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One year ago today
the course of my life was changed forever,
one year ago today
I remember sitting alone, in silence,
with a piece of my heart,
a memento of my memories,
an embodiment of a life-time of hopes, light, love, and tears,
a story that could not have been written by no other-
one year ago today I was holding in my hands my book,
‘Poet of the Sphere’.

What a year it has been!
What a time I have had!
I have seen things that I never dreamed.
I have been given gifts of insight,
I have done things I have never done before,
I have put my faith and my heart into the hands of others,
and I am so glad.

Things happen for a reason.
The things that have happened to me are a testament to me
that life is not just a series of random happenstances
strung together by commonalities-
life is guided, guarded, and fated to be what it is for a purpose.
We meet people and they dazzle us with fascination.
The people I have met, the friends that I have made,
the muses that I have fallen in love with,
have infused, overwhelmed, and flooded my life
with so much inspiration, energy, joy, excitement, fun, and wonder-
every day has been like an ever-changing and performing circus.

Having a book of my poems published by an amazing publisher
is one of the best things that will ever happen to me in my life.
Having people that I have never met before
tell me how amazing what I have imagined and written about is,
and saying what an achievement it is to do what I have done,
what others have only dreamed of doing,
makes me so happy, emotional, thoughtful,
about what it means to take every opportunity you are gifted
and to make the most of every moment of being alive.

I have learned that your life can be whatever you want it to be.
Sometimes you have to take a risk on things, on people,
jump from a mountain-top knowing that you will have wings on your back
that will glide you to a prosperous destiny-
just like the miracle that happened to me, one year ago today.

There is a man who lives in a house on the hill,
there is a man who looks over on the village of his birth,
who comes down from his home from time to time
to be among other people, to buy a news paper,
and sometimes just to pay a bill.
People say that the man is a mystery,
people say that the man is a ghost,
people say that he lives on his own
because he is suffering from a broken heart that never mended,
people say that he doesn’t have an address-
no house name, no house number, no street name-
so you can’t contact him by post.

The man on the hill doesn’t have a name,
at least not one that is widely known,
the man on the hill can’t remember the last time
someone actually called him by his birth name-
he never says a word to anyone anymore,
no one even realizes that he is there.
People stopped ringing him years ago-
one day he decided that he had no need to be in contact with anyone,
so he disconnected his phone.

The man on the hill can be seen in the flesh,
if you are ever in the centre of England,
if you are ever in a park in Coventry
and you see a man sitting alone on a bench reading a book-
if you take the time to approach the man, to introduce yourself,
and to tell him that you’ve heard all about him,
he might raise his head, he might smile back at you,
but in his eyes you will see a very sad look.

The man on the hill walks everywhere.
The man on the hill goes out in the morning
and comes home at night,
full of new thoughts, old memories-
always seen in the same clothes, with the same haircut,
as if he has nothing else to wear.

The man on the hill used to know everyone,
and everyone used to know him-
beyond the legend that surrounds him,
beyond the shadow that he carries along with him.
The man on the hill’s story is a long, tragic, and sad tale-
a journey that came to a grinding halt one summer afternoon, long ago,
but where the man on the hill came from,
and how ended up becoming the man on the hill,
is complicated to explain, and even he would find it hard
knowing where to begin.

There is a man who lives on a hill
who once made a difference;
there is a man who lives on a hill
who thought he had the entire universe figured out,
until something happened to him that changed him forever-
and now the universe, to him, just doesn’t make any sense.

There is a man who lives on a hill,
who is waiting for the right person to come back into his life;
there is a man who lives on a hill,
who wants to simply remember what it is like to be alive.
There is a man who lives in a house, by himself,
who if you knocked on his door he would shower you with goodwill;
there is a man who just wants to be remembered,
who wants to dies happy again-
that man is the man on the hill.

We were born of the Earth.
The Earth was born in space.
The sun was born of our galaxy the Milky Way.
The galaxy was born of the universe.
The universe was born of a Big Bang,
a moment of creation, a flash of transformation,
a phenomenal explosion of life-defining energy.

