How do we know?

And other such fun and games.


Human language is a very odd thing. A necessary thing of course, but nevertheless odd. Also is it very cumbersome and long winded. It is also the case, that for the large part at least, we take so much for read during a conversation. ‘So what do you do then’? ‘I am a dentist’—or ‘I am a bus driver’. What kind of an answer is that to the question asked? What do I do when what?—should be nearer the mark. When the dog wags its tail there is no confusion in communication; or likewise when the cat rubs its head on your leg and purrs. Or perhaps the question should have been stated in full. What do you do in order to earn cash?


Added to this we have many different words with almost identical meanings. Sometimes however this or that word just has a slight connotation of implying some little difference; so which one do they mean? Likewise the same word or sound sometimes has a very different meaning altogether; so which one do they mean? How many of us know all the words in our own language? On top of this the world has so many different languages. It is nothing short of a minor miracle that any of us can ever convey a meaning to anybody at all. How often do we read a paragraph in a book wherein we have understood every word clear enough, and yet do not have a clue what that person is trying to say? Well, it does happen. I spent some of my time teaching people to drive. Amongst them were a few deaf and dumb folk. Likewise were there some that could not speak English. Likewise were there the quick learners and the slow learners, the fun ones and the miserable ones. I think a few of them were even blind—or at times at least. Nevertheless they all got there no matter how fast or slow they were. Moreover, it had absolutely nothing to do with intelligence quota. I guess we could teach monkeys to drive—well, a bit longer maybe.


Would life, or should I say communication, be any easier if we were all telepaths? I doubt it, for we even use words to think with. All language is of course symbolic. That is to say the word, and or the string of words, point to something other than themselves, so they are a symbol, a sign post to something other than themselves. It is not wise to stick your hand in the fire! Well, I do not know about wise or not, but it will not do your hand much good. No problem there eh. We all know that is true enough. How do you know? Have you ever done it? And irrespective as to whether you do know or not—then what knows? Or what does not know? What, exactly, does the knowing?


The objective world, the physical universe, is one enormous dose of communication. Unlike us however, it does not use language as do we. Or not our kind anyway. I often feel that not too many people see the objective universe in this way. For many people it seems to be the case that the physical universe is simply blobs of stuff out there. Indeed, how do we really know that the physical universe is indeed out there? How do we know that we do not put it out there? If it is out there then what is it like in absolute terms and why do we see it the way we see it?  Moreover, is it still out there when nothing is observing it? Well, my own answer is that it does not matter a damn either way, for it is there when I am observing it. I have always been a pragmatist. Personally I do not give a hoot where it is or what it is when I am not observing it. The loo is always there when I need it—so what the hell. Not really my problem is it? What a lousy job it would be if you or I had to hold the universe together and make it all work eh. Yet I can sit under a tree in the shade on a beautiful day and feel all the essences which dance together in the visions, the sounds, the smells, and indeed the over-all effect and feeling. And I do not have to hold it all that together and make it work. Wow! It is done by magic. Magic means beyond my comprehension.


Because I more or less take things as I find them, and because in so far as we do know for sure then all we ever really have is conscious experience anyway, then I am to some extent an existentialist. Not in the existentialist philosophic meaning, but in simple pragmatic terms. Hence I would have to call myself a Pragmatic Existentialist. Well, why not indeed, it seems to be the craze that we all have to call ourselves something. People keep telling me that they are Buddhists or Christians or Atheists or Socialists or Republicans and what knows else. Truth is I have not got a clue as to what I am in absolute rational philosophic terms. I am something which experiences things. And sometimes everything blacks out and it is all gone for a few hours. On the next round of experience I call it a new today. Mind you, yesterday was also today, and tomorrow will also be today. The fact is that it is only ever today, isn’t it.


Talking of which, time is also a very strange bucket of mystery as well is it not? Why do we experience time? Why not? Yeah! What causes the perception and comprehension of time? Initially it struck me as very odd (just after the paradise event) that one could spend time in a place where time does not exist—beyond time. Sounds like a damned contradiction does it not? In that place which I call paradise or the ground of being there is both vision and movement, and yet no perception of time at all, for it is always the same with no change. On the other hand, in that place which I call Limbo, there is nothing except blackness, and yet time exists—why? Well, from hindsight it is plainly to do with thinking; and in order to think we have to use words inside our mind. And that takes (or makes) time move.


