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Excerpt for In The Wake Of A Whisper by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


In The Wake Of A Whisper


Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)


Copyright (©) 2018 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing


Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada


Cover pictures by: Top: StarLight

Bottom: frank van den hurk


All pictures found on FreeImages.com


Space Picture: ESA/Hubble


I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.

Contents

Foreword

A Ghost In Every House

A Life Is Freed

A Matter Of Change

A Moment Alone

A Sacred Place

A Seeker’s Answer

Afterglow

Against Time

Alone

Along The Path (Of The Good Old Days)

An Alternative

An Autumn Day

Anything Is Possible

Awaken The Wind Sleeping In Your Mind

Beyond Fear

Bringer Of The Dawn

How To Believe

Pathfinder

Questions Of Language

In The Wake Of A Whisper



Foreword


These books contain a form of free verse poetry, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.


Who knows but some of the ideas in the books may get you inspired to do that thing you always wanted to do, even if this comes in a very small way, to make your corner of this world a better place to be in. Who knows but you may realize your little corner is a really nice place to be in after all.


It's all about life, if at times expressing life "outside the box" as the saying goes.




A Ghost In Every House


It is said in some parts of this world:

"There's a ghost in every house

but if you make peace with him

he will be quiet." [Vietnamese proverb]


Perhaps this is true but how will we ever know?

We are not good at making peace

with anyone, or anything, let alone ghosts

and in our destroying, warring and killing

we make more ghosts than there are houses,

so where do they go -

these homeless ghosts who know not peace?


They haunt the land; seek holes in the ground

made by bombs or stinking trenches full of bones.

They huddle in smashed bunkers; under fallen bridges

and stare hollowly from overturned tombs;

sunken ships and submarines below the seas;

from burned-out wrecks and crumbled homes.


Their shadows walk burning, smoking streets

and what do they see, these countless ghosts?

They see the dead and the children of the dead.

They see the living defiantly return to their hell

until the next bombing, the next maniacal attack

swells their ranks

and join in their eternal, restless vigil.


We have a history; we have a geography and a memory.

We have "universal" education, and we can read

but what have we learned from the days of Noah?

From the disasters ordered by God or inflicted by nature?

Nothing.

Nothing anywhere has been learned.

Experience be damned, the ancient pattern of death holds

and even ghosts despair of ever finding peace:

there is not a one to offer them even this tiny hope.


It would seem in our madness we are quite alone.

We will all become ghosts (or perhaps already have)

and no one - ever -

shall visit this cursed world and accidentally disturb

the evil that slumbers in its blood-caked dust.

No one will ever come to make peace with our ghosts

and they shall never sleep; never be quiet.

A Life Is Freed


Gentle light filters through

steel bars enclose an empty room

I look out and try to reach

the sky's deep blissful blue:

is that where my long-time companion

now flies free?

will I ever see him again,

in some other reality

far from this lonely place?


'Tis said some birds

cannot be caged:

their feathers lose their colours;

their songs the echo of the wilderness

and by degree they die.

How then should a human life,

knowing its time has come

be set free of the body

to join the boundless light

of Eternity's spring?


Though I rejoice in his freedom

and I knew it had to be thus...

how drab, how cold and empty

is this place his presence sanctified.

A Matter Of Change


There is a vision I see

as sunlight dances

between rolling clouds:

I see what can only be called

a divine being: a woman.


I have known of her many years

but I have yet to touch her,

to hear her laughter

or wipe the tears from her eyes...


Were it a matter of trade

I'd gladly give up

my most sacred possession:

my written thoughts -

to bring her to this reality.


Yes, I would even give my life,

to see her manifest here

for I know she has the power

to make this world

a better place for all;


and if by giving up my life

I can make this happen

I am willing to do this:

I should not be so selfish

to think I could have such a one

for myself only.


The clouds get darker now,

I feel a change happening:

Is this the moment of truth?

If so, is it for me

or for the Earth?

A Moment Alone


A moment alone

brings forth these thoughts:


Why am I here?


A perverse trick of nature?

An accident of time?

A meaningless chance?


- or -


Designed specifically to serve

some so-called loving God

who gets angry when I fail to meet

his detailed (but unexplained) expectations?


A God redolent with needs and ambitions

which I must somehow fulfil for Him

as the good wife for the couch potato?