Everything is made and patterned and destined
to live and endure within the environment
in which they are born into:
a fish needs water to stay alive,
a human needs light, air, land,
something in their life to anchor them,
to keep them sane, to give their lives meaning-
the planets of our solar system give meaning to the Earth,
and the Earth gives meaning to you.
When two compatible individuals connect and come together
a new life is born that irrevocably changes
the face of everything that has come before it,
emerging into a world perfect for it
but which it must continuously learn to adapt to living in,
and living with, that it can’t control,
that it must struggle to understand,
that looks simple from the outset,
but which is more complex than they could ever conceive-
just like being able to walk and stand up straight
without falling over, constantly fighting,
and yet defined by, an invisible force;
just like looking back over a persons life,
seeing the choices that they made, and asking:
how much of what happens in something’s existence
or someone’s life is planned?

Patterns are repeated over and over again in our universe,
on our planet, in our lives- day after day, decade after decade,
century after century, millennia after millennia-
patterns of behaviour, echoes of design, sustaining structures,
that have stood, spread, and are prevalent in a billion different,
but connected, configurations, in a thousand galaxies
throughout the universe-
and they repeat, because they have evolved a way of maintaining balance
and equilibrium with the life source that created the universe
and seeded all things with a purpose, a power,
a path, a pattern to follow,
that we are all destined to find and make work.

No one will ever know all the answers-
anyone who says that they know everything, knows nothing;
but what everybody can know, if they are willing to search
and understand, is that patterns are there:
we were born, we all live our lives,
the galaxy exists, the universe and all life came into being,
for a reason-
a reason bigger and more important than all of us,
but the essential nature, components, spirit, final design,
can be seen everyday in everything and everyone on our planet
when you look for and when you see repeating patterns.

A
Boy
Called
David
Eats
Fruit
Gingerly
Happy
In
Jubilation
Knowing
Life’s
Meaning
Never
Obligates
People
Questioning
Reason
See
The
Universal
Variables
With
Xenial
Youthful
Zeal

Chaos, confusion-
at times these states of being
seem like the fundamental forces that rule all of our lives,
but then something happens that brings order back into the world,
back into our lives, and gives us again a reason to stay alive.

Life can hurt sometimes.
Through no fault of your own, through no planning on your part,
you find yourself falling on your face, falling on your knees,
hoping for someone to reach out a hand and save you,
because you believe that you can no longer save yourself alone.
Life is a succession of opportunities that are presented to us-
that if we take the time to truly think about,
those opportunities could take you somewhere that you never envisioned,
and build a world around you that wherever you are
you know that you are home.

You need people around you-
you need a family, you need friends,
you need to go forward and not back.
We all think that we can do things on our own,
we all think that no one can possibly understand what we are going through
when we are literally on our hands and knees-
but we are wrong, there is always someone there,
we just need to look for them, because there are people out there to help;
sometimes you have to get out of the drivers seat of your life
and hand someone else the keys.

It’s hard to let go of what has been pulling you down.
It’s hard to listen when someone is telling you what you should do.
It’s hard to free yourself of your pride and step in another direction.
It’s hard to not worry and to look at your reflection and not see a frown.

Your family is all that matters.
If they are your true family they will be there for you no matter what,
if they mean anything to you, and if you mean anything to them,
they will stand by your side and be there for you
no matter how much you have got.
People have more than they sometimes realize,
sometimes the less you think you have of something
the more of it you have in abundance;
life is not a straight-line, after-all-
if anything, it’s more of a dance.

Life never turns out how we dream it will be,
life just has to be accepted for what it is:
amazing, astonishing, challenging, thought-provoking;
but things that mean the most in this life have to be worked-on,
worked for, and worked towards, if they are to mean anything at all
after we are all gone-
that is the challenge that we all face every day,
that is the journey that some people have to take
while walking the motorway.

