If we start by saying we’re alive before we’re born,
And we also live beyond the point where other people mourn
As they bury us, entombed, in a coffin in the ground,
We start to see that life’s a spiral: round and round and round.

The body is a vehicle with all the working parts
To accommodate the One transmission, tuned in through our hearts.
We get to have experience, emotion, thought and feeling.
We get to feel individual from floor to ceiling.

So with all this in mind, is it possible to be
A human being who can function well in this reality?
It seems we all have blueprints for the things that we should do:
The practices that help us all to meet each other true.

Someone might do yoga. Someone else might talk to God.
Jane might be a Buddhist. John might think that’s odd.
For some, the thought of kissing kitten’s noses is enough
To remind them they’re unique and that they’re full of love and stuff.

Though, this being said, for many of us, love is born from pain.
The grieving that we go through when we feel less than sane
With the worry that engulfs us as our little baby boy
Has a seizure in our arms while we sing a song of joy:

A love song sung with open heart and Gratitude for life,
Vibrating with the love we feel, rather than the strife.
And in those moments, we are brought to see the face of God.
That love and pain can mix like this: a paradox. It’s odd.

And now I know that Love is present each and everywhere,
I’m learning how to nurture my ability to care
For myself in the areas I used to seek from others:
From the friendships co-created with my sisters and my brothers.

In recent years I have found reflections of myself:
Pixie; Wizard; Warrior; the Shaman and the Elf,
The Matriarch, the Amazon, the fabled Dwarf Princess,
The Mogwai and the Ninja (who’s invisible, no less).

And in these friendships I can start to see myself anew,
That who they are with me is my reflection. And it’s true.
Some reflections make me glow with Universal Pride.
Whilst others make me shrink away. They make me want to hide.

So if the Pixie troubles me should I reject the friend?
“I’ve had enough of you. I’m afraid this is the end.”
I could, but if I did how could I expect to see
The things that, through the pain of friendship, God is showing me?

I want to learn. I want the lessons – just not all the time.
And seeing this has shown me that I’m ready, now, to climb.
But I must climb the mount alone to understand the Pixie,
And learn to trust him even though he’s often rather tricksy.

And when I trust my Pixie, I will also trust in others’:
The Pixies that belong to my sisters and my brothers.
I’ll climb that mount with honestly – that’s what this is about;
The Pixie makes me cross but I must NEVER cross it out.

So, like the olden days when they danced medieval dances,
And called in the directions in their hocus-pocus trances,
I will visualise myself on the mountain in my mind,
Making hocus-pocus Pixie magic. Who knows what I’ll find.

And then a mountain holiday, perhaps a little rest,
With a Pixie in my heart, beating rhythms in my chest,
And Pixie dreams of Centipedes in very fancy-dress:
Going to the Centiparty aiming to impress.

And then I will return, down the mountain, to the ground,
And smile to the singing mountain farmer and the sound
Of his voice and his lyrics as he throws his seed to scatter:
“Peace and cookies are the only things that really matter.”

7th December 2012 ©Simon Welsh Poetry