Is it to work as a slave all my life

so the few at the top can have

what is thought of as the good life?


Is it to acquire or lose

a bit of karma here and there -

without knowing what that really is...

or where I pick it up or drop it?


Is it to learn and grow from experiences

through events and struggles

to get to the next level?


But which level? Up or down?

I don't even know what floor I'm on

and the elevator seems kind of stuck.

A Sacred Place


Standing on soft sand,

the wind gently touching my skin,

I am totally free from society's rules.


I feel the exhilaration of this freedom;

a feeling as old as time - or even before -

before laws were enacted and taboos made

to create human shame and misery.


I allow the sun to warm my body,

stretched out on dry white sand

and the usual crowd arrives

loud, boisterous, ready to do its thing

as is done on modern nude beaches..


I wonder: Why has this sacred place

become a market place for fools

in search of beer, pot and whatever else

lurks to satisfy what's below the belt?

What happened to the quiet enjoyment

of these moments of physical freedom

and simple childlike contentment?


I wander to a remote point

to let soft waves wash over my body

and listen to their music.


It is here I must make a difficult choice:

Do I leave this place?

Do I stay and watch the Yahoos destroy it?

Or do I create my own sacred space

even here,

where no one but me can enter?

A Seeker’s Answer


I walk in high mountains;

in troubled thoughts, a seeker lost

upon the snows of time.

In my mind, tomorrow’s storms;

in my eyes, an unshaped, unsure world...

But the wind, my constant companion

of lonely days upon the crags,

shifts and obliterates my old path.

On I must now go, with nothing to see,

but the swirling snows.

I fear to forge ahead

dreading this moving emptiness

in strange, unfamiliar territory.

Could I still turn back, I wonder,

knowing my trail was long lost in drifts...?


A voice in the rising wind

addresses my fear and loneliness:


“To give your life new meaning,

graciously accept all change -

let the rains cleanse your heart of bitterness,

the snows heal your eyes of blindness,

the sun dry those tears of regret

and just let nature guide you gently

upon untrod paths to new adventures.

All of life once was an adventure

man had learned to live to its fullness

‘til he lost his seeking spirit,

his childlike faith and trusting awe;

became time bound, space conscious,

blocked, fenced, cornered, captive,

enslaved and dying

in ever-expanding cities made of pain.”


Eager to escape the common fate,

I looked up and saw a way

leading to the very highest peaks.

Afterglow


There is a glow that remains

now that the sun is gone

– it is called the afterglow –

I was used to the bright, shiny,

beautiful light from the sun

and my body comfortable in its warmth

but the moment it disappeared

I had to re-adjust everything

in a transitional moment.


This world is in its afterglow,

a lingering impression

of what was once believed would be

an endless path to glory and success.


But now we’ve entered the twilight;

the murky, shadowy uncertainty,

everything looking, feeling, so different;

the remains of our “day” in the sun.


Can we hold this moment

to adapt to the coming night?

Or will we disappear from this world

as have so many others before us?

Against Time


The River of Time flows faster

as one approaches its gaping mouth;

roaring waters echo wildly

through canyons of time-bound lives

seeking to escape the surging stream

into the unknown sea.


"Stop running away," it says,

"I am life's normal rhythm:

my flow cannot be reversed with fear.

Let my life-giving water become a mother

carrying a child: the soul of your life.


I am not an enemy,

I am the companion.

All that comes here

must reconcile with me

or fear me!


Give up the need to conquer,

the selfish demands crowding your mind,

the desire to win eating at your soul:

I can give you peace in this sojourn

as I must carry you to the portals of life.

Alone


Alone, always so alone

walking sandy river bars

or climbing rocky canyon walls

in calming sound of wind and water

or driving unkempt city streets

and the madness of the freeways

in restless, angry noise.


I feel this terrible loneliness,

as a sea of pain, immeasurable

tearing my soul to shreds.


What is this aloneness

which no human voice can express,

no gentle touch can heal?

which no sun can burn up

or wind ever blow away?


Vibrations from a million echoes

shatter the stillness of the day,

grind the air through which

unseen gulls plaintively call across the void

and I hear myself crying too

for the undiscovered, the unknown

hidden by time-shrouded mists.


