contemplations in words & images

MARTIN CHALLIS

Category: Reflection (Page 2 of 5)

Of Cynicism

November 26, 2014 /

the voice of cynicism
with imperious wisdom
informed by circumstances past
where through defeated expectation, corrupted naivety
perhaps wounded vulnerability has been
disappointed on innumerable occasions

and chanting incessantly
in a cavernous register
“there is no hope – there is no point”
and louder
“there is no hope – there is no point”
and louder still
“there is no hope – there is no point”

would have you adopt this epigram as your own
in the belief
that if you do
the prophecy of self determined hopelessness
will be affirmed and validated

its unspoken fear of course is that you will leave it there
abandoned and alone in the cavern of its own arrogant despair

so here’s an idea
surprise it
take it with you
out of the pit
take it for a bicycle ride on the beach at low tide
hump it in a ruck-sack up a rocky ridge
swim with it in a lake with a sandy bottom and willow banks
invite it to the funniest Robin Williams film you can think of
above all else, let it experience your unconditional positive regard

constantly
continuously
repeatedly
offering counsel
in all the tones and voices
of unrelenting love

MChallis @ 2104

Humility

November 19, 2014 /

I would like to know you
More than I do

You are a gracious presence that in glimpses I have seen influence the mightiest egos acquiesce

Somehow at times I stumble across you yet would know you more as a constant companion

I forget you often and in the throes of reaction and defensiveness catch myself in arrogance or in self righteousness or justification

Which is always followed by regret

How do I know you?
How do I find you in the moments when I am alone and embattled?
How do I find you in that first breath?
Of surrender

 

MChallis @ 2014

Upon Awakening

September 23, 2014 /

“In the dim light of the forest’s heart
That is my own heart“. John Pass

 

Looking back
Long into many memories
Are seeds and tender shoots
Upon my awakening

Looking sidelong
Into many happenings
Are flowers and reaching branches
Upon my flourishing

Looking headlong
Into many eventualities
Are husks and drying leaves
Upon my returning

Looking forward
Long into many possibilities
Are seeds and tender shoots
Upon awakening

 

 

MChallis @ 2014

 

 

Thought for the day #1

September 22, 2014 /

Your power lies within you. Life endowed you eons ago.
Your work today begins with knowing this deeply.
Your power does not lie in the minds of others,
you do not need their approval for what you already posses.
As you practice today keep your attention on giving,
on being generous without the conditionality of it being reciprocated.
In this moment now and in this breath you are free.

MChallis © 2014

There is Work to Do

September 21, 2014 /

In human history
For the centuries
that can be remembered
Perhaps the most destructive force
That has lived among us
Is the human mind
That does not observe itself
Is human thought
That is unaware

MChallis @ 2014

Apart

July 12, 2014 /

For SamP1050341

When you likened missing her
(in ways you didn’t know you could)
to muscles aching after
exercise you hadn’t done before
You said for you this was telling of a deeper love
And almost as if finding out for the first time
that love and pain are twins, you discovered
as a pair, that they, like both of you
are never far apart.

MChallis 2014

It Is the Time

January 30, 2014 /

It is the time for love
Of course it is
What a thing to say
When is it not that time?

Perhaps it is never more
Never has been more
Than now
Yet somehow we wait
Wait for what?

Wait for a higher authority?
When there is none to wait for
Wait for permission?
When it’s there to give ourselves all along
Wait for someone else to go first?
When we are that someone.

Now more than ever
Is the time
For love, for
The telling
The giving
The living of it

Now

Just Now

January 29, 2014 /

When you are where you are
Just there
And not elsewhere
Not spinning
Or toppling
But steady
Ever steady
In the breath of being
You are
Just now my darling
A universe at it’s centre
A wondrous
Infinite now

Magic Death

October 11, 2013 /

The boy who hangs his story from the bridge.
As if in fairy tale told in detail to a desperate lover.
The bulging eyes of his spine
staring out a broken neck;
his story told in the lingering art of death. Or

he who faces the train to Ferny Hills
and each commuter who remembers
that day’s monotony interrupted as bits of him
slapped against the carriage like
someone throwing wet fish. Or

the pass-over traffic
grumbling at the fall of tragic demonstration – a
boy not welcomed anywhere except by the earth
that took him in with a kiss of bitumen. Or

balanced on needle point, a
thousand thousand weights pressing death
into an arm embracing the tv-cable guide and
a torn photograph of jennifer the mud wrestler.
And all this waste
sending little statistic waves of shock that don’t anymore.

Gone to sleep like the boys who left us.
Early sleep. Early rise and forget the
sons who disappear in a magician’s finale.
The cloak of social history that accepts this. And the magic
abra-cadabra of unhappy youth

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