Tag Archives: imagination

My Father’s House


They say that home is where the heart is. I have no doubt that this is true. In which case my home was imprinted in my heart before I was even born. It is my father’s home, my grandmother’s home, my great grandfather’s home and for a short while, my grandfather’s. Despite efforts to deny it many times, this is also my home. Some things we decide in life. Other things are decided for us. This home belongs to the former category. My heart home never stops calling me to return home. It’s voice is relentless. Sometimes louder, sometimes a silent echo, but always there.

Physical places, you see, are not just physical places. They may appear derelict and abandoned to the human eye, but they are always inhabited. My home is a glorious ruin with a soul that cries out and a garden that needs tending. Soul tending sometimes feels like an overwhelming and fearsome responsibility. Until I close my eyes and listen to my beating heart. I imagine myself sitting in the grand salon at the piano with Frederic Chopin playing. Once again I am restored. I have returned home.

Being is becoming

Dawn breaks, the day unfolds.
A crisp, fresh, untouched page
To explore, wide-eyed and innocent
The beauty, wonder and miracle of today,
Oggi, aujourd’hui, heute, dzisiaj.

Here comes Alice in Wonderland,
Chasing, chasing, chasing the white rabbit,
Until falling into that blissful coma
of inspiration overload,
She knows that there is nothing ever to catch or grasp,
That there is only that one door, which opens to another and another and another…


The door of imagination, eager anticipation

And an endless array of white rabbits…

But oh what fun, what joy, to see, to touch,

To hear and feel so very much,

To rise and fall, to rise and fall again, to be…

Being is oh so very becoming.

Love Divine

Easter Sunday…and the amalgamation of this Lenten journey.  Truth, Beauty, Goodness…interwoven, ever flowing, ever giving, ever growing.  Love Divine.  Henry Thoreau’s image of the two oaks, crowns reaching to the heavens, roots firmly on the ground, “inseparably”.  I cannot think of a more beautiful way to express human love and divine love becoming One.  Vulnerable in our humanity, powerful in our divinity, the suffering Christ, the risen Christ.  enJOY we celebrate and reach out to each other, to One and all.   ❤ 


I think awhile of Love, and while I think,

Love is to me a world,

Sole meat and sweetest drink,
And close connecting link
Tween heaven and earth.


I only know it is, not how or why,
My greatest happiness;
However hard I try,
Not if I were to die,
Can I explain.


I fain would ask my friend how it can be,
But when the time arrives,
Then Love is more lovely
Than anything to me,
And so I’m dumb.


For if the truth were known,

Love cannot speak,
But only thinks and does;
Though surely out ’twill leak
Without the help of Greek,
Or any tongue.


A man may love the truth and practise it,
Beauty he may admire,
And goodness not omit,
As much as may befit
To reverence.


But only when these three together meet,
As they always incline,
And make one soul the seat,
And favorite retreat,
Of loveliness;


When under kindred shape, like loves and hates
And a kindred nature,
Proclaim us to be mates,
Exposed to equal fates


And each may other help, and service do,
Drawing Love’s bands more tight,
Service he ne’er shall rue
While one and one make two,
And two are one;


In such case only doth man fully prove
Fully as man can do,
What power there is in Love
His inmost soul to move


Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side,
Withstand the winter’s storm,
And spite of wind and tide,
Grow up the meadow’s pride,
For both are strong


Above they barely touch, but undermined
Down to their deepest source,
Admiring you shall find
Their roots are intertwined


Henry David Thoreau

Digging Deep


Passion Week, Tuesday.  A brisk evening walk; flowing conversation; sunset, moon rise; with friends in the silent backdrop of glorious Herefordshire countryside.  Life is magical.  Life is beautiful.  This is the stuff that dreams are made of.   For all these things I am grateful, so very, very grateful.  

We are so many things, yet we are none

A daisy chain of crowning moments

A buttercup sequence of ‘love you, love you nots’

We are strong like oaks, guardians of the forest

Reaching upwards towards that vast expanse

We are soft and gentle willows, bending, flexing,

Caressing the ground with veils of tears

We are red hot suns and red hot moons

Taking turns to make star appearances

We are Each and Every One

Blinking, blazing, dancing, gazing

Unmissable, unstoppable