The Heaven of Dreams

By on Feb 26, 2015 in Poems | 0 comments

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The Heaven of Dreams



You try and you try.


You try to birth something of beauty

through the misfortunes of a difficult marriage

you try to bloom into this beauty

despite ferocious winds and high anxiety.


Who you are

            in the essence.


This love in the wake of so much change.

This deep well of desire and belonging.

The blues greens opals of dreamtime.

The aqueous pools of memory.


Who you are

            in the essence.


You want to pull it through

from the dream realm into time and space,

through your crown and into your awakening body

and wanting it seems to make it so

and so you begin

to move towards this

this smooth opening,

the soft warming

of what you want

just before it becomes real.


What you know is this.


Your only job

is to be


is to be

very clear.




Though you pray for this continual

soft opening of love and the wisdom of your

dreams unfurling as giant petals of light and radiance


I’m sorry it just can’t go on.


Right now your night boat is on the verge of capsizing.


Bitter roses. Dust and grief. All there is


is you

trying to pass through

the mythical, primordial

eye of a needle,

the alchemy of Self

being born

of self.





One day, without warning,


it lifts.


Oh, the tiny birds.


The heart once again

fragile and full of poetry.


Shards of light streaming through

the morning window speak to this renewed clarity.

Coffee, first thing, tastes good again.

When you wake you are aware

you are bringing pieces

of the dream state back with you.

You know this because

in your mouth there is wild honey

and the orb of light around a flower in love

with its momentary state of being.

You are dripping with it.

You are shimmering in it.

You know it is a delicate thing,

this bridging of two worlds and one of them

is the heaven that lives inside you

that you carried back with you wordlessly

on your solitary boat. It is precious and you wonder

Who can understand this?

You say the word God

and people recoil in rhetoric and terror.


You say nothing.


You go to lunch with friends,

and all throughout the conversation

this feeling is spilling out from you,

swooning inside you, a coil unwinding.

You sit at the metal table

and you eat and talk

but all the while you are being pulled,

back towards this knowing

that last night you had

your heart lit up all at once

like a torch in the winter darkness,

and all the lost pieces of you gathered

like the sudden discovery of white swans

floating on the black water of a hidden bay,

a congregation of burning stars, a deep well.


You heart is still smoldering from the memory if it.

You are blooming into love right at the very table

and you are too embarrassed to admit

you want to drop everything

and leave everyone

and run

to it.




All you know is this.

The next morning

and many mornings afterwards

there is a literal ache

between your shoulder blades


where your night wings

must have been.


You do everything you can

to remember

and keep remembering.



26 ullapool, scotland


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