Cords

For Brenda Lynette Creighton, born 1919.

When I was just mere growing cells-

Before I breathed on the earth-

A bonded cord sustained my life

In those months before my birth.

And when I, a naughty, restless child

Could every fence and barrier climb,

In care and love you took a cord

And tethered me safely to a line.

Then when as a boy in deep delight

I through swamp and bush would roam

There was an unbroken, invisible cord

That drew me safely home.

Later there were challenging times

When waves crashed hard and I almost drowned.

You were a rock, a light, a cord

To draw me safely to solid ground.

Time cuts all early dependant cords

But others grow that cannot be broken,

Spun by faith, time and maturing mind,

By laughter, tears, and love unspoken.

So it is with my mother and me,

Where cords of flesh were cut at birth

But invisible cords of faith still grow

Transcending this sentient life on earth. 

I scratch my hand across the glass

I scratch my hand across the glass

To let the light come through

But the pane is thick and frosted

So it dulls and obscures my view.

Perhaps if I scratch hard enough

These shadows will come clear

And if I unceasingly persist

What is distant will draw near.

I feel that there are truths

That I can strain my eyes and see

But all I see are shadows

Glimpsed but fleetingly.

Then I comprehend 

The glass is clear and bright;

It is the scales upon my eyes

That hinder and distort my sight

And clarity of vision is clouded

By the curtains of the mind,

So the dark things held within

Willingly distort and blind.

Knowing then that this is true

Provides a ray of light;

It is the simplicity of love

That surpasses clarity of sight.

And though the glass be dull and frosted-

Denying us things we want to know-

We can strive to dwell in love

And thus in brightness grow.

And in this state of blessedness

Truth can grow and shine

And sight can be directed

By the transformed mind.

1 Corinthians 13:12 For now we see through a glass darkly...

Rock.

Three sonnets for Paul and Sue Armstrong, who’ve taken me to some amazing places.

I.

Come, If you walk with me I’ll show you a place

Near where the Hawkesbury River runs wide and brown.

Into those rugged sandstone ridges we turn

And past lovely trees the track winds gently up and down.

Here’s a spot where we can sit a while.

Huge water gums tower into the sky,

Their roots twisting and flowing over rock

While with eddy and swirl the creek gurgles by.

Look, in those rocks in the stream, deep grooves

Made long ago for sharpening spear or club.

Close your eyes, try to hear the children play,

Or see long gone shadows flit through scrub.

It’s tempting, but in this place we cannot stay.

Our destination is still some distance away.

II

We’ve turned off the main track, jumped a little creek,

Skirted a pretty pond, scrambled up the hill

Until, at last, we stand on an expanse of rock,

A place where the world seems quiet and still.

It’s hundreds of metres long, wide, not quite flat.

But look, ground into the stone are many features,

Kangaroos, emus, a woman, men, shields, spears,

And further along a great spirit creature.

Then I know that Dharuk people met here

Beneath the stars, or sun, to dance, laugh and cry,

To draw, to worship, to wonder, and to belong.

Do I sense them here, or is that a comforting lie?

Their culture, their life, their laughter and song

Have shrunk into the past and are now long gone.

III.

I lie on the rock. Underneath my back

Like some divinely stamped tessellation

Are great swirling curving patterns in the rock.

I feel connection; wells of strong emotion.

Above my head is the vaulting dome of sky,

Now clear blue but filled with transforming light,

Cloud, rain, sun’s rising, sun’s falling, moon, stars,

The velvet, diamond studded quilt of night.

I hear voices; I see them emerge from bush,

Greet, paint their bodies, tell stories, dance, sing,

Belong, feel purpose, feel love, draw and carve.

Oh how could they see the changes time would bring,

That where they did in such deep belonging roam

England’s rejects would land and claim it as their own.

Emus

When I Come to Life's Well

 When I come to life’s well let me not drink

 In timid, cautious and cowardly sips

But let me partake in great gulping drafts

Of the cup that is offered to my lips.

In those timid and cautious little sips

The blaze of light can never be.

Little sips are a twilight nether world

Where truth can’t be found or minds set free.

For when we drink of the entire rich cup,

-As indeed we all undoubtedly must-

We grow in mercy and compassion

And in the knowledge that we are dust.

So now while I live let me drink deeply,

Let it pour down over my sides

In a stream that is rich and deep and full

For as long as breath in this body resides.

For the night will come, and sleeping too

And into that darkness all thoughts must sink,

So now while it’s day I rush to life’s well,

And In great gulping drafts continue to drink.

Wake up, little man

For my daughter Catherine and her son, Jet, when he was about 20 months.

Wake up, little man, breathe the morning air,

Don your climbing gear, there’s exploring to be done,

Mountains to scale and great treasure to be won.

That pile of dirt you can see in the distance there

Is Everest’s foothill which you can easily climb,

That narrow gap between the post and gate

Is where a crevice does painfully wind.