Alone in this emptiness

my mind fills with many thoughts

seeking to understand the ancient paths

we're told are past finding out

lost in a long forgotten past.

Along The Path (Of The Good Old Days)


The path of life often passes

through dark canyons and empty wastes:

its endless trails crisscross

prairie grass, desert sand

or dangerous mountain snows.


He who fears the unknown

haltingly wanders crooked pathways,

blind; unknowing, always looking back,

his unformed future stillborn

beneath memories of his past.


His unstable feet meander back

over yesterday's fading paths;

always uncertain, his mind fearing

what it perceives as looming dangers

forming overhanging cliffs

or bottomless seas filled with monsters.


He chooses not to reason

that beyond the obstacles of today

possibly lie greener pastures.

In any case, why fear the inevitable?


Perhaps because one realizes

that when one does not plant,

no 'greener pasture' is likely to appear

as magic - from nothing.


"The shelter of memories has no power

to keep life safe."

An Alternative


Man's so busy inventing

a better star drive,

hoping some day to blast out

of the solar system,

he fails to greet a passing comet;

ignores the portent

in exploding supernovas;

blissfully ignores all warnings

from galactic headquarters!


Maybe he should think

to ask his planetary neighbours

for help in understanding,

preferably preceded by a galactic

knock and cordial handshake!

Surely there are alternatives

to blasting rockets

through someone else's home!


Man should learn to ask permission

before he thinks to venture forth

through someone else's living room

and stop pretending he's the only bully

and the galactic playground.

An Autumn Day


Clear skies following

the wake of a misty rain

yesterday:


a light breeze blowing

softly

in the maple tops,

testing the anchorage

of dated leaves,

colours of gold

crimson

scarlet

(delight of sated eyes

rested eyes

Autumn eyes


from restless

Summer desires):


Persistent but gentle

the westerly

not too rough,

just

enough to warn

reluctant leaves


fated

to crumble into sod

nurturing a new crop

in coming Spring!


O, to inhale

an Autumn day

to hear

reluctant rasping

the sound of leaves

tailless kites fluttering

helpless to the

ground ...


O, for the sight

of a clear sunny day

an indigo sky

on sugar-coated

mountains...

the tingling smell

of freshly frosted

lawns

...an end...

for a beginning.

Anything Is Possible


Is it possible,

Is it feasible

for a human mind

to conceive of something impossible?


An interesting thought:

can anyone think the impossible?

If “yes” - then what is it?

If it has no description

then it does not exist

because it cannot be conceived!


If that is so, could we say

that whatever the human mind conceives

must then be within

the realm of the “possible?”


Possible, impossible, some would say

it's just a play on words:

I don't think so.

Thoughts create our reality,

not “God” and not “gods” either;

nor fate, nor even destiny.

Our thoughts are what creates

and that is why every “thing” in our reality

exists: It was thought up

because even when it did not exist

as we see it

it existed as pure possibility

within the realm

of all that which is possible.

Awaken The Wind Sleeping In Your Mind


If you would run with the wind, first you must awaken the wind.

Many winds blow over a world such as this,

And who knows where they're from or where they go?

Never trust a wind someone else has set in motion,

No matter their credentials, or whom they claim to be.

You remember well that as a child you

First learned to run with other people's wind?

That was good enough, such as it was.

But surely you remember also

such running left you drained and unfulfilled?

And that is to be expected for after all,

Running others' desires is but a chasing after the wind.


Awaken the wind sleeping in your mind.

Learn to run with this greatest of friends:

Out to the sea and over the prairie;

Chasing snow snakes over the tundra;

Perhaps even down the street of a dying city.


Never shall you tire nor shall you ever be lost again.

Run with your own wind: that is all that life asks of you.


"Sing me the most beautiful song the world has ever heard," she said.

"Certainly I can do that, if that is your wish," he replied with a smile.

"Tell me a story that will make the stars move," she asked.

"I have many such stories to tell," he replied with another smile.

"Give me a ring whose radiance will shame the sun," she demanded.

"I possess such a ring which I may bestow on whomever I please," he said sternly.

"Very well then, all I ask of you is that you love me," she sighed.

"Ah, but that I will never do," he replied and turned his back to her.

"Oh? And why not? Am I so bad that you do not like me?" she queried.