I saw a black swan on the river today,
swimming in the ice-cold morning air.
Alone the black swan made its way without a care-
one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen,
the swan captured my attention
and stimulated my imagination almost immediately.
The stark contrast of its beautiful black feathers and its red beak
to the white of the surrounding snow.
As it made its way down the river
the black swan looked up at me as it passed me,
and for a second we two exchanged a gaze that stunned me-
so much so that I watched until it left my sight
and went to where I was unable to follow.
I had never seen a black swan before, but on this day of all days
I was not lost on the significance of its symbolism and meaning.
Seeing the black swan,
as I made my way to say my final goodbye to a good friend,
made me stop and think
on this personal journey of remembrance that I was taking,
that the world was trying to tell me something,
that I was going to receive a gift on this day
that would be for me and for me alone to understand,
but the consequence of that would be heart-breaking.

I had attended my friends funeral, but I hadn’t really said goodbye;
I had written a poem describing how I felt about their passing,
but I felt that I hadn’t really spoken to them as I always had;
I felt that simply attending my friends funeral service
and sharing my sorrow with their family was not enough-
in my mind, I thought that I needed to go back to their grave
and reconnect with them in some way,
so that I may hear them again,
and maybe I would stop feeling sad.

The snow covered everything in the graveyard,
but I remembered where the body of my friend now lay
without a second thought.
The wind was bitterly-cold as I stood facing the frozen Earth
above and below the now empty shell of my friend.
As I spoke to them in hushed-tones hoping that they could hear me,
because I knew that my memory was quickly fading
and that time was growing short.
After standing with my head bowed in solace and in silence
remembering everything that I could about my friend,
an image of the black swan that I had seen began to grow in my mind
until it was all that I could think about-
and then, above me, to my awe, shock, and astonishment,
I looked up and saw a black swan flying in the sky over-head,
and I fell to the ground at the sight of the black swan’s wings
outstretched like a dark angel ascending to the white-coloured clouds.
After regaining my footing,
I was fortunate to just catch the sight of the black swan
before it disappeared into the fog of the horizon-
as I did I swore that I heard my name being spoken somewhere far-away
in a whisper that I could barely hear,
but its depth of resonance was unmistakable-
like the crashing waves of an ocean.

Making my way home, the gift that I had received continued to ring in my head.
My memory of the swan that I had seen was glowing,
as if I had seen it in infrared.
I felt this feeling in my heart that my friend was still here in some way-
that their part to play in the universe was now proceeding on a different path-
that they will return to life in other forms, their essence will never be gone.
I had thought it impossible to accept the truth of my friends death,
and to try and reconcile the reason for his return to the source of all life,
until I saw the beauty, and caught the gaze, of the black swan.

Mask lifted, shroud cast aside,
secrets revealed for all the world to see;
private life made public, your secret identity- the real you-
has been uncovered and set-free.

People work with you, they live with you,
and they think that they know everything about you-
from your hair colour to your shoe size;
people may see you and talk to you every day,
but they will never know you, nor would even recognise your true voice,
until you reveal it to them-
and the reaction to such a revelation can be one of unbelievable surprise.

Friends, co-workers, and family members,
don’t believe what they are hearing at first-
when the secret life that you have been living is announced to the heavens
it is always in a way that, if you had the choice,
you would have hoped to have rehearsed.

People don’t always intend to lead a second life-
most of the time the real you gets pushed to the shadows,
for the sake of conformity-
you act and talk in a way that you are expected to-
while in your private thoughts and moments
you live as best that you can
all the things that make you happy
and you become the person that you always wanted to be.

There is always a reason for a secret-
sometimes it is for protection,
sometimes it can be to keep a mystery alive;
sometimes a secret desperately needs to be told,
sometimes the depths that following a secret will take you to,
of something or someone, rival the discoveries of a deep-sea dive.

Even when you ask a magician how they did their magic trick-
even though you want to know- you never want to know,
for fear of the knowledge that it is something that you could do yourself.
People ask what the meaning of life is,
but secretly they would be content to never know
and keep the answer buried for all eternity below an ice-shelf.

Keep a secret for as long as you can, and if it is a secret about you
then think long and hard about what you are keeping a secret and why,
and ask yourself whether it is a secret
that you can always keep ahead of and out-run;
think about what other people could be keeping a secret from you and why,
and repeat in your mind and to everyone that you meet
that you really don’t know someone.