It is an extremely odd thing that in the paradise event we cannot think, and there is no perception of time. And then comes a thought—in the form of words naturally enough… It is now time to go! POW! And time starts moving again. Well, not strictly ‘again’ from our point of reference in there, for we have no memory of it ever having existed before. But sure enough time starts moving. And as soon as it does—paradise is gone—or rather we are. It all sounds crazy does it not? However, it is only our language which makes it sound crazy, for it sure ain’t crazy when you are there. It is however… odd, to be sure.


Tell you another funny thing, and which is even crazier. Whilst in this reality people have cosmic amnesia of the transcendent condition, they have no memory or experience of it. We come into this world that way. The only way you can know it is by going there and thence remembering it for the rest of your life. However, whilst in there we have cosmic amnesia of the physical universe and life on earth. Weird!


However, the real funny bit is this. Imagine that you went down inside your own vortex, popped out at the bottom, spent a few hours (outside or @GMT time) in paradise and then popped back up the wrong vortex? Somebody else’s vortex who was also spending a few hours in paradise. What then? The fact and the truth of the matter is that you would never ever know the difference—for you would be them. That is to say all past experience and memory is recorded in the structure, and once connected back up into that structure then that is what you are whilst out here on the world. So how do I know that I came back as the same person that went in?


Well, I sure recognised all my friends and family and they all recognised me. But then again, I guess they would wouldn’t they, for it was the same form and personality which they knew before? And I was in it!! Don’t let this thought worry you however, for I am only having a little fun—I think. Creation however, is not stupid, even if I am (or we are) at times. How do I know that creation is not stupid? EMMM! Paradise was not absurd. This earth is not stupid. And they are a part of creationabout the only two parts that interest me really—and the things in them of course.


I mentioned this dilemma about popping up another vortex once to a colleague of mine (a psychic not a mystic) and we had hours of laughter and humour with that thought and all the possible scenarios. One thing about most mystics and genuine psychics is that they all seem to have a great sense of humour. They no doubt need it. However, I should not worry about that if I were you, for it sure is not going to happen. How do I know it ain’t? Yes indeed, good question—how do we know anything!?


There are many millions of faces in this world, so how do I know when looking, a mere quick glance, that this face belongs to one of my own kids? How do I know? It is easy to make noises which sound like an answer to that question—oh, I know for I have seen it millions of times. Or—I ought to know what my own kids looks like! Why? How do we know? What is knowing? How do you know that you love something or hate something? What happens when you know? What is going on? And what knows? What entity is doing, or having, the knowing? How do you know that you know? Moreover, how do you know that which you do claim to know to be correct? Correct by what criteria? What is correct and who said so, and how do they know? Who says that life and existence is not a mystery?


Now, I know that if I have the experience of putting my hand in the fire then I know from past experience that the following experience is going to be pain. That happened once (by accident) and I remember it well. I made sure that I never did it again. Now, I do not know as to what was going on or how, but I know for a fact that one experience followed on from the next. I do not give a damn if putting my hand in the fire does not really hurt; all I care about is the experience of it hurting. I know, without any potential to be able to doubt that knowledge, that I do not like the effect of putting my hand in the fire. I do not know how I know it, all I know is that I do know it. It works. Well, it sure stops me from putting my hand in the fire at least. Moreover, I do not doubt that it would hurt every time—or until such time at least that the hand was beyond any use to me as a hand. So, I suppose in manner of speaking we simply take it on trust that we know it.


Yet another fun scenario is one relating to the limbo event. Supposing the forces concerned forgot that we were there. What then? Suppose one was stuck in that mode for a million years? One dreads to think eh! Suppose that creation stopped working whilst we were passing through that mode? Kind of froze up and ground to a halt? Not a nice thought, to grind to a halt, whilst passing through limbo, wherein there is nought! Sorry about that rhyme.


Imagine being stuck in nothing for a really long time with nothing but your memories and the power of thought and feeling. An hour or so was more than enough for me. Just long enough for a good lesson to be learned. Well, a few lessons actually. I think I mentioned this in one of my poems somewhere. So many things I learned on earth—but in hell (limbo) I learned their true worth. You do not learn that lesson in paradise. Is not the whole of creation a communication which teaches? And do we not learn it well? Well, after a while anyway. Where does creation take place? How do you know?


