Between worlds… letting go…
Between worlds,
Between sleep and conscious thought,
Half-awake; cupping my lover’s cheek with a big hand,
And feeling the intersecting curves of her belly, hip and thigh….
I breathe her in, and breathe her out
And bless these many worlds I know
And the spaces that I inhabit between,
Especially in this trance-like liminal zone before fully awakening.
— — — — — — — —
I listened…
Through the open window the cool morning air carried Robin’s voice.
From somewhere among apple blossoms at the bottom of the garden
She was singing her little heart out
As she and they caught the spring morning sun.
— — — — — — — —
As she sang I heard the words a dear friend told me,
“Listen to the birds; and they will tell you who you are…”
And I listened.
And remembered.
— — — — — — — —
I remembered my dearly departed Father,
Who, with three kids and my Mum in tow,
Left England over half a century ago for a far-off new world, Australia.
In that antipodean world, surrounded by wildlife I grew up loving,
He didn’t speak or seem to miss much about The Old Country,
Though he spoke often of the birdsong of Robin and Blackbird,
And I wondered; how could their song be any better than the song of Helmeted Friar-Birds, Kookaburras or Lorikeets?
— — — — — — — —
Here again, now, I listen.
And as I listen, I feel fragments of childhood memories from before 1967 piecing back together,
As from the hedges and the walnut, the calls of these once-familiar birds remind me of who I am…
— — — — — — — —
I landed in Belgium in January 2020 from the land DownUnder
Passing through Hong Kong as faces disappeared,
Just as corona went viral and kick-started transformation of the western world.
— — — — — — — —
My Dad, a Scot, would have been pleased at my timing,
For I arrived during Imbolc, the traditional Gaelic festival marking the beginning of spring.
Nights were shortening, days lengthening,
And, for one landing into a colder, darker, damper, leafless world,
A long way from that other, warmer, brighter world, DownUnder,
it was still almost impossible to imagine, the promise of the coming spring
That lit the hearts of those who knew it would soon be here.
— — — — — — — —
Now, after weeks of this spring, watching flowers open and insects swarm to life,
The warming dry weather during which Tulips bloomed and faded was interrupted,
For it rained, lightly, briefly,
Leaving perfect tear-drops;
Clear, stretched, pulled toward Earth, yet not letting go.
Each tenuously connected to the fragile petals by surface tension.
Each beauteously suspended until they grew too ripe to remain on the tree,
Each held until they grew too large to resist the pull any longer,
Then, just as Newton’s apple did,
Falling, through space, gravity-guided,
From apple-tree toward that other world, DownUnder
A world that was always there, and was now accelerating toward them from below.
— — — — — — — —
Newton’s discovery came to him in 1666, during an earlier lockdown,
The same year as carved in the wall of the moat of Abdij van Park, the old abbey just down the road from where I now live.
Under renovation, halted in lockdown, trapped between the old and the new,
Unable to resume work, unable to be complete…
Like a droplet between petal and Earth
Like a son getting closer to his Father’s world
Like lovers pursuing their calling yet caught between paradigms
As nature’s irresistible forces call them on,
Urging them to let go, again,
And once again freefall between this world and the next …
— — — — — — — —
So now, as the whole world holds its breath,
Uncertain of the consequences of staying or going,
Listen again…
Listen again to your Fathers and Mothers who took such risks,
Listen again to your lovers who encouraged you to come to them,
Listen again to your heart as it calls to you,
Listen again to the birds, who tell you who you are,
And let go…
…and may you form a perfect transparent sphere
And release your beauty, goodness and truth
As you fall from this world into the next…
………….…. let go…
[Neil Davidson, Leuven, Belgium — 19 April 2020]
