Out of Stillness – Rumi

I was happy to stay still
inside the pearl inside the shell,

but the hurricane of experience
lashed me out of hiding
and made me a wave moving into shore,

saying loudly the ocean’s secret
as I went, and then, spent there,

I slept like a fog against the cliff,
another stillness.

Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks)

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Sparrows in the hands of Saturn

I wish to live like the mountain; the stream, the forest,
I wish to break like the tears of our own private angels
Upon the moments when mystery cloaks.

I wish to roam, with the legends ingrained in the riverbed
Of my psyche, alive in the footprints of our myth.

I wish to sleep by the fire, at the doorway where all spirits gather,
Touching the feet of the universal guru.

I wish to be blessed in the language of birds,
Freed like the sparrow flying up, into the hands of Saturn,
Free like the ripples of the silent ocean beyond death.

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Angrez

I
Blow into my ear Angrez,
Whisper your fears in blue plumes.

Each sound is a place, all is sound sired by
These universal winds.

Does it touch your skin?

From the glow, smoke rises,
From the heart, love escapes.
What pleases such flames?

I’ll take you with me when everything
Is sleeping, leave your legs,
Take those wings.

Leave your body alone and sing your way out
Of the dissonant dream.

Turn this world upside down.
All that sky, in blue eyes.

II
Discard your clothes,
Let your hair turn to rope,
Bury yourself in invisible rivers.
Fast until your bones are empty
And strong.

We must burn to see the light,
We must crack our statue to be free.
To be free, bring the outside, in.

We meet again on that empty road
Where two worlds collide,
We softly spoke to make it real,
We are linked like a chain you and I,
This rosary of lives
And crossing over we cannot part.

III
See the path unknown to science,
Rise like an opening flower;
Bloom, bloom, she climbs within us.

In the pure light we hide,
Up to the crown of our being and
Grace is given.

You are cosmic,
You glow in the dark,
You are untamed,
You are.

IV
When the book of the world is closed,
How can we see?
We must find a teacher to dust our lens,
Clean our ears.
They bring warmth to the rays of the sun
And empty out our form.

Things happen and there we are;
The sky, skies, the ocean, oceans;
In their language beyond words.

It’s a dance we cannot see, but can join
In time, when the mystical non-sense decrees.

Natures gifts pour into us, we are
Fed by the stars and sky, not potatoes.

How can we make an offering
Of what we are?
True love is not a show.

All borders are connections,
In our tears and sweat, the hidden knowledge
That is everywhere, that comes easy
When we are our own creation
And wise to befriend the mute vibration.

——

Angrez – In Hindi, an English or English-speaking white person.

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Opus Lastman

Something crystal in the waves that lost me,
Something loosened in my waking daze,
Something in the earth and stars that burnt up I, a molten eyelash
Of a long forgotten sky. A sea, so orange, a man so ashen,
Just a black snowflake,
A paradise island where a toxic thought had never rut.

Something stinks, the way light bounces for the crashing Mr Man
And the echoes of many cymbals of death
Escalate like cancerous cyclones sucking down the innards
Of what heavens destroy; lead pencils, dead angels, broken hymns
And esoteric symbols,
Bring it all down. Lay it out so we can see.
We want to know these things. We need to know these things.
These things are what have made us. The lost tribe
Where spirits don’t roam or gather.

I was reclined and easy like a song went;
Western, fresh fallen; cracked coconuts scattered over the
The mediocre meniscus, the planetary watchers
Sit idle as watery memories churn,

Shades up, broken webs tangle bodies of a widow
In the washed out radiation,
Bowling ball Russians do flap yoga,
Sat soft child watching the wolf pack disperse
Like hungry ghosts,
Seeking junk, then more junk.

The bright fishing boats return like empty rainbows
From the pillaged azure depths,
No one is waiting, or watching,
As insects make haste in the soft powder of my bones,
The sappy sawdust in my skull bucket,
Congealed and beige. Day dreams, palms sway,
As I’m dragged into something else,
Someone else’s idea of paradise.

We scratch our heads as sweet flesh litters
The trans-dimensional highways, some other’s sand lines
My pockets
And we are denied entry to divine madness
By the consumer fantasy that leaves us cracked and cold teeth,
Jittery, in the lay by with the divine junkies.

I am there with new sensations and appointments
With the million eyed monsters,
Those kind of freedoms dictate a glancing contact with
iceberg tunes and
Deep, rich hollows of chaos flute
Over glacier and glacier and glacier.
It seemed lucid enough as dark elegant shadows
Silently sweep past aye down in the seas of
My subconscious frozen projection.
Just the tip.
A drowsy concrescence.
The brave mariner, coughing, chewing,
Spitting blood again.

The earth is a sacred being estranged,
There is no harmony in the mind of man,
Only in silence or the ease of oblivion,
The luminous ignoramus.

