When Visions Come

September 26 2015 111

When visions come
All these things
I see I hear I taste I smell I feel
That you and you and you
Cannot will not ever want to
Come flowing through my consciousness
Coursing like water through a pipe
Creating endless curiosities
In my silly logical mind

These visions are not me not mine
Not you not yours
But are briefly of me of mine
Of us of them of everyone
As they cross my awareness
In dreams in waking slumber

Death love pain bliss success failure
All woven into a cosmic blanket
Draped over my naked soul
I am nobody I am everybody just then
I am that vision that scene that place
So torn away from my corporeal self
Wandering Earth a lost and found spirit
Until it drifts away to memory
Until it becomes manifest
In the now in the then in the later

You must warn them
The fearful say
Saving the innocent
And defeating the demons

You must use them
The ambitious say
Taking all that is yours
And manifesting your destiny

You must disown them
The religious say
For knowing such things is evil
And you must please God

You must stop them
The doctors preach
For having visions is crazy
And require me be treated

No mortal not even I
Know my role my sanity
Even after visions come
Am I cold to the victims’ blood
For listening to The Angels
Who speak from beyond religion
Who speak from beyond morals
Who speak from beyond reason
Who speak to enlighten me

No Devil No God
I have looked into both eyes
And felt their touches
In my spirit in my life

I am
My path my future my past
A thousand times each moment
Knowing what is mine
Knowing what is yours
The visions make them ours
For an eternal moment

Knowing being doing
Are the eternal problems
Grounding grounding grounding
Meditating meditating meditating
Fasting fasting fasting
Are the eternal solutions
When visions come

 

Copyright © 2018 John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Photo: The Solitary Tree (Windfall: September 2015)

I Am Here

I Am Here 8 26 17

I am here
Alive and ready for this path
No matter the joys the pains or how often
My feet may pause or my tongue may become still
Though my eyes may not appear to see
All going on around me on my path
And my ears my not seem to hear the laughter the crying
And my hands may not move to heal pain to defeat evil

I am here Smelling the trees as they quietly grow season to season
And looking over the grasses and the flowers and the skies
And sending joy out to all who look upon such scenes
With their eyes with their imaginations with their memories
As they seek refuge in their darkest night or to make their noon brighter

Together, we grow our strength ever beyond strong
Fed by hope and love even as whirlwinds uproot lives all around us
And give rise to fears from hellish pasts or intimidating futures

In the stillness of our souls as the power of The Universe
Cleanses our every cell, flowing through us replenishing us
No matter how far apart we are measured by mere miles mere lifetimes
As we remain eternally joined through our souls

We are here
Alive and ready for our intertwined paths
As The Universe’s DNA
 

© Copyright 2017 by John David Higham. All rights reserved.

Photo: Meditation Landscape (Lewisburg, August 26, 2017)

Dear Death

Death 8 21 17

 

I sense you
I feel your long pale fingers
As they touch and take the lives around me
Indeed, I sense the coldness of your touch
The killing frost that you are to all who could grow

Twenty-five years ago
I learned of your path into my body
You either didn’t think me a listener as you whispered
In that Reiki Master’s ear or else figured I wouldn’t feel her
Remorse when she recognized your energies entwined with mine

You fool
I had heard your dirges over a decade before
When we played together in my room late at night
A cord tied tightly ‘round my neck
As you patiently waited for my feet to step off and into your arms
Even before you seduced Mom with promises of release
As “How Long” and “When Will I See You Again”
Sang questions that I alone answered aloud to both myself
And you in the crumbling bunker of my adolescence

You didn’t scare me then
As instead the living called to action by The Angels
Forced me so deep into hell that I then begged with my razor
For you to escort me to my ancestors

As a child of nine thirteen years earlier
You caught me off-guard just once
Because then you were just something that happened
To people on TV named King and Kennedy, not Higham

You broke into my life a little at a time back then
Stealing Saturday afternoons and chess games from me
A secret companion Mom shared only after you had come and gone
On Mother’s Day as if her not mentioning you until after you stole Dad
Might make you forever disappear

I sense you
In the faces of a friend’s child
Those who ask me for prayers and energy
On Facebook
In the news
In my waking world
In my dreams or
In the future wrinkled faces
Of my children

I feel the bones the lives the families that you will shatter
As I walk among the ruins you’ve created
My tears and my grief are not for you
Even as I will continue to sense
Who you will only touch and who you will take
And how you will finally take me
But I will never again fear you
Or again deceive myself
Into believing you should
Into persuading you must
Embrace me before your time

© Copyright 2017 by John David Higham. All rights reserved.

