dry desert of the soul

all spun out and no inspiration and it seems as if this is the drying time of the soul when there is an emptiness within that dry deadening emptiness when nothing inspires and yet it is not like depression at all because that's a rather painful state but this is a painless indifferent state where nothing seems to matter where all is a certain objective dispassionate cold observation and that's all that's left just me here sitting in an attic study waiting on words to behave upon a screen waiting waiting waiting and there is not even one tear to indicate that something stirswithin that something moves within that something lights the fire that something sparks that something that something somehow would tear through these indifferent clouds set them alight with a passion for life for all that makes life good and wonderful and full of surprises and yet i had all that phony type of jesus saves type of thing so many times before and i ngrew so tired of it of its easy answers to the big problems always so neat and so self-assuredly right - so sugary sweet with all the answers laid out like the icing on a christmas cake laid out like the icing on a christmas cake and here i feel like getting a chorus going to enliven this piece of cheerless stream of consciousness which is failing to gain access to any cave like a potholer in search of a hole down which to descend and as there is no hole through which to descend i am fated to dwell now in the world of mediocrity in  the world where all is dull and dreary but not depressing just lacking lacking lacking any passion any engagement with the depths of life and if we can find no door or cave mouth through which to descend into labyrinthine caverns of the soul and if the ego cannot descend cannot go down into the depths it will never be purified it will never never be able to come up once more from the depths of the caverns where it will meet the shadows of the self the shadows of the soul the shadows of all that is real and once it has been purified in the deep cavernous places of the soul only then only then will it have eaten enough and have drunk enough to ascend to the world of light and enlightenment...

stream before bedtime

ah and the sitting here in the silence of the spacious room that is my mind and i sit and listen to my heart beat in silence silence silence and in the background there is a leonard cohen song playing on my sound system lulling me ever deeper into the stillpoint the stillpoint where i long to be this night as the tears trickle from my eyelids as life ticks away away as memories of ann whom once i loved is now just a fading memory and it was a love that was meant to die die die as we all are dying and yet i am not too sad because there is a peace of acceptance beginning to drop like the dew on the grass in the cold of the early morning and i type these words and wonder at their healing power and i will never dwell in the valley of self-pity never never never because it is a selfish waste of precious time no no no i will climb to the mountain from which i can get a viewing point where i shall rest a while and look back at my climb at my slow and winding climb ever upwards ever upwards towards the acceptance of self the only truth the very centre of self the very centre of gravity of all life and this is all we have that journey to the centre or core of self that centre which alone will hold in this mystifying universe this universe ever expanding expanding expanding and i type and listen to the healing words of the lyrics of a song and these words are healing me as they pour like a balm over my soul ah these words are the sweet waters that heal heal and heal ever more deeply and cohen sings on dancing me ever deeper into my soul ever ever deeper like a caver of the cavernous labyrinthine soul and these words are lighting the way down down down and dance me deeper deeper to the end of love and in that end i will surely find a beginning and these are the words that sound out my heart and then the music ah yes the music that enchants my soul that brings a tear with every stroke and caress of string for i need this music to play on and on for i need more healing that once i thought i never needed i need to be cherished and cuddled and comforted in the arms of mother earth in the arms of mother earth in the peace of mother earth in the peace in the peace of mother earth at her bosom at her bosom and i need more more more than a thousand kisses to heal my wounded heart and yet my soul is light for it courts the beauty of the imagination the imagination oh yes the beauty of the wondrous imagination that can enchant the soul to sing its song oh so strong oh so strong and i listen on not alone to cohen and his songs but to my own soul song that sings as these words will out as the truth of self will out as congruence and authenticity play the strings of my heart and they play them sound they play them sound they play them sweet and what a music those strings make what a music what a beautiful music and the truth it lies in the spacious room that is my mind and it is a room that has some seats and chairs and loads of lovely bookcases with those sacred books of knowledge that once my mother bought in the poverty of my youth in the poverty of my youth in those far away times those days almost forgotten when little or so little was such a lot and sometimes when the night is slow i sit and listen to cohen singing a thousand kisses deep and let those words lull me to sleep to sleep perchance to dream and in that dream of death what sleep may come and thus ends this and thus ends this and the rest as they say is silence... and the fading words... a thousand kisses deep...