‘stay safe’ message, as if we need reminding. There will always be some whose idea of common-sense only applies to their own wants and needs, congregating in socialising groups at indoor venues. What makes such people act so selfishly?

It’s fear -fear of losing their sense of freedom, an instinctual fear of oppression which would erode their sense of identity. Am I suggesting it should be condoned in the current environment? No, I am not. Why? Because if the herd instinct were to prevail many more people would get seriously ill and some lose their lives. Conversely, those of us who adhere to the lockdown restrictions and strictly follow all stay safe rules can also instinctually fear a loss of security as this virus can be transmitted asymptomatically.

All governments are in a cleft stick -they must listen and be guided by the science and necessarily promote blanket controls. Ok, so they don’t get it always right, or advise timely enough, but hey, don’t shoot the pianist! Instead ask yourself how best are you able to maintain and develop your sense of identity and be of good health.

The product of fear is unnecessary stress, if you are stressed beyond the need to actively engage body and soul it builds into a foundation of ill health. The root protection each of us have is our immune system, if that gets weakened by the effects of stress we are susceptible to illness, a physically recognisable malady or disease, and/or a mental and emotional disorder, and suffer from anxiety. And needless stress can work tops down as well as bottoms up. If you get depressed or mentally lethargic, eat and drink wrongly, indulge in fast foods and E-rated goodies, the immune system suffers.

So, today I’m just going to remind you how to deal with stress.

What are the Causes of STRESS?

There is no universally recognized set of causes for STRESS -triggering situations that are not in themselves favourable or unfavourable for everyone in general. The truth is they are irremediably related to different spheres of life personally. Fundamentally therefore we individually manage stress differently -how we do that determines whether we succeed. However, it is valid to highlight the undeniable negative natured situations we each may face, such as -loss of a loved one, inadequate emotional expression (passive or aggressive), loss or diminution of social interaction, lack of interesting activity or change in life, adoption of harmful lifestyles.

How to Deal with STRESS?

Firstly- we must not put our heads in the sand -acknowledge tensions are part of life’s trajectory. Secondly, acknowledge we cannot eliminate them completely, and accept we must learn to master them. Personal growth will always help us bear burdens -so, how can you achieve a healthy activity and a balance in life?

It is not astute to allow negativity. Events, circumstances, and unmanageable situations will cause an imbalance in your mental, emotional, and physical state proportional to your adjustment or adaptation effort. Just thinking badly weakens you, makes you more vulnerable, leads to a forced accumulation of emotions, and harmful feelings. This makes you lose objectivity while affecting your stability and quality of life. Your sensory nature will govern the BodyMind if you positively tune it. Do not self-inject poison!

Although it sounds scary to deal with STRESS, you can do it! An advantageous position in this sense is to perceive it as a challenge -positively assert likeable feelings in yourself, don’t focus on ideas that minimize or make you feel incapable of coping. People, especially those close to you, will offload to your listening mind -acknowledge and accept they are doing it (don’t judge them) and release it from your mind immediately. This way you can be positively helpful to them in response. It will raise your self-esteem, self-belief, and authenticity.

Prolonged stress leads to distress -inability to cope, when this happens the production of certain hormones affect the immune systems functions, making you vulnerable to health problems mentally, emotionally, and physically. Symptoms can be palpitations, tremors, sweating, rapid breathing, digestion problems, sleep disorders, and other physiological changes. In the emotional order, it is associated with nervousness, irrational fear, sensitivity, lack of appetite, and demotivation. Behavioural changes can take place -reducing the capacity for attention, and decision making. To prevent damaging stress here are a few pointers.

  1. Establish your priorities. What are they? They are needs which make you feel good!
  2. Don’t push yourself to hard. Pushing too hard is you trying to bolster self-belief.
  3. Delegate and share. Allow others to take part and give back.
  4. Be creative. In essence it’s any expression of giving. Will always refresh the mind.
  5. Eat regularly and try not to after 7.00 p.m. Your BodyMind will ‘lose the plot’ if you refuel out of hours and keep changing eating times.
  6. Sleep when your brain mind is rested -if you have to bludgeon it to sleep, the curative restorative powers of BodyMind will not generate. Have pleasurable thoughts prior to sleep.
  7. Believe in yourself -you are unique! Never compare yourself with others.
  8. Breathe with your tummy -not with your chest. Both body and mind will benefit. Proper breathing increases the power of concentration and builds stamina.
  9. Match the exercise of mind with exercise of the body. Take a walk first thing in the morning. If your brain slows down in the afternoon -take a walk.
  10. Don’t give up activities that give you pleasure -make the most of what you can do.
  11. Home might be your ‘castle’ -don’t live in it all the time. The atmosphere needs to change to remain healthy. You are the major contributor to the character of home environment -get out for a while, makes all the difference

It is never too late to modify lifestyles; undue stress ages you!