There was time, for a while at least, and not too long after that paradise event, that it occurred to me that in absolute reality perhaps only paradise really exists; and that all else is a kind of film show whilst we are really still in there all the time. The fact of the matter is that creation would be easier that way if it were the case. For presumably it would be easier to create the illusion of a physical universe and world in our consciousness than to issue forth the real thing and then zap us out into it. Then again, perhaps neither the universe or paradise are ultimately extant things. What about that thing which I expanded into wherein there were only dots of light coming into and out of perceptual existence? Supposing that it were all done there? Suppose we were some kind of cosmic eggs in a parent womb and being prepared to go out and create our own universe in due course? Well, the mind can have fun can it not? Can you imagine being in charge of a universe at some point? I would take a rain check on that one for sure—given the chance of course. I think I would rather be a poached egg.


Supposing then that everything were ultimately an illusion—as some seem to think. If Transcendence, and this universe, and the thing which is ourselves observing all this, and all our experiences were illusions—then who is having the illusion and what is creating it? And why? And would they also be illusions? However, supposing only a part of life experience was an illusion and a part was not. Then how would we know which part is and which part is not real? And what difference would it make if we were still living, and being affected by, those illusions?


A drunk experiences worms crawling all over their body (The DT’s). You and I know that those worms are not out there in the physical universe. Maybe even the drunk does. Nevertheless he or she is still living the reality of that experience. Many will say that the worms are not real—a hallucination. Indeed they are a hallucination. However, it is a real hallucination, for it happened. It is not a case of real or not real, it is a case of what kind of reality, and what level of reality. His psyche has generated that experience for a purpose. The function is to try and make him pack it in and stop abusing his system. His system is fighting back. And his system knows what he does not like. No, creation is not stupid. One would be very unwise to judge one kind of reality against another and thence decide that one of them was not real simply because it did not follow the criteria as found in the other. There are many levels of reality, and all of which are real. Dreams are not real! What does that mean? It means they are not the same kind of reality as a tree or the moon. The moon is not real, for it is not the same kind of reality as a dream! Just as stupid a viewpoint is it not?


By far the most of our life is directed toward and involved around the things which we love and or like—with a bit of luck that is. Yet both emotions and moods are things of the mind. Is the mind real or is it not? Interesting that it is still there when the universe has gone from its perception and memory. Will we ever be able to know if the moon and the universe are still there when (or if) there are no minds? Well, we could never know that scenario by definition. And as I said, who the hell cares anyway. If the ultimate reality of all realities is that of illusion, then so what, for illusion would then be our reality—our true and only reality. So what difference would it make? It still hurts when you stick your hand in the fire either way.


Some years ago I happened to see one of those really naff television programs about ‘Psychic Phenomena’. (I wonder what idiots make these kind of programs.) There was a young woman on there (poor girl) who was explaining to the front-man the event of a near death experience which she had, not long before. She explained that she experienced going down a slide and landing up in some kind of cellar, wherein somebody whom she did not know was waiting for her. The front-man burst into cynical and mocking laughter [and hence so too did the sheep like cretins in the audience (where do they dig them up from)] and the poor girl was distraught.


The fact of the matter was that she had undergone an absolutely brilliant, and spot on, symbolic experience. She learned something there—(not that we slide down a shoot into a cellar) but rather that there was something there other than her topside existence; and that it was always with her. Her system had constructed an Arkon Image Emanation which communicated (a fact) to her topside mind, and which she understood. She did not understand it intellectually or rationally, but deep down inside, and emotionally. She was a fortunate girl. The audience and the front-man were utter cretins and know-nothings. I hope they can all remember the event and I hope they all read this. Retarded cretins is what they are and where they are at. I suppose the clever bit is that the TV programmers manage to find all the right people to make up their audiences. And don’t forget to laugh when that red light comes on—or no tea and bickies after the show. They wonder why mystics walk alone over the moors so often. It is to maintain their sanity and refresh their soul.


Rene Descartes is thought to be one of the cleverest or wises minds (I do not know by whom or why exactly, but they say so). He asserted the profundity (as so many call it) that he thought, so therefore he existed. It proved to him that he existed, because he could think. He might as well have asserted that he can do his shoe laces up, therefore he exists.


I would have thought that even he was in knowledge of the fact that he still existed whilst in dreamless sleep. What he obviously did not know was the paradise event, in which he could not think and yet existed in a grand manner—and lording it over paradise to boot. Science has to prove everything does it not? We all laugh when science claims to have learned something which we all knew when we lived in caves even. Never mind eh, let them have their fun and their moment. Do we need proof that we are alive? This thing of existing and being conscious of that existence—is what we call life. If somebody requires some kind of rational justification or proof, then simply tell yourself that you experience, therefore you exist. And as to whether you exist or not when there is no experience of existing—then what the hell—what difference does it make either way whether you do or you don’t exist at that point?