Photo: Death (August 21, 2017)

Fumes

What I run on
What you do not know
What fuels me with a passion
Others can only envy
Is knowing just how far beyond
Empty I am running running running

See that snow upon the land
That cloaks the earth in a dead whiteness
My soul knows it as rolling greens
And lush fields that will always provide
If I continue to allow myself to believe and be
In the spirit flowing through my soul my veins

Overdrawn bank accounts and maxed-out credit cards
And empty cupboards and empty gas tanks are no obstacles
When looking with more than the eyes
Speaking with more than the lips
Doing with more than the body
And living with more than the life

What I run on is amused by all things empty
Empty fears promoted by marketers fear mongers
So-called leaders of our land who live in shadows
Created and poured into towers of what-if-
fuming-combustibles-lacking-only-a-spark-explode-
worse-case-scenarios and who pull the strings
Of frantic marionettes thrashing around me

This puppets strings forever snapped
Connected to the power within this moment
Of unstable combustible fumes becoming
Cleansed air flowing in flowing out
With my every meditative breath

Can you hear the butterfly sing
In harmony with the air flowing
Over its translucent wings?

© 2017 by John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Photo: Butterfly (Windfall, PA: 2016)

I Am the Sun

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When the sky darkens
With the approaching storm,
When the sky darkens
With the fading day,
I will not retreat.

When the shouts drown out the smiles
And children stop being happy,
When sadness becomes infectious
And metastasizes into gloom,
I will not despair.

When the numbers overwhelm
And all feelings become scary,
When all lose forever all hope
And desperation paints all into corners,
I will not surrender.

When heavy rains turn creeks into torrents
Of heavy brown turbulent mud
That erodes both earth and lives,
I will not get swept away.

When death and its stench
Foul the land and our nostrils,
When sobbing is the only
Sound greeting the morning,
I will not stop living.

I will not succumb
To all the hells that have been
To all the hells all around me
To all the hells that will be.

I am burning bright even in darkest night
Glowing above the most terrifying storm
Not dimmed by events on Earth or in sky;
My eternal joy, hope and optimism burn
Stronger than mere dogma, fear, and power.

I am the sun.

© 2017 by John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Sky, Sun, and Earth (Windfall Road, January 21, 2017)

I Don’t Know You (But I Believe in You)

PHL to SETAC to Sedona 3 20 16 413 FInal

I don’t know you
But I believe in you
Not because I’m being flirty
Or because I want you to like me;
My faith in you arises from seeing the you
That you can’t or won’t allow yourself to see.
That you can’t or won’t allow yourself to embrace:
I sense your greater self in your words, your gestures, your eyes
And know that soon you will look in your soul’s mirror.

I don’t know the details of your pain
But I know that you will heal
Not because I can’t deal with your trauma
Or because I am an incurable optimist;
My faith in you comes directly from the you
That has healed so far beyond others who have succumbed
To pains so much lesser than what you have sojourned through.

I don’t know your face
But I know that it will soon own a smile
Not because I want you to be fake or insincere;
My faith in you comes from sensing your child-like innocence and hope
That is alive and vibrant at the innermost core of your soul.

I don’t know your fears
But I know you will render them useless
Not because I have an agenda for you;
My faith in you comes from knowing you through your vibration
And seeing The Angels all around you waiting to give you bliss.

I don’t know your hopes
But I know you will realize them
Not because I dismiss your obstacles;
My faith in you comes from knowing the you
That can survive and thrive and become
Even more open to manifesting miracles.

I don’t know how to teach you
But I know that you will continue to learn
Not because I am bored or uninspired by you;
My faith in you comes from sensing in you
That your wisest teacher is in your mirror
And that your brightest pupil is in your shoes.

© copyright 2016 John David Higham: All Rights Reserved

Photo: Reflections (Poulsbo, WA: 3/16)

Finding the Twelve (Becoming the Thirteen)

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Upon awakening,
Not with my body, but with my soul
When the sunrise not only painted yellow
The gray belly of the clouds but also exposed
That beauty in the darkest of my day.

What miracle must dislodge me from this holding cell
As I live on the edge of one life ready to jump ‘cross a chasm
To the next? What miracle allows me to bid goodbye to so many past lives
Refusing to crossover, their reminders lining my way like polite ghosts
That excuse themselves when I accidentally bump into them?

Finding the twelve, yes, as that will make me the thirteen. I look for them
In the soft eyes of those patient ghosts: I’ve told them that they won’t
Be coming along except in nostalgic memories held in now fading pictures
Of people, places, and things of lives I’ve finished living so long ago.

Rising from my soul’s bed, I set out to find the twelve like jurors
Picked to judge all my life up to this point: See them sitting on their chairs?
The Father, The Son, The Mother, The Fool? See them given absolute
Judgment of all I was as they alone determine all I will ever be
From their daily verdicts onward?