Today’s positive vibe poem I’ve written for you is – ‘The Pulse of Love’

Photo by Tatiana Syrikova on Pexels.com

What mystery love is, what thief of time?
Robber of sense, enemy of law
and destroyer of judges it is?
Think not only of youth’s embrace
or the old crones’ lament,
feel the pulse in your voice.

Do not look for the clock to slow,
or dread each quarter chime,
love is not absent
or in your acceptance arbitrary.
It is as Will said, an ever fixéd mark
the DNA cannot be changed.

Love grows the shape you are known by
and change it must,
patterned unkindly by time.
Lest you forget,
remember mirrors are for walking through,
hesitate and be mystified.

Love is forever painting pictures,
stop to admire, enthuse,
but do not hold your breath.
Seek to possess
and loves’ mystery deepens the more.
Celebrate the changing tapestry of life!

Love has many faces -its heart
is the pulse in your voice.

November Knives

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Listen as you read!

November knives
are sharp from rarely cutting trees
with ice
keen to spread the Autumn still
disorderly
too dead leaf mounds and twisted pyres
of broken branches dying.
Angry with the suddenness of death
upon the long-life summer
still gestating seeds
incubating the morrow’s generation.

No respecter steel
of the horny scale stern stemmed anticipate
killer of sweeting herbs laid out of nurseries.
Their strike is totality
the savage straight and understood
unshackled slave
the Left of Azoth’s* court ordained
Murder’s license.
The cyanide of breathing green and making red
writ with freedom and the blessing.

Their respect the reaching hand
smite upon the pale cheek
down-flecked, small bird,
lion hearted solitaire
late and lonely from the crowded nest.
Nelson eye
mistaking promised land
left in folly for the cockfight.

Permission
now the pipe through which the blowing
water freezing
spear-like knives
aim immutably their changing numbers.
Now the form and clearly seen
disguise upon the ugly cripple-noise of air.
Now the Magi calling
spell upon the freezing sphere
for the maiden
less her fall-a-leafing cares
and the pretty snow comes charging
sleeked
venomous with wedding fever.

The negative of burning trees
is born in fire beneath the blackened Guy
scarce the single six
shrivels the dry exhausted
breast of summer
and defers the passing pagan night
to favour dawn a frosted coat.
And is quick
in taking close the negligee
and becoming Charon’s wife.

And yet the Phoenix rebirths
diversifies the one intent so purpose
as the Spaniard
blanket hand before his steel
tricks by sleight of hand
the promise death.
Turns the unresolved
by resolution hand upon itself
to suicide and school again.

And so, the zenith of the black
does not appear
will not give the flawless jewel
beginning’s chance
less the cause of all the living dies
for never having death.

©TonyAshenden

Azoth is the essential agent of transformation. It is the name given by ancient alchemists to Mercury, the animating spirit hidden in all matter that makes transmutation possible. As the Universal Life Force, Azoth is not only the animating energy (spiritus animatus) of all manifest forms of life, but also the inspiration and enthusiasm that moves incarnation intelligence. In the cosmos, and within each of us, Azoth is the mysterious evolutionary force responsible for the relentless drive towards physical and spiritual perfection. The line, ‘the Left of Azoth’s court ordained’ analogies the Universal Life Force as a Monarch, and the court of many forms which it manifests -all of which are appointed, and subject to the needs of the ‘Monarch’. Describing the court as having a Left (and a Right) purpose is giving it a negative (as opposed to positive) action. The Universal Life Force is a creator having the power to make and break, cause or complete, begin and end. The power of Life and Death. The perpetuating cycle of the Phoenix opposes the Left of Azoth’s court.

The Seeking Winds of May

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Down the winding lane I walk
hid by hedge and under bough
that skirl their leafy sounds anyhow
in the seeking winds of May.

Going nowhere with a purpose
talking secrets with my feet
marching to the cyclic beat
of natural worlds at play.

Pausing at the path smooth head
over which the white clouds scud
stopping, watching cows chew cud
hear the dark horse neigh.

Ambition-less, I am asexual
just conscious of my nose
down I go where the river flows
to greet the end of day.