Somebody once asked me (trying to show off in front of his cronies for an ego trip when I was asked to give a talk), ‘Where is this paradise of which you talk?’ So I asked him as to where was the universe which he lived in every day of his life. He replied that the universe is out there and all around me. So I replied that when in paradise then it too is out there and all around me. He wanted spatial co-ordinates (Cartesian co-ordinates to be precise). I do not know where the universe is. I do not know where paradise is—except at the bottom of my own vortex of existence. I do not even know where I am, yet alone the universe and paradise.


One of the most amusing things about people, and which always creases me up, is their love of the term ‘I believe’. Perhaps one of the most used words in the English language—or the concept in any other human language for that matter. I wonder if dogs believe in anything. It is a word which I have always steered clear of even as a kid. On days when I am not feeling too polite, and I hear that in a sentence, then my reply is: ‘So what!’ “I believe that he or she is in the clutches of the devil!” “So what!” Do not tell me what you believe chum, for I do not give a toss, but by all means tell me what you know, for that at least would be interesting!


I know that Australia exists! No I don’t, for I have never been there to experience it. What I do have is information that it exists from so many other people. Do I believe them? The question does not arise as to whether I believe then or not (and what does it mean anyway). I have heard them say that it exists and that they have direct first hand experience of it, so great, I accept their word for it that there is something there which they call Australia. Good on em sport.


We have direct personal knowledge of experience. We also have knowledge of data, hearsay. We also have knowledge of inference and deduction. Turn up a pack of cards all but one and I will tell you what the last one is without having seen it. Not very clever that is it? for we know a pack of cards. In the English language we do not seem to use a word which differentiates between knowledge of direct personal experience and that of knowledge ‘of’ something (data or hearsay). That is why I occasionally use the Greek word gnosis, for that is exactly what it means—direct personal experience and knowledge of something. In the old days at least in that part of the world, the mystics were said to have Gnosis of the transcendent reality.  Those who had no direct personal experience of it were agnostic of it. Agnostic means that a person does not know. It has nothing to do with beliefs or the lack of them. Neither does it mean that one is undecided. I have no gnosis of Australia. My loss not theirs.


Now, all these types and modes of knowledge are common daily experience. But they are not the only kinds of knowledge. There is another kind that one cannot pin down. It is a spiritual knowledge—for need of calling it something. Nothing in paradise tells you that you are loved and needed, nothing at all. And yet one axiomatically knows it beyond any shadow of doubt or even questioning. How is it done? I have not a clue. I do not even know how normal daily knowledge on earth is done. Why do you love that particular person? “Well, she has long hair, slim, a beautiful figure and a wonderful personality!” Absolute rubbish chum! You have not got a clue as to how or why you love them. And yet, you know, absolutely know beyond any doubt, that they are the best thing since sliced bread and that if they were not there then you would turn into a puddle of piss and dissolve. Am I right or am I right?


Some folk will tell you that all you have to do to make life worthwhile (and be with their particular god when you quit this world) is to love it. And they say that they have not just fallen out of a tree. My god they are still in it. Have you ever managed to decide as to whom you were going to fall in love with, and thence pressed a button and hey presto it worked? Love is a cosmic energy of some kind, and one of life’s greatest mysteries and wonders. I wish every human being on earth was full of the stuff and firing on all cylinders. But it is not something which we can do for ourselves is it? and choice does not come into the equation.


Then again, there are times when it could and does get in the way of others things if it does not subside a bit in dosage. Moreover, to love one thing is just great. But to love virtually everything is even better. Now, what happens when the thing which you love is being made miserable by something else? Hate! Hate is not the opposite pole of an emotional linear yardstick. Hate is just as much a motivator as is love. Hate can get things done that love could never do. And that applies the other way around of course. Hate is necessary in the scheme of human things. If we did not hate the way in which this world is being run then we would hit entropy and we would not instigate change. Love pulls and hate pushes. And they are both moving in the same direction—for the better, for the fulfilment of the incarnate flowering of the seed of the implicate order—in our levels of reality. I hate, loath and detest capitalism. And one day it will go the way of the Dodos. I love peace, harmony and mutual co-operation on earth. And one day it will come. Dunno when, but one day when we have grown up. And of that I have no doubt. For I know what is driving the package.


