Posted on by Glenn Mower

Creative Meditations: Week two

Here’s the collective poem from week two:

Flowering Flutes

Blossom and all it represents

Loss and Beauty

Tethering chords of dischord and delight

Pluck tears of joy for my heart.

Callibrating ill-ease

I try

Moving more into the Light

I try

Magnetising Love within and without.

Golden and flowing and ever expanding

Happiness becomes a new nectar of life

To live

To love

 And even to Be

Sometimes, often times

 These pen movements

On paper

Tune like a song

When the flute is set free.

A collective poem that emerged within the ten minute ‘in the moment’ writing by those attending Creative Meditations on Feb 13 2025.

Posted on by Glenn Mower

Light

Soft rays breeze silver for waxing green leaves

Red berry hands beauty to stem strangled weeds

Crows hack out the skyline

Slime chewed rooting succumbs to their fate

Wood pigeon soothes hedgerows of dense

Sparrow space

Tall grass bows their seed heads

While nestling docks bring

Damp balm to the woodlouse

And the nettles sharp sting.

Posted on by Glenn Mower

Beacons of Heart

Kindness in greeting

So thankful to gather

To find less together

Outside-ness and cold
















Friendships received in





Sweet harmonisations





Raptures unwrapping





Both newness and old















Attoning for lost years





Rich music resuming





Creative attunment





In Beacons of Heart.










After years of refurbishment, yesterday saw the re-opening of The Bristol Beacon, a newly beloved centre for live music. It was such a joyful and generous gathering of people, celebrating the vibrancy of this citys creativity, music, togetherness and dance.





And to think only a few years ago those many thousands of people could not, were not, allowed to spend time together in such a way.





Over the rest of Advent, each day, I aim enter and share here a tincture of the grateful Heart.

	



	



		
			



	
		

			

				Posted on  by Glenn Mower											


							
Into the silence
					


	

	

	

		

into the silence





of your still small voice





out from my wilderness





I rejoice





outpouring spaciousness





leaves no choice





but to bathe in the loveliness





of harmony and poise.





spread out before us





this alchemy’s pouring





into anima animus





 melting and reforming, yes





each and every one of us





each and every on is love.










What we believe in





we weave into actions





what we’re receiving





we feed on and store





we outwardly mirror





our inward reflections





so shine out your love light





from every pore.

	



	



		
			



	
		

			

				Posted on  by Glenn Mower											


							
Atmospheric perfumes of old
					


	

	

	

		

Hazrat Inayat Khan Vol VI p. 205





‘for the person who as attained to the mystery of Sadhana (detachment from worldly things) there is nothing in this world which cannot be attained, all is within his reach, his power, his grasp’





grasping beyond all that is spoken





transforming insides in complete





focussing tight rightly pray to be opened





by boundaries way out of reach.





find nothing and all in acorns so small





where both Beauty and horror is riven





thorns stemming foes as rosebud unfurls





perfumaries for the forgiven.





atmospheres calling unseen and untold





pure waters hydrating dryness of form





seedlings compost in saplings of old





returning to unfurl in soft streams of dawn.










Turning new leaves to:










re route this wait





enlighten fear through





unloosening gates





empty and clearing





without and within





actively resting 





and as we refresh and uncling.

	



	



		
			



	
		

			

				Posted on  by Glenn Mower											


							
Intuit Moon
					


	

	

	

		
Intuit Moon 


illume

carbon dark night

swathe silvering kisses

with Transcendent light

deep hush Your reflections

of cloud free Sunshine

replacing repentance

with diamonds Divine. 


Intuit Moon, our compassionate sister

implant in us soon the deep ways of your Teacher

let husks turn resplendent and purity grow

while dusk forms new mornings as you soothe our soul.


Oh,

inchoate grasping

distress held less tight

unfurl like raw seedlings

in dappled moon Light

may bathing in Beauty

soften our clay

so tendril gyrations

spring forth Your new day.