Not wanting less than everything
I sit rod-less on its banks
eyeing the silver fishes’ shanks
oblivious of time.

Then someone overshadows me
Bow in hand, feminine and fey
and about me She draws a line
in the seeking winds of May.

©TonyAshenden

Love’s Weaver

Photo by Roxanne Shewchuk on Pexels.com

The weaver bending arms of twisted knotted yarns
serves the loom and the loom a pattern makes.
And bent upon the stool, his eyes direct upon the thread
between weft and weave, his vision skips.

The shuttle smooth moves through the shed
to the clack of treadles pressed;
feeling more than seeing, every bone reactive
To the rise and falling weaving shafts.

The sun arcs through the window overhead
dying unnoticed in the west and in the cool
unseen light of night, clouds arise to hide the stars.
Bobbins twirling empty are replaced.

He labours not for kudos or for rates.
As every yarn entwines it speaks;
heddle and treadle selecting straighten out
and the loom alive a drumming music makes.

Star and sun dance light within his bobbing head;
the weavers’ needs are met, and the soul unfurls.
Love that has a thousand-silent sounding ee’s
Spins on to weave for all eternity.

©TonyAshenden

Writ of Habeas – Corpus

[A writ to a jailer to produce a prisoner in person and to state the reasons of detention]

Soldier do your eyes have the lights that flash
out of tanks in the face of the snub
of a terrorist gun and in they shine
when his message of soft lead erupts
from the lips of a shimmering barrel?

Do they reanimate a frantic heart
sick of your Karma, loosen the bowel;
trigger the playback of loving regrets
before the balance of blood is lost,
spilling to the ground with slivers of lead?

Or soldier, did you die the night before
in Believer’s Heaven, locked in the crotch
of a dark haired Houri, filched so you thought
from underneath Mohammed’s slippered feet;
virgin and wanting your dissolution?

She perhaps, taking sap that trees the nerves
before the five – first? Aids to earth exchanged
for the bright sight of a plum on the breast!
No doubt your bloodshot eyes and rising smoke
wring a coupling promise from that climax.

You’re a crime soldier, you embarrassed
the breach – you caused it release
in black chamber the redness that wept
the no time that takes time, sputter of pain;
unrepentant, the lover at the head.

Soldier, the lipstick of blood is smudging
your collar, face twists like a child’s’ first clay.
Can you now see who judged and passed sentence
on your innocence? Your slide is the breast.
Soft lead, the mat of your down flowing river.

© TonyAshenden

The Rose that beggars Fantasy

Listen as you read!

My love what cheerless world asleep
in towered keeps and half-lit streets,
waking dream on sullen skies ridged grey;
Lay waste land and cause the grey weird sea
chill the heart of you and me?

What world awoken from dreams
of meadows, water mills, and painter’s scenes,
would tolerate the angered sky, the leaf shorn tree;
the frost that blights the first-born bud, above
the half-closed mist born eye of love?

Oath of God would life not be worth living
were love not rooted deep in giving?
Selfish worlds are drunk, dreaming fantasy;
such men are never found in sight
crossing borders of the Christos Light.

Soft rose whose petal fusing heart will give
attiring the sweetest heart to ever live,
deliverance in the dawning day will come
refusing the permanence of death, and arise
to prove the cause of all the living never dies.

©TonyAshenden

The Ribbon of a Madman’s’ Weave

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Listen as you read!

Granite Sliver
Arrowhead I see you spurned
by Pigmy Bowman
yet you suffice and scathe
the greening mortar…
Mind that delibly records
attempt
my show and outward personality.

This ribbon of a madman’s weave
is the tape of all my saying
small
border thin and compass hand
the clutch and stay
Fingers….
Placing granite slabs to face
their palms of tungsten flesh
toward the shortened eye.

Yet soon
the tongue of this my wise and scrawl
became as fever pitch
and heavy as the hammer held
halfway in arc
deliberating
as the mother would pressing
down urging fingers
in the lock of Isis eye
to the agony that is mother
And now is mine.

Is birth!

The warder
had me carry seven days in labour
waiting…
before the fertilising seed became
and his eye perceived
the ribbon of wise inflicted
with my word and writing.

He stared
examined even to the letter head
lost in mergence to the polished stone
turning, smiled….
Father dimly smiling through the stain of glass
in the
you can never tell
about face….

He left and straight informed the governor.

