"Poetry is not written, it flows forth as a gift from a source deep within our soul"
"Like tides, we are ebbing with the flow, flowing with the ebb we think we know"
InnerSpace
"The search is for inherent purpose, which is, of necessity, created by each decision we make. Purpose is constantly being decided, not hoped for. Purpose is action taken. Poetry can express our progress. Meanings are the result of actions, values have become words."
InnerSpace Poetry
"Poetry is an expression of Truth, Beauty and Goodness. Truth is a process of discovering predictable patterns and laws of the universe and working with the causes and effects of our actions. Beauty is always seeking its perfect expression. And, Goodness is the sharing of our bounty.
Poetry - ultimate binder of puzzle pieces - is the illusive reminder that reality at the edge of experience is important and beyond emotional measure, somewhere between feeling and thinking. It is a spiritual matter, blooming like desert cactus without much water, yet persistent and pregnant with truth. Poetry, like wind, pushes clouds beyond known limits and still lies within defined sky. Simplicity - like a veil - hides things, and we must peek behind seemingly complex issues to discover what the importance has become. (And you thought hide and seek was for children)
Children play with innocence like Christmas toys, unaware of the great importance pending. Discovery of truth may be somewhat accidental, a stroke of good fortune, or good friends. Or, it can be a matter of deep search, questioning everyone with silent probings, and secret longings. It is the same for everyone. We all lean into madness before we learn to define scattered meanings. Beyond imagined limits lingers everything in its fullness, complete, unquestioned, unanswered.
We have floundered between knowing and seeming, drowning in tides of reason, grasping at shores between waves of clarity and despair, seeking refuge in opinions, strength in some new tradition defined in ignorance, by herding instincts remaining in our senses, and residue of passing seasons. Rain washed answers into questions that disappeared into dampness, becoming dew for wet and thirsty moss.
Days without purpose pass, yet within them are seeds of knowing and certainty - purposively growing - reaching into us with roots that take hold, and we are born anew. Like dormant pink flowers, or frogs and crickets waiting for spring, we begin to stir as our inner growings push up through seemingly important opinions, sprouts reaching for light, knowing only darkness.
Full moons rise, skies illuminated by passing phases. Threads are weaving meaning behind our senses, piercing dreams with realities fullness, clearing our vision. Something within us sees beyond the years we spend.
We grow in winter, inside, our spirits renewed by outer devastation, our hearts full of hidden sadness feeding our pending spring, waiting to burst into new sun-warmed seasons. Winter, in a seeming contradiction, brings a certain fullness, a bursting wombfull of new life, an urgency underlying everything, like spring buds hiding in barren winter branches. It brings the winds of time's measure, from tree to tree, with the speed of windsound passing. Vulnerable we and the earth become, to a depth beyond the night's darkness.
Winter leads us beyond our dormant senses, stretching our perceptions into seeing patterns behind ourselves. When the sun breaks through storming clouds to reprieve the awesome sentence nature imposed on us, we leap into joy like satyrs dancing before Gods, consumed with sunwarm gladness. Winter, life's dormant measure, full of intensity and the teacher of greatness, has pushed us within, and we can define ourselves by actions full of the meaning we give them, knowingly, decidedly, and importantly.
These are spiritual matters, a new closeness with our inner selves, exposed like elements weathered and blown. Welcome the new found treasures, the open cracks in our senses leading to deeper matters: truth is shedding too-tight skin, peeling away even all that matters. We were destined to meet each other, truth and I.
Making sense out of life is a matter of setting personal values and making them a reality by living them, giving them birth and expressing them, creating a constancy full of our own making by listening to guideness from deeper selves within, a matter of getting close to the Gods, verging on divine considerations."
"The Acts of Today are the Destiny of Tomorrow."
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Watch Frans Lanting's - A lyrical view of life on Earth