Now, it is just possible of course that before that day comes a damn great chunk of space stuff will crash into this world and it will not exist anymore (Sods law). Well, tough luck. But life goes on, and the universe is big place. Life, somewhere and sometime, will arrive. Somewhere, some time, the essence of being will flower into incarnate form on a world such as this. “Oh, but that will not be you or I will it!?” Of course it will, for I am life. If it is not me, the personality which is writing this stuff down, then I do not give a hoot, for I love life more than I love me (don’t even like ‘me’ much to tell the truth). But I do love ‘I’, if you know what I mean by now. And it is only the ‘I AM’ stuff which can live incarnate, and in paradise. I will arrive in form as I am in essence. How do I know? Ah magic mate! It is the deepest spiritual gnosis in existence. Those who have read these words will remember them whilst drifting through that Limbo field. And they will not fear anything—as did I. They will fall like snow as upon snow. One mystic said: “Those that hear these words will not know death.” Well, you couldn’t anyway could you. Smart eh!






Reason is a troubled thing

which has nowhere to lie its head;

it worries while it’s still alive

about the time it will be dead.

It splits all things to kingdom come

in search of what they are;

like taking all the inside out

to see what makes a car.


But when the bits alone do stand,

there’s nothing there to see,

for the world is made of structured things,

including you and me.

And what then is so charming

with a lump of energy

that does not make a cup of soup,

a mountain, or a tree?


Poor reason’s never satisfied

to sit and stare in awe;

it gallops in obsession

and ever wanting more.

But like all other faculties

it is a tool to use;

providing, like so many things,

we learn not to abuse.


Things are made for using,

each in a certain way;

we would not turn the bread we eat

into a bale of hay.

But that is just what reason does

unless we hold the reins

and give a tug to steer the thing

from mangling up our brains.




part two




When reason tries to dig out truth

and the nature of all things,

then let it keep one wary eye

on the tune emotion sings.

For emotion is the first to come

and never fades away;

no reason exists in paradise

where emotion has its day.


And what is this ‘E’ motion

which drives the inner ‘me’?

On its own it is the square

of M times that of C.

But what does all that tell you

of what it’s like in hell?

And it is not reason after all

which in paradise sings so well!


For reason is a mode of thought

which joins things in a row;

but thinking is an act in time,

where only time can flow.

But deeper yet, in structure,

the Cosmic way will show,

that there is no time for thinking

in the realm where we must go.



part three



No time it takes however,

for E motion thus to flow,

for the direction of its travel

is ‘up’ from down below,

and not along the linear line

which time thus has to go;

nor beamed down from the sky above,

like idiots claim it’s so.


Time and space are two things,

not one as some lay claim;

both reason and emotion

are facets of the game;

each with a purpose to its own

and harmony in the whole,

but isolate just one thing made,

and you have not got the whole.


Paradise would have no purpose

if there were no world in time;

and all the worlds that ever exist

need their roots divine.

You cannot have a left hand

if there is no right,

for a hand alone claps silence,

and no thing could then shine bright.




*    *    *





* * * * * * * * * * *


The Dimension Between Death and Resurrection




Betwixt the final Arkon,

in the dome of melting light

and the resurrection to from whence we came,

there comes the greatest fright

the soul knows in its journey

of exodus into form,


which separates the dawn

from all the things that move in time,

all things that come to be

ripples in the vortex, of temporality.


Thus, between Annihilation

and returning to that womb

there comes a point of ‘nothing’;

the one and only tomb.


What can one say of ‘nothing’?

There is nothing one can say!

of the point of no duration,

through which we go that day.


But if you know it in advance,

as you who read these lines,

then you will not know death, but how,

the Essence and Form, entwines.


And you will not know fear that day

for you will still recall

that you are passing through the void,

and soon will know, the all.




part two




The mind cannot but wonder

as to what is taking place

while consciousness is dormant

before entry to that place.


The gap of no duration

could be ten million years,

or a fraction of a moment,

till Paradise appears.


But as it takes no time at all

insofar as we can know,

then all that really matters

is knowing where we go.


But in that final moment

of melting in the white

annihilation of the self,

indeed life’s greatest fright.

Yet knowing it from hindsight

no more could it bring fear;

and I never really did know who

wept that final tear

in the trimorphic reunion

amid the dome of white

which lies before the mystic void

before Eternal light.




*    *    *






(Annihilation of Annihilation)



The Resurrection defies all words

that you and I can say;

of what is seen, and what is known

in the place we go that day.

Never could a Human mind,

while in ignorance doth dwell,

construe, think, or imagine,

anything done so well.