The hammer struck
the child full born umbilical cut
began to cry….
My eyes were full of faces
demanding
outstretching palms of tungsten flesh.
Their right they screamed
is feeding first
why was I no askance waiting?

They spread upon my word
the slime
and their cement that matched the slab
and then..
Fingers turned upon themselves
they commanded-
called my clutching hand to lease
my living Scribe
this chipping sliver of their granite.

They took.

…. that morning after
before the ashen face
nether time of wanting day whilst less the night
there stood eight mourners
neath the sky bowl blooding red
in their caps of prison grey
and the circle turning tribute
was the sower spreading quicklime.

And in my cell

There stood another
waiting for the shining mortar’s greening mould.

© TonyAshenden

The Creator’s Confession


There are some words in this poem you may not be familiar with. In order of mention they are as follows:
Hur: Is the name given to the inner core of planet Earth -the primary source of matter and mind root from which Earth developed.
Aster: Is the name of a large planet in the Milky Way which exploded and gave birth to our solar system.
Fohat: Is the animating principle electrifying every atom into life. During the process of manifestation, it is the cosmic energy which produces differentiation of primordial cosmic matter to form the different forms of consciousness, therefore Fohat is the link between Spirit and Matter, subject and object.
The twice & thrice born person addressed by the creator in the last stanza should not be regarded as a pattern of reincarnation, rather they describe a process of soul reformation. Twice-born is earthly reformation, Thrice-born is heavenly reformation. This kind of reformation can otherwise be defined as ‘the camel able to pass through the eye of a needle’.
 
And so to the poem….
You can listen to it here….

The story I am about to tell began
before the first ammonite hardened its shell,
before your blackheart mountains were rivers of red
and swims of clear water had not yet fallen as rain;
before even Hur was cast into Hell
and the soporific dust that held prison his might
had yet to be formed from the celestial storm
of Aster’s last embrace with the stars.

Where Love was lost….

Love is forever becoming; the moment of life
poised unto death, born in the heart
existing apart from all that you know.
Priceless, unreachable, mysterious Self.

The rarest of jewels….

The story I tell begins before tongue,
before the screech, the roar, and the hissing
of elements embattled to make of themselves
creational worlds and Fohat had yet to cause
It has no meaning to you twice-born
until I caused life to know death.
After the cooling Earth formed crust
and the sulphurous clouds ceased their circle,
there I took lung from the water and filled it with air.
After cooling, and the first trees had breathing leaves

souls were born….

Light encrusted with matter in hope of Salvation,
Fish, fowl, amphibia, and latterly beasts.
Yes, they were soul born; amoebic hopes
that by tempest, fire, and the heat of ice
evolved by birth and death in every season.
Taking as when taking must; leaving be,
not having when having was no need.
Yes, I was well pleased with progress
however, success has its own undoing,
Light separated from the Seeds of Soul.
I should have known, identifying Myself
with creation -the cause is of Me
and the cause is unrepentant.

The cause became two -two became three
Mind became Matter, Matter became mind….

And so, twice-born, soon to be thrice,
many times born of my wheel forming heaven
and sired by the captive imprisoned Hur,
there’s no end to your becoming until I cease.
Light and Matter will then achieve peace.

   
    
 

On a Picture of a Nude Reclining

Listen as you read!

The sheen of folded draperies
warm resplendent curves of your bronze
bright body. Your smile an ever
present remembrance, suggest
joyous eyes that never weep.

Through the meagre apertures
of half-hid windows, blue skies burst
and grow their light upon your breast,
the stilled image grasping at my loins
evoking half-lit fantasies

never dreamt of in your head.
Your strange unnatural silence
rather than offending, draws me
trance-like to your wood framed
world. My staring -your silence

causes the consciousness I feel
to achieve in this encounter
the bewilderment of knowing;
you in the painting, the self twice known
I in my shell. a pearl-like stone.

© TonyAshenden

The Water Mill

Listen as you read -for your enjoyment!

Many times have I sat by the water mill
in the damp grass and in the dry
feasting my body upon the wheel splash
slaking my senses;
worshipping buttercup crowns and primrose groves,
my mind free to landscape and sky dream
knowing that havens are hard to come by;
impermanent places.

Coming here when the seasons are fair
and the beech woods sing with bird talk;
caressing my ear with their melodies
giving soul reformation.
Observing the change of winter scarred trees,
knuckles of soft bark renewing torn limbs
the buds of new boughs appearing;
without proclamation.

