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What matters to you? And why?
Who matters to you?
What makes you feel the most?
Who always makes you cry?
If there were one book in the entire world
that could sum you up, which one would you choose?
Is there one film, one television show, one play,
that your passion and knowledge of says the most about you?
Is there a place that if it were not called what it is
it would have your name written all over it?
Is there a thing of your own making,
something that you had a part in creating,
that is a thing and a word to you
akin to that of magic?
Is there a place that you will always call your home?
Is there a face that will always be your idea
and example of perfection?
Is there someone who could never be cloned?
Is there something that you have seen
that you think a lot about and always stands or sits
within each and every reflection?
What matters to me is what I see,
what matters to me is what I feel,
what matters to me is a person, a look, a lock, a key,
what matters to me is a true secret that will never be revealed;
what matters to me is sharing every second of the human
and living experience,
what matters to me is a question, a road, an iris on and of
the infinite and complex cosmic and meaningful life
that we are all a part of,
what matters to me is what matters to everyone
who is able to use their senses and feel a presence,
what matters to me can’t ever be explained inside or around you
in the ground below or even circling the stars above.
Questioning is not a bad thing.
Answers are not everything.
The prize that is life is something that if you want the most of
you truly have to work for every thing in it
and you have to look up and down and around
while you concentrate on the steps that you take
and the rungs that you climb like those of a long and tall ladder.
Take every step as they come.
Embrace every thing that is unexpected.
Be glad for what you have got, not what you haven’t.
Make the most of everything,
be grateful for all that matters,
because in the end that is all that matters.
A picture to remember us by,
a photo to look back on
and relive the happy memory
of a shared experience and a shared time;
a shell from the beach where two people used to walk
hand in hand and barefoot in the soft wet sand;
a ticket stub from a trip to the cinema you took with someone
to see a great film late at night;
an old receipt from your favourite restaurant,
a birthday card, a letter, a message-
a tangible memento that you can still feel
and still remember when and where and why and with whom
this meaningful and special thing to you
became a memento to you, and became so important to you
because of its connection with that someone that effected you
and always will, or because it just reminds you of the days
when you and your life were in their prime,
and everything felt perfect and right.
When times get bad,
when the waves of the sea of reality get rough,
when instead of looking forward you want to look back,
when you want to appreciate something in all it’s greatness,
when you want to remember the instant when you first fell in love,
when you want to go for a walk in the park of a relationship
when things were at their best,
when you are stuck inside on a rainy,
it’s good to take out and look at things-
things that may be spread all over your house
in places where you can constantly look to and know they are there,
things you always carry around with you in your pocket,
or things that you have collected together in a scrapbook for yourself
to look at and remember-
and that is why it is so important to keep what you can,
and don’t throw everything away.
I think photo-albums are amazing;
I think keeping a diary or writing in a journal is a fantastic thing to do,
and I think it is a brilliant way to record days, events,
and recollections of moments in your life;
I think a scrapbook is the best thing to start with a child
when they are just beginning to understand why certain things
and certain times mean more to us than others,
and why certain people constantly pop-up in the memories we have
and we return to, because it teaches them early-on,
and will remind them every time and always,
why we replay and know all the lyrics to the songs we remember and sing,
and that everyone can live on, as can we, after we die.
It’s sometimes only when we are alone
and looking for some reassurance about something
that we choose to look, re-read, remember, recall,
where something in our possession originated from
and who gave it to us-
it could be a faded photo;
it could be a worn-out piece of paper
with someone’s unique handwriting on it;
a t-shirt that you refuse to wash
because it still has someone’s smell on it;
it could be a precious, special, memory,
from which there are no souvenirs, or photos,
or anything that you can ever hold in your hand,
because it was so brief, instantaneous,
and because you simply did just have to be there to understand
the true meaning of the moment-
they are the very best, and they are the incredible,
and irreplaceable, mementos.
I had forgotten the restorative powers
of nature, music, and walking, combined
as one entity in my heart and in my mind;
I had forgotten how much I love the intense colours,
the deep sounds, the meaningful lyrics,
until I see them, I hear them, I feel them again,
but as if it were for the first time.
Nature has always fascinated me.
Being outside and free,
you see things that no one else can see.
All worries become like islands that lie far-away,
all your fears feel like they are being exorcised
from your spirit, and you want to run, dream,
enjoy your surroundings, and play.
My home is always with me,
the village that I have lived in and grew up in
never stops inspiring and surprising me.
All is quiet. All is still.
I never get enough of trekking for miles on my own
on a beautiful morning-
sensing and knowing that I am carrying out the universe’ will.
This morning I awoke and I heard the voice of nature
calling to me and inviting me to see
something mystical, wonderful, to recall something,
and to find something truthful and beautiful
in the chorus of nature’s rhyme.
This morning I chose to believe that anything is possible,
and that life is capable of everything, as are people-
because this moment in time is an example of life at its prime.
The first sound that you hear when you wake up in the morning,
the first voice that calls to you and returns you to the waking-world of reality
often comes as a shock, a surprise-
but it is what you need to entice the facets of your mind and life into reforming.
Everyday we remake the world, as we see it;
everyday something new comes to us
and interconnects our thoughts
and reveals to us an essential truth, like that of a chorus.
The first sound of a new day can be the most important
and serenity-sustaining music that keeps you from falling
below the waves of your own, sometimes emotionally-tumultuous, sea;
the first song that plays into the fresh morning air,
which gradually and blissfully you listen to every second of every note,
chord, and beat-
you can never anticipate how meaningful it will be.
Sometimes the world can seem so loud, especially first-thing in the morning;
but once you hear that voice of perfection-
whether it be within you, or from the lips of someone you love and respect-
the sound of the world folds in on itself, transforms,
and attenuates into a harmonious resonation.
There are some who live their entire lives
who have never been gifted the wonder of hearing what the world sounds like,
nor know what other people express in their own unique accent-
they miss the magic that carries in the wind that is always present.
There is a deeper music, though, that fills every second,
that everyone and anyone can hear and take from it
and do with it what they may,
and even make their own interpretation of what they hear
for others to play.
Everything that I have heard, thought about, dreamed about,
done something in my life about, came about because I was galvanized
by something profound-
something that occurred to me, so intensely, powerfully, strongly,
as it did when I was a kid-
when I realized that everything that happened in life
was born from sound.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 