A poet within a sphere,
a sphere within a wheel-
not stopping for anything,
with no breaks to their rotation,
and no limit to their zeal.

The world is the clock that never stops,
and Earth is the pendulum that never rests;
people are the hands that connect the dots,
and Life is the face that is always refreshed.

All that live are so small,
and yet they are so big;
all that feel are apples of truth
of the great poet tree,
and in time fall to ground
as if they were a twig.

The reason for everything is there to be seen-
always, everyday, all-around, every second;
its simple, and yet amazing;
it sometimes becomes clearer to see when we are threatened,
and it is more inspiring and forthright than anyone ever reckoned.

We can sometimes feel cold, and alone,
when we are on our own-
and no matter how enlightened we are to the facets of life,
we can sometimes forget
that the wheel of life is run by a river,
and sometimes we all go under, and we all get a little wet.

The great thing about life
is that it is connected at both ends-
once forged, birth and death are the same thing-
everything depends on how you see it,
and what you comprehend.

Everything is imaginary, everything is allegory;
everything is true, everything is real;
everything rides on the rim,
connected by the spokes of the Big Wheel.

It is a peaceful and beautiful afternoon;
and yet, I am restless.
For some reason that I can’t put my finger on,
I feel in distress.

I feel like I am atop a great mountain,
all alone as the cold winds blow, unsteady my feet,
and clear my mind;
I feel as if there are clouds below me
that are preventing me from leaving my mountain-spot behind.

I feel like I am on top of the world, but that it doesn’t matter
because I can never go back the same way that I came;
I feel like I am the soul-survivor of an expedition,
and the reason why I am is because I am to blame.

Someone I have known all my life is getting married soon;
and while I am happy for her, I still cannot stop asking:
why is that not me?
The reason why is probably glaringly simple to others;
however, I am always the one who sees things a million miles away
before I see what is right in front of me.
It is a deficiency that I have worked hard to exorcise,
but my progress, if any, has always been short-lived-
perhaps it is a remnant of something that happened
to me when I was a kid?

I am happy in myself, in my relationships, in my work,
and in my life in general-
every minute I am inspired, able to breath deep, think intently,
and express myself in any way-
and for all that, I am incredibly grateful.
But I am missing something, something I may have had once, but lost-
something for which I feel like I am paying a heavy cost.

Machines don’t have regrets, and I am no machine-
wherever I look in my life I see echoes of another reality,
and indelible footprints of where I have been.
I have no real regrets, either-
only after-thoughts of what-could-have-been,
what could have I done better, and will I do better next time-
and I am proud of myself for doing so when I do,
because those questions are a part of my nature,
and one of the reasons why I continue to climb.

Everything that I am, that has happened to me, and what I have done,
has brought me, for better or for worse, to this apex-
and the only question that I have now,
and the question that will always keep me going, is:
what’s next?

The Labyrinth of Life is the path we all follow-
from our first sip, to our last swallow-
we walk a trail that began long before our birth,
one which does not end until we return to the Earth.

The concept of a Labyrinth representing life is not a new idea,
in fact, similar idea’s have been around for thousands of years;
however, my arrival at the thought happened very recently,
and it was an idea that came to me independently
of previous knowledge about labyrinths, mythology, and custom-
it just seemed so logical at the time when my thoughts began to run.
I suppose the reason that I was so enamored with the thought,
is because I, like many others, have for some time sought
the answer to a question, the reason to the rhyme:
why things are the way that they are; and also how much time
do I have to complete my own Labyrinth of Life- my great work:
Is there a way that I can rework
the mistakes of my future before I make them?
or, perhaps, replay some of my past mistakes over again?
However, of course, if that were the case
it would mean that I would have to replace
all the things that stemmed from my actions as a result-
and that would be nothing short on an insult
to life, the universe, and the gift of revelation,
and would follow me all the way into my next emanation.

The Labyrinth of Life is like any labyrinth anyone has ever seen:
you enter at the beginning, and then hopefully convene
with the people at the center you have met along the way-
someone years ago, last week, or even just today,
but who you were always meant to meet, and were always going to know-
people you never knew at the start, but were to be there at the end from the word go.

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