Behind shades, UV perforates my sense cloud,
To be plant and live for the sun.
But I witness the inevitable breaking up of rafts in the
Violent swell,
Beach littered with last nights beer cans
And broken bottles. The pelicans, in formation, bomb the
Sparkling carpet of watery illusion, unaware of branding.
This is my moon tribe, and it is here I am hung.

Dusk. Is it not human to live for greater subtlety and
Bold migrations?
(‘If the doors of perception were cleansed……’) I’d drop.
The change’s change and death twists it’s tale.
We have no vision of the future, our highs are lows;
Half lives, half time. It seems we thrive in
Deconstructing private despairs, seeking the drugs
We need not to dare.

Over mojitos: to be branded gently, with care, and
taking into account an
Inherent singularity with the hot coals and steel,
The volcanic grumbles deep in the belly of Indonesia.

The fibres of my ripped and listless sail;
On this mirror, who likes me?
The cosmic energies that make me tick
And itch,
The upturned fishing vessel where now families of
Crabs live and occasionally young lovers disappear to chart
The courses of new loves voyage.
To fall in love again, this is the confluence.
The only mystery that matters anyway.
Where love meets love again.

Each raft is petrified beneath the sun without
The greatness of uncertainty lapping at its form,
Their components like camel rib
Cages lost to a Saharan mirage sweep,
No love lost where nothing can grow and we all flirt with the
Caravans of archaic mystery,
All shades of the same confusion.

Even on beaches locked up in history, we would do well to awaken
And get deranged, crack open the watermelon,
Become masters of our own
Personal discovery; we are the conquistadors
Of the internal oceans and pregnant jungles,
The savages we seek to subjugate are the very
Essence of truth we overlook.

The only wars worth fighting happen deep in our hearts
And minds, somewhere mingling with soul, spirit
And the elementals,
An adventure into the nucleus or personality.
How we cling.
Human. Being.

The psychic realities we reflect from the
Aliens we harbour. The inner realms of perception
Unlocks the flood gates to momentary transformation,
The complete humiliation of realising who and what we
Really have become.  Pale, imitations.  Pastry.

For we are tired and gnarled wastrels lingering too
Long in the shady suns of our own ego-sphere.
Chew on it. Spit it out. Howl like a mad bean.

Lastman.  39.  Drink up.  No one is watching.

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Images on the Road ’16-’17

Practicing Tai Chi – Beside the Forbidden City, Beijing

I’ve been on the road for over a year; Spain, Italy, Albania, Kosovo, Macedonia, Greece, Thailand, Indonesia, China, Nepal, India, soon to be Ethiopia (flying visit), Lebanon….. I enjoy taking photographs and I challenged myself to pick a few of my favourite images to show you. I came up with these.  All taken on my Mum’s old phone.

Girls dressed up for a festival – Kathmandu

The Togean Ocean – Sulawesi, Indonesia

Annapurna 1 – Annapurna Base Camp, Nepal

Graffiti – Valora, Albania

One of a Billion Diety – Kathmandu, Nepal

Have a coconut – Pondicherry, India

Green Canopy – Somewhere in Indonesia

Shepherd Family – The Accursed Mountains, Between Albania and Kosovo

Flower Shower – Tiger Leaping Gorge, China

Chai Stop – Mcleod Ganj, India

Books by the Fire – Pokhara, Nepal

Snack Time – Kolkatta, India

Guru Bar – Anjuna, Goa

Incense Offerings – Henan, China

Streetside Art – Lecce, Italy

Mountain Donkeys – Annapurna, Nepal

Little Monks – Kopan Monastery, Nepal

Old Men Gambling – Guangxhi Province, China

Concrete Nightmare – Guangzhou, China

Baba – Kathmandu, Nepal

Home grown Chilli – Longchi Rice Terraces, China

La Azhoia Sunset – Murcia, Spain

Longchi Rice Terraces, China

Meditation – Kopan Monastery, Nepal (Taken by Jase Web)

Monkey Minds – Bins, Mcleod Ganj

Sewing Machine – Kathmandu

Riding Effortlessly on the Great Wall – China

 

 

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birth of the magical menstrual tour and the power of menstruation

Roll up for the magical menstrual tour……step right this way! All about my partner Jane’s wild and life changing adventure around the USA meeting incredible, inspiring women (and men) and menstrual cycle awareness. The menstrual pilgrim, out in the world sharing wisdom and loveX

woman's wheel worldwide

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Hello lovely people!

A warm welcome to Woman’s Wheel Worldwide! Here I’m going to explain what I am hoping to do with the work I am passionate about, and how the dream of the Magical Menstrual Tour became reality…

The story…It was a particularly warm autumnal day, and I was lying in the field outside our little cottage in Wales, listening to the grass-hoppers and watching the skylarks, pondering and dreaming to myself about how I was going to spread my ‘menstrual message’ to women beyond my local red tent. As my thoughts drifted contentedly away like the little clouds above me, I started imagining (as I often do) unexplored lands far and near. Then I suddenly came up with an idea that is now completely changing the course of my life!

Here’s how it went, roughly in this order, in my head: “Ahhhhh, I loved giving that menstrual cycle…

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