It saddens me to see the mill is deserted
the paddles seized by chickweed and gorse,
the stream gentle and ebbing away
through watercress meadows.
The miller who might have been head of the stream,
Keeper and Dam Builder has
powdered his hand between the mill stones,
the last yield of flour having long since departed.

The curious have bought the tack of cob horses,
Coriander grows in the cart ruts.
The gate is unhinged
and the mill purse empty of men.
I see green lichen eat the smooth stone
oak lintels sag over moss covered frames,
and I am entranced by design,
composition and colour –and wonder

what plants have rooted and grown
in this silent omnivorous world,
that will seize on my house, empty my purse
and feed on my bone?

© TonyAshenden

The Soma Samaritan

Listen as you read -or just listen!

Last night my instant mind
wraith like uncoiled its luminous head
and like all good mysteries
left my body in bed, warm to the skin of my spouse.
Unsuspected left the house, passing
through walls and other substantial things
seeking no byway to celebrate freedom,
vision only for the ubiquitous presence
of a troubled friend.

Finding the dark and humourless shell
where colours are pale, and sounds deep
as if heard from a well.
In this house where the cry escaped
and reached my ears beside my mate
I see a soul in hibernation,
a maelstrom of movement
in which may be seen pain
of intruders eschewing the Spirit,
a legion of wants suppressing need
the ache of a body seeking to balance
in favour of peace, no matter the price
or the length of the lease.

I am radiation a golden cascade
a silver-winged creature, sensing
soothing the troubled dark shade.
Cleansing, creating, and fulfilling a vow
commanding the sepulchre revive its undead.
Holding the breathing unconscious sweet soul
until life brightness stems from the spine
and flows from the head.

United therein, harmony prevails
purpose and will rebirthed
she is no longer alone.
I dissolve from her presence
and seek my own bed.
Returning to self through sickness and doubt
lying awake, afraid and diminished
a frantic heart upon a humourless bed,
until music from the night shores
comforts my head
and I sleep the sleep of one who is dead.

© TonyAshenden

Senilità

Feel free to just listen, or listen as you read!

Senilità
(As a man grows older…)

Cold turn my putty blue
and let me leave
my sorry self-appointed imposition
state of Senilità,
this shadow of my footstep fear
Frankenstein of my conceit
of whom I aped in sweeter note
as the satire sword
when I was prentice of this night.

Tis the bruise upon my apple fallen,
Brutus to my Caesar,
the malformed child made conscious.
And by my expertise
I have the life-long-game of chess
made stalemate
whose colours now reveal
no substance fiction
belly laughing shallow truth.

All my fear is Senilità
a thousand-tickling tales of doubt
the smallest part of virile statement
easy come by.
The battery of baseless facts that made me man
are the powdered leaves
of a selfish summer.
Now the water of my close
is mixed
the question of you do after death
has burnt this mess of pottage
and shaped me as the begging bowl.

Senilità
You shame of all the Y man sought
accepted scar
and the weeping priest
mortal made immortal bishop,
Pharisee of double mean-less vision.
To the monastery of children
there confess with ease
nonchalance of being server
to the weeping priest
of being Senilità.

Here by the speak of unripe fact
sick the swelling puffing yeast
the husk of all your learning
home to Babel
and name it
grandeur of the Pharisee.
Let your toothless cringing face
be the symbolled skull
cross-boned school of level thought
and one horizon.

No -never
I cannot as tears
as negative I am
the six-aged one life yes man
cry wolf again,
charge the greater part of me
to war.
I be the autumn of the shortest summer
making where to start
my cyclopaedic book of error.

© TonyAshenden

A day in the night of the Walking Sleeper

………….. In the no start never finish real of the spark

Listen as you read!

Ah! The pain
the wanting all over dilemma
sober reach out
sweet grape of confusion;
a duchess spread out on her savage’s bed
willing her blood
red to the lips of her lackeying male,
neither caring the speech or the stain of his whip.
Taking the seventh
of her seconding breaths at the weep of secretion.

Comes now the concentration;
the apex of arc,
the long-drawn laugh of the physical man.
The peak,
then the plummet of an up thrown stone;
extinguishing fire.
Then the cold
Darkness of Earth
and then the winter of a why gloom face
frosting the smile of devil cares not
into peaceful beginning;
a child in the low of the arc,
weak murmur of problem.

And yet in end it begins;
in the no start never finish real of the spark,
in the still heard gasp
mute echo of Psi fleeing the white.
In the good die young
the crude soldier damning
as with the devils and the un-vowed nun;
the same design.
All blind fisherman in the day-night
casting pearls
from the corporeal banks of unsettled sublimity.