Tis simpler to say nothing,

and keep the mystery,

but what a waste of precious truth

of things invested thus in we.

A picture would tell nothing

of what it’s like in there,

the vision is just perfect

but of quality nought can compare.


Imagination only works

on things already known;

thus, never try to ponder

on the quality of Home.

But when the TWO become as ONE

amid the final gate

such little time will pass before

you rest in your orbit of state.


The void of no duration

through which we then must go,

(the real, and only, act of death)

before you come to know.




part two




There is, in resurrection,

an irony it’s true,

for you’ll know just what you really are;

for the first time... you’ll know YOU.

But what is more important

you’ll know of something more,

of something else which is not you,

of something... so much more!


The vision is a bonus,

though the best thing ever seen,

but there’s more to that Womb than vision,

far more than you could dream.

And when you arise in Paradise...

... you never did arrive;

for that is where you’ve always been,

since first you were alive.


Tis magic of the Nth degree;

and God knows how it’s done!

and the answer to that question,

alas will never come.

But then again, who wants to know;

such things you will not care,

while you are in such Wisdom

of the child you are... in there.


There is another aspect

so strange to come to see;

that ultimate divine knowledge,

is unquestionable mystery.

Though it is a kind of mystery,

in which there is NO DOUBT;

and thus a total knowledge

of what it’s all about.




part three




And in the midst of Paradise,

as far as one can see,

it goes on and on forever;

and it’s made, for you, and me.

The lights amid the darkness,

like Jewels in purple hung;

through which you orbit slowly

while the final song is sung.


But time is of an order

unknown by you and I:

imagine it you cannot,

no matter how you try.

Ten thousand million years go by

beyond the gates of dawn

but while in there, ten thousand years,

is but a divine dawn.


Think not of Trees or Angels,

or wise men with long hair;

think not of men and women,

or cherubims in there.

But try to just imagine,

to be alone that day,

with a total love n’er ending,

in a passion none can say.


And when the time does come to go

and leave that divine realm;

tis known so clear, that ‘otherness’

is the driver at the helm.

“Oh my love, it’s time to go,

for something is in need;

and now you must be with it!”

And thus IT IS... indeed!




part four




Once back on Earth in mortal form

the mind lives in a dream,

of what it IS, and whence it came,

and all the things it’s seen.


But ‘tis not for the feint hearted,

for there’s fear along the way;

although the Arkons smooth the path

to the place we go that day.


If all the Stars up in the sky

were money, gold, or wine;

I would not change them for my love

if presented thus as mine.

For in truth I have them also,

a Universe so wide;

the grass, the trees, the flowers,

which Paradise will hide.


If all the stars were paper,

and all the space was ink;

and if I had forever,

the time for which to think:

then never would the stars suffice,

and n’er would spread the ink,

to tell the story of my love,

and what I came to drink.


No matter then, of where I am,

and what I come to see,

for all the things that come our way

remain in memory.

But when the memory has to go

upon that divine day,

then I am just as happy,

for things to be, the other way.




*    *    *







When the insubstantial pageant fades

and leaves not a rack behind

of things that come and go in time,

other than my mind;

then maybe it can come to pass

that I’ll return to see

such quintessential essence in form

as the river Badgworthy.


And like the slopes that rise and fall

along the Quantock ridge;

the mists that ring the Exmoor combes

and the Barle at Landacre bridge.

The misty paths that garland the feet

of Dunkery at dawn,

the solitude of Anstey plain,

like Paradise redrawn.


Where best to be, I think at times,

in Paradise or here,

among the finished products’ fields

where purpose is made clear?

Such choice is one so hard to make;

and glad that it’s not mine;

but would be nice, me thinks, again

to come here one more time.


Be then in no hurry

to return from whence you came!

so much there is to do on Earth

which sets the heart aflame.

The mystic path of life entails

such wonders thus to see;

and all the things that come our way!

such...  Serendipity!!!




*    *    *







The wind does not blow

for the blowing is the wind;

and no water exists in the sea;

there is no space where there are no things

and no paradise exists without me.


There is no time with but one event,

an event which does not alter;

the wind does not blow

for the blowing is the wind

and the sea contains no water.


The light does not shine,

for the shining is the light,

and the knowing is the mind;

and nought is made ahead of me,

and nought is made behind.


The wind does not blow

for the wind is but the blowing,

and the sea contains no water,

there is no time without events;

and no mind without the knowing.


The flow contains no river,

the river contains no flow;

for the flowing is the river,

and the mind can do nought but know.