Twelve I need walking into my life in perfect order,
A most rewarding combination to unlock all my potential
And free me from my darkest delusions of self-doubt and worry:
I need them to march in as six perfectly-matched couples
Though I know that all will be as it must be I pray, indeed,
That they will be exactly as I know, exactly as I predicted,
Exactly as they should march down that aisle in the chapel
To be wed on a special day that only the twelve and I know about,
Making me the thirteen.

Do you know those perfect twelve pairing into a perfect six,
Making me the thirteen? Such worlds beyond math transmutating
With chanting: I find such solace here upon awakening building
In hope that such an evolution would ripple through my consciousness
As it upends my corporeal world on this day that must be the day when
Miracle of miracles takes place and I am accelerated even faster
The rocket that I am and have been and will always be.

See, thirteen is the number of death, of change, of revolution, of moving on,
Of moving beyond all that was and is no longer but has still managed to find its way
Around my soul like tenacious vines intertwined and permeating my being.
Death to this time, to this waiting life will come and is coming though will not
Announce itself until I have found those twelve and have myself become the thirteen.
Then the endings will end, the beginnings will begin, and the waiting life
Will become nothing more than another hovering ghost offering polite excuses.

© 2017 by John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Photo: Curve in Winter Rain (Liberty, PA 1/12/17)

On This Road I Walk

img_1844-dec-25-2016-the-mountain

On this road I walk,
I saw a mountain
That was such a mountain
That was a barrier
That was a wall,
It
Stopping me from moving
Stopping me from living
Stopping me from being.

On this road I walk
I saw a cloud
That was such a cloud
That was a darkened crown
That was a Night Angel,
It
Stopping me from breathing
And filling my mind
With thoughts of retreating
With thoughts of failing
With thoughts of surrender.

On this road I walk
I saw the sun lighting
That was such glowing lights
Breaking through the gray veil,
It
Melting away my fear
Melting away my surrender
Melting away my failure
Until this mountain
Until this cloud
Until this road
Was
Once again
Mine.

On this road I walk
Mountain,
Cloud,
And sun
Guide me this day
Guide me this path
Guide me this life.

© 2016 by John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Photo: White Christmas 2016 (Thunder Mountain, Sedona, 12/25/16)

Too Much Hatred (Goin’ On)

IMG_0558

 

Too much hatred
Goin’ on,
Too many fingers
Being pointed,
Too few mirrors
Being looked into:
Too much hatred
Goin’ on.

Too much of this you and me,
Too much of this us and them.
Too much fear,
Too much loathin’
Dirtying up the sunrises
Messing with the rainbows.

Too much dogma
Being spouted,
Too much minds
Being closed
And locked away
By our own keys.

Too much evil
Goin’ on,
Being given
Too much power.

Too many walls
Being built,
Blocking our evolution
As instead we crouch
In fear and hatred and blame.

Too much reacting
Instead of being,
Too much judging
Instead of loving.
Too much excluding
Instead of evolving:
Too much hatred
Goin’ on.

The Angels
Weep for us
With our false thirst for rage
And self-righteous indignation
Fueling these empty wars
We wage against long ago brothers
Who are suddenly our enemies.

Listen!
The Angels are singing:
Stop!
Be!
Love!

Let their song
Be your song.
Let their song fill
Your troubled heart,
Let it nurture
Your fragile soul,
Melt your fear
And erase this hatred
Goin’ on.

Namaste.

© Copyright 2016 by John David Higham

Picture: Windfall Sunset (July 2016)

A Day of Love Yourself Begins

March 2015 Windfall Sky

 

A day of love yourself
Begins with being gently released
By the dream world’s hands
Into
The view of the sunrise,
The noise of the mind,
The realities of the waking world.

Pause now.
Allow yourself
To revisit those sensations
That embraced you
In the dream world:
The views of the dreamscape,
The sounds in that world.,
The realities of your dream world.

In those moments
Allow yourself to feel
As your dream self felt,
And say aloud those words
That might flow through you,
No matter how silly they sound
As they will form a dream mantra.

This is how you love yourself,
This is how you find your dream self:
Do not try to reason,
Do not be sucked into the
Ego trap of figuring things out:
Go beyond the seductive logic
Into the experiential,
Into the dream moment,
Into your dream being
And just feel.

Accept the truth of knowing
That which feels foreign
May not be yours,
May not be the present,
May not be the past,
May not be the future
But it is most certainly real.

Ah, a day of love yourself begins…

 

© copyright 2016 John David Higham

Photo: Windfall Spring Sky  (March, 2015)