Presence perfect

formless beyond description

arisen upon descent

saving all-told from destruction

a presence that Perfection sent.



spreading laced veils before us

we smile and cry through our strife

mourning, while weal’s keep on turning

salt weaving the woundings of life.



borne high we stoop low for a season

to carry the wrong with the right

we weigh every load upon reason

just like beasts in the burden of night.



yet spirits smile silent upon us

sweet fragrances sent in the sky

even tides sway to know moonlight

ravines weep down steep mountainside.



eagles charm Light with their feathering

angel wings balm every soar

Love reigns to sooth with Her weathering

Life water flows deep in our core.

Intuit Moon

Intuit Moon

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.

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.

Stretching the Beatitudes

Blessed are

the softened ones, the peacemakers, the pure in heart

With gentleness and unity they grow with Grace consistently

Near to Light are they that mourn while hungering for Life re-bourn

and Blessed are the merciful, those wishing well to one and all

Renewal comes to aching hearts who warm in Love while pulled apart

For everyone is to us, what we think them to be

Of course, the stone can feel no pain:

They are denuded, they do not flourish, nor do they blossom into ripening fruit

Within this Blessed sun and rain.

(Blessed pronounced Ble-ssed)

dust rich Flesh


May I live so:

‘if on my dust a tuft of grass were to grow, every blade would tremble with my devotion for thee.’ (from Invocations by Ansari of Herat)




Come towards to hush this





this mind of ‘my’


mine alone

this owner’s

ship of listing skin

this un-

contained husk of

lack and lust for

being seen as different and

distinct, these

sentient addictive flaws


darkly sow


deep within this sentimental hold, these

envious skeins, these half-

digested and indulged



infatuations of the


sores that pray to be

left alone to


mindscapes over grown, to

freshly pull at scaffoldings of

braking bone

overwrought, this

 iron will of  ego intent can only glimpse


of such and such discontent,  for


have heard but seldom feel

the real and awesome unsaid


that roots

and shoots

green leaves anew

to sway with ease

while anchored true to


richly fed

deep within

the sacrificial flesh of


Becoming a true city Liver


A few days after an urban retreat with fellow South West of England contemplatives, sensitively and gorgeously lead by Cynthia Borgeualt from The States, I am energised again to become a true Liver in this my city of home. To take hold the call to embody all outer and inner complexities, to have a tenderized heart towards the human folly and wastefulness, the clamour and the one-eyed nature that fills our bellies and minds, our gullies and ground with extraneous clutter and junk.

I feel moved to show love for this Bristol urban sprawl, to unravel my arms and cherish the empty crisp packets and KFC bargain buckets, the smiling faces and stress filled waste skidding by, like plucked feathers upon the city’s deep-fried breath.  Affluent effluence, only curbed by pavement edge and the ever-changing boundaries of road works invisibly labouring to still the revolution of rubber on a million VW diesel engines spewing stationary while raging for space to park their precious egos.

I feel ignited again to awaken the collective throbbing generous Heart, to engage in the wild ride of internal contemplation, to dive right into my chest region, to cough up hope to ingest fumes and to seep out goodness’s that I know already somehow flow in the elusive internal sanctifying citadel within.

To be guided by Eckhart as above and Borgeualt and Rohr and rivers from the now, to embody and allow such goodness to melt in and flow out from this sliver of light, this hidden gate. And yet more, to be

‘washed clean in contrition, heart filled, made ready, in longing made worthy,’ (Julian of Norwich Showings, Chap 39).

to fully embrace the onslaught of daily clinging to city centred passions.

To resolve to evolve.

Indeed, to go further, to microscopically, internally begin again and again to slowly grow the becoming’s of a true new Liver in and within these boundaries called home. To quietly sift  through the Avon sea salting rhythmic crest and flow, to raise up and shift asunder, to ingest in unseen, untold, unhinged Bristolian fashions and in such limited human passion to sail deeper, opening softly internal organs to sing and singe within the fire-fuelled South Westerlies.

To fill up inside-out lifetime surges of wantage, unskilled non-frilled wilful wastage and in respite to welcome all upon such purposeful blood, upon and yes despite such and such longstanding chest breath clots of sadness, to wish release-full-ness, to draw You in.

Yes harvest deep to worrisome spleen and moving on to engrain in layering’s of stomach stretch an ardour of floating bloat that slowly creeps through intestine small and largely bubbling in half-digested forms, to boil down and to Transform all this living gnawing grind into a purse perfectly formed and gently divine, honestly held until at such a time that all is well, and all is well and all re-joins this Earth sublime.


‘A (wo)man goes upright and the food of the body is sealed in a purse full fair; and when it is time of necessity, it is opened and sealed again in full honesty.’ (Julian of Norwich, Showings, chap 6).