Nature boy (1947)

There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy

They say he wandered very far
very far over land and sea

A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise, was he

And then one day
One magic day he passed my way
While we spoke of many things
Fools and kings
This he said to me

The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return

– Eden Ahbez

On art

‘Art’s task is to save the soul of mankind.

And anything less is a dithering while Rome burns.

Because if the artists who are self-selected,

for being able to journey into the Other…

– if the artist cannot find the way, then the way cannot be found.’

– Terence McKenna


‘I will try to live in this happiness without fear. It will be hard. I find that I am more afraid of this joy than I have ever been of misery.

Misery I have learnt how to manage; joy breaks my feet up, takes away my old words and forms.

What will be left of me when this light has peeled away all my skins ?

What words will this light leave me?

And yet even as I think and write those questions , they seem irrelevant.

I have no choice but to be alive in this landscape and this light.’

– Andrew Harvey


I froze time

so nothing could fade


the sky remains white

its truth was choking me


the wind is howling

so I know you’re here


there are two realms

my angst regards their coexistence


how are we to pull our gaze from one,

to care, at all, about the other?


falling lightly

ash covers all in a powdered layer of grey


there was no eruption

it’s just there if you see it.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

‘There is a pleasure in the thought that the particular tone of my mind at this moment may be new in the Universe;

that the emotions of this hour may be peculiar and unexampled in the whole eternity of moral being. I lead a new life. I occupy new ground in the world of spirits, untenanted before.

I commence a career of thought and action which is expanding before me into a distant and dazzling infinity.

Strange thoughts start up like angels in my way and beckon me onward. I doubt not I tread on the highway that leads to the Divinity.’

(JMN, III, p. 79)

(he was twenty-four when he wrote this)


The dance

As the world revolves

pirouette through streak and shadow

beside her seasons

forget your learning,

leap and soar

through space instead.

Sense is undeserved in such wonderful mess,

we’ll learn language through our Own worlds,

and only then

            as Time flows on

But also won’t

            I write this now

I wrote this then

            Soon I’ll be gone

But here you are

             So here am I

             And here we meet,

A place unmapped, yet rendered real

Blinking through a stream of transformation,

lush green fronds Spring apart, in dance.

Winter winds then blow,

the force that prompts your psyche,

turns Autumn leaves to burgundy

which then settle

on a still lake, one Summer afternoon,

it’s gold tinged and existing,

more perfectly than anything else.

Someone of unimportance, skips a stone.

The strongest emotions will dissipate in ripples.

I’ll stare through your eyes with love,

mosquitoes will drink our blood,

The clouds roll on,

The lake will lift and meet the sky,

The Sun

kisses gratified skin

the Moon

kisses its ocean mirror.

Wave responds,




Til –

             Release, you’re in Eden.

the case for lust can be made, when

nothing is ever done really, for the right reasons.

Such tiny creatures

architects of superb illusion

wherein lies at least one – answer.

we’ll somersault through life and death,

sorrow and love,

hurtle through the depths

or be bogged down by pure shit.

Don’t leave behind destruction

Don’t immortalise despair

Soar high,

and you’ll be slammed back down to earth again,

somehow still in one magnificent piece.

Jeff Buckley

Will sing as I go
black wolf river harbour
to never return

the allure will pull
my breath removed below
I am torn to shreds

let my body rot
breaking into the space
atoms into waves

wave break crashes on
reminder love is strong
too my lungs collapse

close and rest my eyes
I’ll meet my angels here
leave the walking dead

to be spat ashore
a grain of millions
all I ever was

Scene Ocean At Night Beauty Night Beach Water Life



What is that?

That warmth in your chest,

spreading to your stomach.

A hand lay there

to make you smile



To write without ego is to write in rainbow. Glitter.

Iridescently, vibrationally, seamlessly, flawlessly,

following ripples which themselves leak from existence.

Uno, brahma, todos.

The mountains can always reach the sun.

you already were.


Lost in people, lost in thoughts, lost in writing,

Lost in nature, lost in it,

The sea, the waves of it,

The sea,

The waves


Study yourself.  Your Akashic records.

Purging, cleansing, detox, scrub, sift.

thoughts, loves, traumas, fears.

– and you will return, squeaky clean.


They swirl as spirits, spreading, like blotted ink. When was the last time you had a day, to yourself, to watch the clouds?

Forming dragons, making hearts, your breathing breath and heartbeat slows

to the pulse of the earth, and all else does cease.


You’re angry at the world, but this is the world too.