Spiritual Compass

 

Light Tower

The Ivory Lighthouse: Guide: Warning

 

 

I

find

they can

speak to us from the

other side of a room without uttering

a word - An ivory tower on a rocky island like

a beacon shining through the babble of the mob

somehow invisible to those that do not talk with their body

 

Watch Tower

Dark as a raven: Seer: Watching

 

I sometimes bike behind people in silence to see how long it takes

for their peripheral attention to sense me, to see

 how in tune they are with their aura

How some people will stir

and look at you as

 you enter a

 room

Even if it is full of noise and distractions

 

Patchwork Ship

Body of sail is a mosaic of found ideas: collect: binding

 

Our sail is a quilt of memories

Drawn with four pairs of hands

The mismatch and bric-a-brac look

is what makes it more meaningful to us

A stronger symbol

A better sail

than anything you could buy in a shop

Or get machine made

The deck of the ship is a mosaic of broken past lives

And lived peak moments like a polka dot pattern of contrasts

Made into new symbols

That now has beauty to it

that we can see

from the helm of the ship

 

 

Designer Ship

Kitset and modular it strives for beauty: maker: balancing

 

The kitset turnkey ship

 is for day-to-day use

put together

 by friends and family

like an IKEA kitchen

with no instructions

reinforced with found screws

and brackets

but sanded, gib filled, painted and polished

to a sleek surface

 and

flawless finish

 

Doors of Perception

Never locked but often out of reach: touch: sensing

 

Language is a gateway drug to understanding

a door on a floating island

 

Never locked but often out of reach

learning Te Reo, learning old Norse is not just about

Knowing a language,

and while that is important,

It is also about not forgetting,

not neglecting

the access you were born with,

to this floating island

With doors of new insights and connections

To global eyes feet voice

 

Floating above our heads shrouded in clouds

But never unlocked and with your name etched on its frames

 

Doors of Critics

Heavily guarded by gate keepers: barrier: Testing

 

Language is a gateway drug to manipulation

Like monoliths grounded in town squares

With false doors and mirror panels

They’re heavily guarded and bolted shut

To shroud the fact that anyone can be a critic

And the substance is in the eye of the beholder

Like a pollock panting the more you explain it

The further you move away from the creator’s original intent

Yet the critic, particularly when you are your own

Worst critic, can pull you away from your own

Arse , I mean the donkey headed adversary

That allows you to fine tune

And prune off the noise

That allows others

To tune in

And

Connect

Stone Bridges

Carefully placed stepping stones: carry: holding

These stones are tumbled from the rivers that run

Straight from the ice waves that existed as the beginning of the world

and through the yawning void eleven rivers flowed separating us

from the worlds beyond our visible spectrum

and over those rivers we build our bridges from the stumbled stones

the yelling bridge my ancestors called it

but in Norse the word also means calling out

so you wont get stranded on the islands between the rivers

where the stagnant and runners of cycles live

the bright waters dance

on the surface of the polished stones

as we carry more to the unfinished edge

and find moments to enjoy the toil

as we get closer to the other side that connects us to a whole

Underground Bridges

Passages below our feet: Burrow: Digging

 

Deep down in a glow work cave melted stone form a natural bridge

Over an underground lake and while the ferryman transport

The bodies of those dead inside into the underworld

The hounds of curves and tracks less trodden can show us these bridges

 

I was wandering along the shores for ages

Hanging out with the Inverted hollows, passing it on to the left-hand side

Flailing my limbs around to the tune of a drum beat and a piper’s flute

I knew the rat dance and how to get my whistle blown to eurotrash club songs

And the art of keeping a conversation going at 5 am in the morning

 

But as soon as the magpie with a drop of blood in his beak lit the lantern

And I finally picked it up, seeing the bridge for the first time, it was without hesitation

That I left that shore to walk deep into the underground glow work caves

Into the between where shadows dance like ideas manifesting

And you yourself can finally cast shadows into the walls of the hall of the mountain king