Material removed from the body of the site and held here (hopefully temporarily!) in case it is to be restored.





Meditation is Like....



Sometimes, some gifted times, it is like
a great white bird that glides
on thermals, effortless, with every cell
and feather attuned
to the lifting wind and
still, no flapping of wings, just
an occasional shift of muscles
to go upward again, to touch
the sun's rays, the grace of warmth.


It is tempting to think that this
is the zenith of the soul's pilgrimage -
this joy and rising.
And yet
something, some voice, insists
that when I plummet in the storm,
stagger on drunken feet
on crazy outcrops,
surprised and ruffled, like
a grounded jackdaw,
clownlike and
ridiculous, unable to take off
let alone soar
on the shrieking winds,
this is
or well might prove
the growing time.


Kate Compston