But uh oh, today the summit’s fence will have to wait

For the Sherpa is coming to take you away,

Scold and say it’s too dangerous to climb today.

Later there are prizes to be won if you dare,

If you can reach your hand up, open the shed door,

Check if it’s empty, trot quickly over the floor,

Then scurry off up the hill without a care.

Up there are riches and wealth beyond measure,

Your Nanna’s fridge filled with things so sweet to eat,

But just as you reach out your hand to take your treasure

That Sherpa’s there kissing, murmuring about sleep,

Saying it’s late, your teeth are clean, it’s time for bed,

Promising tomorrow to lock the doors to the shed.

So snuggle in, little man, she’s wrapping you up tight,

Giving Elly the Elephant for holding in your arm,

For playing Mozart’s “Lullaby” to sooth and charm,

For keeping you company through all the dark night.

O little man, your eyes get heavy and you slowly blink,

Your breathing gets quiet and you look soft and cuddly.

She looks in on you and you can almost hear her think

“He’s so cute when he’s sleeping; he’s really, really lovely”,

But we think, little man, that for all of your dream time

You’re finding sweet treasures and high mountains to climb.

4^th August, 2011, for Jet, when he was about 20 months.

The Whirlpool and the Light

“What are you doing, you old man

With eyes of deepest blue,

The sea is rough, the wind is high,

What do you strain to view?”

 The old man turned his eyes to me

With a deep, penetrating stare

And even before he began to speak

 I felt my soul stripped bare.

He began a story that was so strange

And yet it seemed so true

And the words he told me on that day

I now recount to you.

“When I was young I heedless plunged

Into a rip both swift and strong.

It was youth’s folly that sucked me out

Into chaos deep and long.

In that glossy, trackless deep

All seemed so bright and new

But as I gazed in wonder around

The land slid from my view.

Then black despair formed in my heart

As thick darkness gathered round

And the lapping, growling, roaring wave

Drowned out every other sound.

I struggled hard against the flow

In that surge of deepest black

Until at last I understood

There was no turning back.

As I swept along in the swirl

My eyes accustomed to the night;

I saw others drifting as if in joy,

Oblivious to their plight.

But beneath the windswept roar

I could hear a distant sound

As the tumult inexorably sank

In whirlpool underground.

Soon a huge and towering wave

Loomed out of darkest night

And as I surged up to its crest

I saw a distant light.

Into the dark and pitiless night

Poured forth my urgent cry

And as I prayed to reach that light

A plank came floating by.

It lifted me above the surge;

I held with all my strength

And as it rose and then it fell

I climbed upon its length.

And presently it calmly drifted

Into a smoother, gentler sea

Where from the savage undertow

I was at last set free.

Soon there was a scraping sound

As it came upon the land

And with grateful but exhausted heart

I fell down on the sand.

                                                                But presently I raised my head

And there beyond the beach

The light shone clear upon

A narrow path within easy reach.

On it I walked and with every step,

The blaze much brighter grew

It beckoned through lustrous light

To promises deep and true.

It called me to its light

With promises deep and true

Whispering that even if whirlpool prevailed

All could arise anew.

From a high and hilly place

I could see the rip run clear

See swimmers caught in its flow,

See the whirlpool drawing near.

I saw fellow travellers at the place

Where the land meets waterside

Throwing long ropes out into the deep

Or launching planks into the tide.

And as the safety floated by

Too few were those who grasped;

Most spurned both rope and plank

And wilfully swept past.

Sad, too sad to see them sink

In the wild and whirling foam;

Sad, too sad to hear their cries,

To hear those last deep groans.”

“Strange friend,” I cried, “If this is true

Why are you standing here?

Why are you on this windswept beach

With the storm clouds racing near?”

“I cast planks and ropes into the tide

When I hear a swimmer cry

To see if any will reach out

Before they all sweep by.

For all must into the tumult sink,

Even travellers on this road

And into its murky silent depth

Cast off their mortal load.

So with every passing day

The whirlpool is drawing near

But you can face its murky depths

Without the slightest fear.

Just carry in your heart the hope

Of those promises deep and true

Then even though whirlpool prevails

You too can arise anew.

The newness that is promised

Is totally unlike the old

But enlightened, free, undying,

Pure like burnished gold. “

With that he turned and walked away

And beckoned me to follow

But I hesitated and pondered

If his story was true or hollow.

But I do hear approaching near

That howl of swirling night

And hope to rise up on a swell

And see a distant light

Hope that all can certain be,

Hope that it will draw me near,

Hope that from that swirling pool

It will hold my head well clear,

                                                                                                                                                                          

Hope that by that light of life

I can great treasure hold,

Hope that my life can be changed

To glow like burnished gold.