Without a lover nought could be loved,

and yet love is never abated;

for the love that exists in paradise

is the love for no thing created.

And when you know the truth of this

then you will come to see

that everything and no thing

are the same great mystery.




*    *    *






(for Bryony)



Once, upon a miracle,

the ferryman called on me,

and took me on a journey

beyond the temporal sea.

Never would a one believe

the things that passed that day,

and of the many splendours

I saw along the way.


In music made of light I swam,

then drifted like a Dove,

beyond the world we all know well,

in music made of love.

The Arkons of the depths I saw

in glory all around,

then carried me through Limbo,

then to my resting ground;


Wherein I spent...  forever!

midst time beyond our form;

in truth, and love, and wisdom;

the very first great dawn.

The Virgin Womb of Eternity

opened up to show

its wondrous jewels to me that day;

and why?... I’ll never know!


So furthermore dear Omar,

it is not quite true to say,

that none come back to speak of

those things along the way.





*    *    *







A Gnostic is a one who knows

the restitution of repose,

and having seen that wondrous sight

before the moving, and the white.

The knowledge of the depth of things;

the root from which all time begins

to issue forth its Cosmic load,

and ever conscious of its road.


The wisdom of creation’s love

returns to seed like wingéd Dove

when its temporal course is through,

washed of care becomes as new.


The Cosmic mind is bound to roam

many orbits from its home,

and into Somnus it must dive,

in darkness, fear, it must yet strive

to liberate its inner form

as it was before the dawn

when the mind dwelt in the light

of that virgin realm so bright.


In mortal life its memory knows

from whence it came, and whither it goes;

and thus it never walks alone,

however far it is from home.

One day, for sure, they all will know

the greatest truth that mind can show;

that ‘Love of Wisdom’ is second best

to the ‘Wisdom of Love’, in its home of rest.

And I AM (mind), amid the throng,

have seen the singer, and the song;

and nought can reach Eternity,

other than by way of me.





*    *    *







Daily I listen to prattling mob;

who next to pillage, plunder, rob?

Oh what rustic glee is theirs,

in sterling, yen, stocks and shares.


Oh my love, how little they know,

of from whence they come, and to whither they go.

From which chaos do they stem?

Did thee who made the light make them!?


Why boil me again in time?

Pathetic word! Pathetic rhyme!

Who, in truth, doth suffer most,

the sleeping? or the risen host?


Why, oh why, must it be,

that they love they,

and I love thee?


That all must pass this way I guess,

to know that more, is more than less.

Thus, before I say “It’s so!”

Truly do I have to know


Does pain endure

in length of time

equal to that

where fault was mine?...




part two




List my son, I tell you true,

tis not in me, ‘tis all in you.

Fly not against the swinging gate;

but ride the winds, whatever state.

Let out all that burns within,

that your heart may truly brim.

Only then, can you alight,

on wondrous music made of light.


I tell you that you profit not

from that which time was sent to rot.

But time unfolds its inner prize

when spirit lifts its sleeping eyes.


Creation is a gift so true,

That which I bestow on you.

The weeping is all mine you see,

if you negate the love that’s free.


Knowing this now let it flow;

let your self redeem its glow;

give away the love within;

and you and I will ever sing.


Thus, you have now seen the prize.

Go forth my son, and do likewise.

When next the gate swings in the breeze,

enjoy your time among my trees.

Tis not in me; ‘tis all in you,

the ink, the pen, for what is new.




*    *    *






(For Jon)


Close by the gates of Brendon

a vision came to me,

a vision of such ugliness;

a barren runt of a Tree.


Ne’r was a thing so useless;

what could its purpose be

amid such rampant beauty

as this stunted excuse for a Tree?


Yet while amid the dancing day

in the vital push of spring,

I could not take my eyes away

from the goddamned ugly thing.


I questioned it for hours,

until the Sun was low;

and so sorry for that Tree I felt,

but why... I did not know.


But when I questioned of the Tree

I had to search myself

for whose was then the poverty

 and whose was then the wealth?


The Tree (it was a mocking tree),

and I did give a sigh;

the goddamned thing had beaten me,

and I did not know why!




part two




Hard by the gates at Brendon

a boy sat down to drink,

and there a useless ugly Tree

did teach a boy to think.


Of which then is more useless,

a moorland Rowan Tree,

or a mind thus not engaged in thought

where thoughts are supposed to be?


I laughed and laughed as Sun went down

behind the Rowan Tree,

for I learned the greatest lesson;

the useless runt... was me.