It manifests
as harpoon with a white heat line;
the strongest plus and minus seed.
All charge of the instrument cannon,
Time Traveller
to the state of perpetual climax; there
as the spear of the deepest descent.
The finder receiving
the arranged and irrevocable choice
the twin of sex;
Satan-Father coalesced.

I am the smoke of a Mannikin burnt

Free. Free at last

Cool waters
imprisoned mass of colouration
say fie now-
sediment, syringe of my Elixir.
Fie! Laugh you now
the life is drawn
to drinking state of Christos?

I left your immobility
with the sigh
of my becoming.

Whose reason called
the crack of dawn my death?

Shadow barren of my love
keep the silver of that
State spend it
on the flowers of your grave.

Creature
after calling Solomon to testify himself
keep your hammer
inside your sarcophagus.

I remember roses
imitations of the fire reflecting
on the cheeks
my last winter’s face
crinkled with the onward coming
Retribution-

that my lazy legs were faults
of not attending church
saw my Book
the dog-eared blotted one

but even then

the coin of sailors slang would gutter
sing the spit of my petulance
leave me
shrunk a little more to child.

And the roses I remember
from the fire
were the devil shadows beckoning.

Now I see you muted shell
as the illusion of my living

Lie mirror!

I, the silver of your backing
leave you transparent.
You cannot fix my soul
or image me in time.

Bubble -you have burst
Fie! Fie!
I am in sight of no horizons
I am the Minister

and I

Am the Ministry.

The Price of Fish

Pray hard for the men who hunt the deep sea
in their cockleshell boats out of Clyde
who scour the cold swims of Poseidon’s green head
filling iced holds with dead alive-eyes.
Where the North wind screech is God’s
angered ethereal Hand, and fear
is the shake of worn riveted plate and
Love is a church locked up on the land.

Elemental wind do not keep them from shore
They who dare open the water blue door.

Pray strong for men who haunt the cod swims
Hymned only by the white garish moon
and wind-snatched callings of seabirds scorning.
Skins scolded eyes shrunk in the Arctic blast
laughing as the pawls judder and grind
heaving the trawl, engine complaining.
Who love the deep sea with a savagery
spit, swear, and piss in the lee.

Elemental wind do not rage for their souls
their fathers have paid the fish stealing tolls.

Pray love for the sons of water and blood,
patient for the calm, eager to net
and ever ready to chase the white fish
over mountainous crests, under
the pale dark bruising wet sky.
Casting net to web Gods’ octopus head
clawing the fish from his shivering throat,
their lives threatened by the weight of the prize.

Elemental wind, do not anger the sea
Man and his mistress must ever be free.

©TonyAshenden

Ghosts in Breakers Creek

In muddy mouthed Portsea Creek unwatched
forgotten ships lay beached and breathless,
dashed and smashed cut and bled, weather
beaten, picked and broken by the dockside
stooping crane’s bill collecting scrap.

Their final journeys over shallows dragging
barnacle crusted bottoms over shingle
groaned past the red flagged gunnery range,
pulled and pushed by impatient tugs, aware
falling tides and sucking mud claim victims.

Robbed by landsman, written out of registers,
church empty bridges balefully glistening glare
untold stories of once purposed lives, men
who swore repeatedly like lovers on heat,
trumpeting the union of engine and steel.

Now their ghosts can be heard in the small
of the night blowing base horns, heaving
anchors, turning their screws seaward,
reliving purpose, blending rusted hulls
to the sea and the never ending sky.

© TonyAshenden

Poetry is addictive

If you are not already aware -be warned, writing poetry is addictive. You may like me have other writing skills prose-like, non-fiction, fiction, or faction. If you get hooked on writing a poem, in your heart of hearts you know you cannot finish it until it’s a work of art -that means every word must count, they must be the right words, and the poem must be more than words alone convey.

It’s addictive because we can never be sure we have achieved, not only birthed but given long life to the piece.

In many years of ‘garret writing’ there’s one difficult lesson which must be learnt, that is -don’t file it in the pending tray, publish the damn thing, because art is an evolutionary process. Pieces do not mature into art if they remain stuck in your mind. The blank sheet of paper is only terrifying when the mind is still hosting ‘unfinished’ poems.

After you post it’s gone from your mind -later perhaps you might unpublish and rework. My experience tells me the piece gets better, and ….. and ….. it might also be unworkable -possibly a work of art!