Shooting stars of consciousness

Catching sight of falling stars
Unawares as to when they come
The only remedy,
Remain vigilant for when they shoot
And know that they are bound to

Whirleds unfold before my eyes
There is the speaking come from
Wells of sadnesses and joys alike
And there is the speechlessness
From the well beyond
When not there I only want to speak about it
Cultivating it like the gardens my hands are in now
Keeping my eye on the sky for a shooting star of that caliber
When in sight I want to speak yet what can be said when everything is so majestic, isn’t it clear? Be ever watchful says the sage
And I take per at its word
Watching the night sky and patiently abiding the day

Tonight from Annie Besant

in Theosophy and Its Evidences,

“Again, in all religions “God” incarnates. Theosophy teaches of the “Pilgrim” incarnating throughout countless cycles, the divine entity which is the human Self learning its lessons of experience in the school of the universe.”

“This “pilgrimage of the Ego” is the central idea, so to speak, of Theosophy: this gaining of self-consciousness is the very object and outcome of the Universe: for this it was manifested, for this it exists, groaning and travailing in pain to perfect and bring forth the self-conscious spirit.”

“Theosophy regards the Universe as a transitory manifestation of Eternal Existence, the summer-day flower of an eternal unknown Root.”

Fiercely

Fiercely to love my own ilk + kin and in this included all ink from my pen

Long have I been a sty in my own eye
While sharing all first fruits with my brethren

What’s first needed at the core
to love what’s in store
Let me begin
to be my best friend

questions I’ve carried

It is in the spaces
Through which the presence speaks, in the evening, especially, its hideout leaks into the subterfuge of human habitation whispers in footsteps into my room
is without emotion
Yet ushers in rare elation
What is this presence which beckons a fright, tho when fright is looked for none can be found What is this beaming at the top of my crown
Who am I anyway
In this body, in this time, one of a kind
What am I doing here
And who sent me
Who rent me from this union with sweet nectar I sip even now yet with some pain felt lower down

Is this remnant I feel karma
Did I send myself

The earth realm is grand they say so much to sip and see, to smell all day Is my home truly without form
Where do we go when we die
And from where did we come to be born

Silence

The questions on the previous page being me some pain What is the true disparity by which I am plagued What does it all mean
And what’s it all for
Manifestations of the One swirling for fun?
If it’s such a game, why all the sadnesses and pain? Why the separation and injustice?!? It seems problematic the Us and the Them
yet who programs the media to serve whose righteous end?
Whose benefitting, these profiteers of the land
And what’s to be done
There seems a magic running through it all And in the end, it’s all dying What’s all the matter about in the meantime

I don’t think I can answer this in a rhyme

peace

is a thing not sold in stores

not to be looked after or worked for

it can’t be stolen and, contrary to popular belief,
can’t be earned

peace can be learned, yet not duplicated

for it is found in the remains
after houses get cleaned
it is the invisible
palpable
absence
of presence
by which it is gleaned

Handmade life

Bill is coming to the good life center in June to share about his life and thought.

This quote on the back of his book speaks to me,

I want to live in a society where people are intoxicated with the joy of making things.

As does this one,

The main thrust of my work is not simple living- not yurt design, not social change, although each of these is important and receives large blocks of my time. But they are not central. My central concern is encouragement- encouraging people to seek, to experiment, to plan, to create, and to dream. If enough people do this we will find a better way.

Wm S Coperthwaite, aka Bill, built the wooden yurt here on the back of the property at Helen’s request after Scott died. I have yet to read this book in its entirety, The Handmade Life, yet am already sufficiently excited about this little gem which is beautiful as a tree is unique and beautiful and important in its essence and message.

Peter Forbes in the foreword writes,

Bill and these four miles of coastline have gently shaped one another in a relationship that has lasted forty years, in which an enduring quality of care and attention has made him and the wilds inseparable. They live together.