And before that day was over

(a coincidence no doubt)

from this world I was thus taken,

to where Paradise is laid out.


But hark, a word of warning,

for where learning thus begins

there follows many a dark night

before reason also sings.





*    *    *







The Trimorphic Protennoia;

(three aspects of the Mind),

two which serve a temporal need

and one which remains behind.

A Rose by any other name,

as spirit, soul, and mind,

but the Trimorphic Protennoia

is Consciousness you’ll find.


FORMATIVE cognition,

the norm of temporal mode;

TRANSITIVE cognition,

which takes that lonely road;

ESSENTIAL cognition,

which in Paradise doth dwell;

and in the final Arkon field

you’ll know them Oh so well.


The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

as some would have it known;

but they attribute to something else

that which is your own.

For Mind in Paradise is not that

which brings all things to be;

for that is something deeper yet

than the emergent parts of you and me.

Cast your net a little deeper

than the mystic Trinity

when talking of the first cause

of Time and Eternity.




*    *    *






“The Power that be does not play dice”,

quothe Einstein in a rage;

but despite the fact that he thought so much

 he had barely seen one page.

For you and I, the thing called mind,

can think and plan in time;

a faculty called freedom,

which makes decision mine.


The giving of such freedom

for our acts in temporal form

is how we learn our lessons,

and where dice becomes the norm.

The dice however, are loaded

by the powers velvet glove;

it cheats—by loading freedoms dice

with an essence we call love.

Thus love is Cosmic blackmail,

though nice as nice can be!

and I could not think of a better way

for the likes of you and me.

For who would go where love does push,

through darkness, fear, and pain

if choice we had to meditate

and reason found no gain?


And how could things be smarter

where freedom has to choose,

than making us an offer

which none can thus refuse!?

Such humour in creation

runs deep in space and time

and is itself an essence

from the Virgin Womb sublime.

And Love is but one method

to teach things we must know

and bring forth acts we would not choose

by setting our hearts aglow.

But sometimes, when it’s lacking,

the spirit glows quite dim;

and at such times then reason knows,

what really makes it sing.




*    *    *






Those that preach you’re born in sin

and live and die the same,

are the virus of the human mind;

they play the power game

of discord and disruption,

and unripe to be called MAN;

no greater stagnant pool of mire

was ever seen upon the land.


Avoid them like the plague of death;

their time on Earth is nigh

to go the way of Dodos;

and no tear for them we’ll cry.


Look not for the living among such dead;

nor sin within a child,

for their birth is of a truth so pure;

of a wisdom oh so mild.


On Earth we come in ignorance;

but cannot stay that way;

and you cannot learn the facts of life

without travelling through each day.


Seek no Earthly Establishment

to guide you through each day;

but seek the truth within your heart;

and you’ll not be led astray.




*    *    *






Dedication to William Blake



Tiger! Tiger! burning dim

wrought of pain, racked in sin;

what primordial hand or eye

beguiles thee to rise and fly.

In what depths beyond the skies

lights the flame, attracts thine eyes.

On what wings do thou take flight

from rushing dawn, to silent night.


What the power, what the love,

that lifts thee like a wingéd Dove.

What the sight that halts thy breath

and guides thee through a temporal death.

What the singer, what the song,

that guides thy feet from stepping wrong;

and what rhythm thy heart dost pound—

what the nature of its ground.


That silent love beyond the white,

beyond the pain, beyond the fight,

which strains thy sinews in its rise,

like Phoenix to eternal skies.

Tiger! Tiger! thee I know;

in darkness, cold, and winters snow;

the die is cast, your path is right;

Tiger! Tiger! you’ll burn bright.





*    *    *







The things of which I’ve mentioned

are not theory, but are ‘thus’.

I have stated them quite briefly

without circumbendibus.


But most will still yet argue

for durations yet to come;

of what they are

and why they’re here,

and from whence their being come.


But before you make a judgement,

first come to know your self:

and know of that which is not you;

the deepest Cosmic wealth.


The words I have thus written

are nought in any measure

to try and pay a debt I owe

for the deepest Cosmic pleasure.


My hope is that you come to see,

while you are still on Earth,

the things of which I’ve mentioned;

of such Wisdom and such worth.


And when the time shall come to be,

when all Men on Earth do know

the nature of their inner depths;

how then ... the World will Glow.


And then... for a duration,

the essence of the ONE,

will be the same amid the Earth,

as in Paradise: It Will be Done.




*    *    *