Hope that all this dark, dark world

Can be consumed with light,

Hope that all those I love

Can be rescued from the night,

Hope that all that in this world is dark

Can into the whirlpool pass,

Hope that only things good and bright

Are the things that forever last.

So out I reach to grab a plank

With hope now stirring bright

And as I rise up on the swell

I glimpse that distant light.

The Mirror

I look hard into the mirror

Hoping not to see my face

But that of Jesus Christ my Lord

Now fixed and firmly in my place.

It’s his eyes looking into mine

That I really want to see;

His heart, his mind, his character

Is my desire and hope to be.

I swipe my hand across the glass

To wipe the mist away

To see if can but dimly glimpse

His character in my clay.

O can He be there just a little

Or are these eyes so blind

That they think that they see him there

When it’s really just my mind?

So I pray that he will enter in,

Peel these scales from my sight

And that when I turn to the glass again

I can catch a glimpse of his clear light.

Then as I continue to stare and stare

It will with more effulgence shine

So that in steps both small and great

His bright face will transform mine.

^{2 Corinthians 3:18} But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord.

The love I have for you.

For Diana.

The love I have for you

I lack the gift to express.

What finely wrought phrase could catch

Its strength, its depth, its tenderness.

So I must as a quiet man be

And keep my love inside,

As silent as some poor dumb beast

In whom no speech resides.

But I will follow faithfully

Wherever you abide

And my sweet joy will be

To lie down by your side.

There if I stay till death does come

Then none more rich under this sun.

Diana and Neil at Wombeyan Caves, c. 1984

The Clay and the Potter

Throw this clay upon the wheel

And shape it in your hands,

Thump it, squeeze it, mould it,

Make it pliable to your commands.

Draw it into the kind of form

That you will most desire,

Then fix it into that shape

By testing it with fire.

You are the master potter;

Keep on working with this shape

Applying expertly the heat

Until it will never break.

Then bring it to your house

As a vase that you do choose,

Coarse crude clay transformed

To a vessel that you can use.

There let it dwell with things of gold

In a final state so fine

That with the other transformed things

It can stay till the end of time.

Recovery

I have been in dark places,

Heard Death call my name,

Whisper words of promise

To end breath and ease pain.

I have been in clear places,

Seen the revelation of light

In the swaying of leaves  

So glitteringly bright.

I have been in deep places,

Seen in still, joyous trance

Bay’s water and light play

In sparkling, bright dance.

I have been in loved places,

Gained strength to withstand,

Felt promise and gained hope   

From the soft touch of hand.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

If I Live Long

For Diana.

If I live long, grow to be old,

Contemplate the years gone by,

Then no regrets can make me cold

Or make me groan or sigh.

Others have searched for lesser things

And found fulfilment there,

Yet richer I, more powerful too

Because of the life with you I share.

You are my world, my joy is true,

I need no other bliss

Than to spend my life with you

And taste your so sweet kiss.

O clouds may come and troubles bring,

The years to come too few,

Yet still I in my heart will sing

Of the love I have for you.

Eyes to See

 I found the way to the tree of life,

Or rather, it was shown to me.

The path looked hidden, steep and hard

But I had eyes that could see.

I thought it for the good and great

And not for such as me

But found that all could walk that way

As long as they have eyes to see.

I said that the cost would be far too great

But found that the path was free,

Save I must seek to share the way

With all who have eyes to see.

I said to my friend and my neighbour too-

“Come walk this path with me.”

They shook their heads and said “What path?”

For their eyes were too blind to see.

But what sweet joy I have had as I’ve gone

Despite vale and hill and adversity,

All of which have just made me strong

And my eyes are much brighter to see.

So years have passed since I began to walk

And am still yet to reach the tree

But look, how bright with hope it shines

For those who have eyes to see.

But when I think of that other path

That broadly descends to dark, silent sea,

Then my heart is filled with tenderness

For those with eyes too blind to see.

O that I could make the path plain,

From their blindness set them free,

Salve their blind eyes, remove their blind scales,

So that at last their blind eyes could see.

I Open the Door of my Heart and Mind

I open the door of my heart and mind

Holding the keys in my hand

And think who I desire to come in

For their entry is at my command.

That charlatan Fame once loudly knocked

But has since crept slinking away;

That preening popinjay Pride is still there

Constantly begging and pleading to stay.

Many others too abound by this door

All wishing to permanently abide;

Anger and Greed are two more foul guests

Who can easily weasel inside.

Strangers who once stood so far away

I now unreservedly admire;

Kindness, Gentleness, Joy and Love

Are the inhabitants I now most desire.

So I open the door widely for them

And invite them to come and stay,

Hoping that they can so fill my house

That they purge all foulness away.

But if I want to change this humble house

Into a temple for Jesus, my King

I must also continue to guard the door

And sweep and clean from within.

For I would be ashamed to ask him to stay

Where it’s all untidy and filthy inside,

So with patience, diligence, and prayer

I work on a house where He can abide.