"I like you, really. But I will never love you." he replied more gently.

"Please tell me why not?" she begged.

"No, I will not. You will tell you why not.

"Look at your world with my eyes now.

"Find all the love stories in the planet's book.

"Now read the entire book and tell me how it ends,"


And when her eyes were filled with tears

and her heart was breaking with sadness

and her despair utter and complete

he took her hand firmly in his: "now you know

And now you understand."


Wiser now, with a knowing transcending her old life

she let out a sigh and awakened the wind,

the wind that had been sleeping in her mind.

"Now I run alone and I run free,"

Was all she needed to say, and she was gone.

Beyond Fear


No fear! No fear!

says the slogan

on jeans and bumpers

but is life so easily reducible

to no more than a slogan?


How many have walked the desert,

crossed the tossing seas

to see what lies beyond

the ancient barrier of dread

called death?


Who has captured the eagle

to ride his mighty wings;

looked over the highest mountains

to see the other side to understand

whether in sorrow or in joy?


Who has understood

the curse in the face of God?

the longing in the face of Satan?

Who has measured the distance

between these polarities?


Have I?

Do I know--

and if I said I did--

why would you believe me

when you can't believe yourself?

Bringer Of The Dawn


When I come to you,

I do not bear crystals

for I am the living crystal,

from Prime Creator sent

that you may be enlightened;


nor do I bear sacred herbs

burning in abalone shells

to purify your environment

for I am pure air, pure Spirit:

my breath, of pure light emanation

cleanses the confines of your space

that you may breathe deeply.


nor do I verbalize ancient lore

from old writings decoded

for I am all knowledge,

my mind embodies all pasts, present

and all futures,

that you may understand;


nor do I bring you a way of life

excluding all others

for I am all ways

flowing perpetually from Goddess/God

that you may walk your path of power;


nor do I direct you

to a temple of worship

however ornate or simple

for I am the temple

where God energy dreams creation

and Goddess power conceives, births

and nurtures the flowing river of love

that you may evolve in abundance!


When I come to you

child of the living light,

I bring you to the dawn of eternity:

I bring you to yourself!

How To Believe


What does it mean to “believe in” something?

It means to become a part of

whatever that “something” is.


Wise it is to believe that all things exist -

For whatever is thought and spoken,

whatever is written, or played out -

that is reality immortalized.


Wise it is to know the difference between

believing all things

or

believing in something!


Many are those who do not understand;

many who think because they believe “in”

their faith becomes universally applicable -

Sadly for them,

thankfully for the rest (of us!)

that is not so.


As long as one allows for existence of everything,

Without believing in any particular thing

one remains free - one remains at peace.

But when one believes in one particular thing

conflict must inevitably arise

between what is generally believed (allowed)

And what is believed in (faith).


Wise it is to know and understand this:

to believe in any one thing is to exclude any other,

to dis-allow its freedom to exist.


Believe in your gods and demons -

that is your sacred choice

- but know that it is my sacred choice

to reserve my mind's space for other things as well;

As I do not condemn you for your choices,

do not condemn me for choosing my own path in life.

Pathfinder


Spirit, O Pathfinder!

Seek for me new roads to wander on;

new horizons to scan past a setting sun;

new doors to tempt awareness:

all to create expanded consciousness.


For you live but in the moment,

the only possible place;

the non-place, null point,

where past and future meet and disappear.


O, Spirit of transformation!

Do not allow my ego to block your flow;

to rely on a crystal ball,

for a glimpse at a nebulous future,

or understanding of a past

woven from misconceptions...


Reveal to me each moment ,

untouched, pristine, pure, ready

for the experience I came to find.

Let me realize humbly

that each experience is a unique gem,

a gift of love, of another ‘me’; of God.


As each is experienced,

teach me to gently let it go

back to the Source that sent it

knowing that in my file, it will be marked:

“Completed”.

Questions Of Language


Did we used to speak without sound,

gently, softly,

using the central nervous system

to send forth thoughts

until alphabets were invented;

forced upon a mind's normal way

of sharing ideas?


Did someone become bored

with brain waves communication,

"thinking up" the concept

of guttural utterances

as a more profound way

to say one's say?


Do we give credit

to the writers of the Bible

and re-read once again the tale

of failed Babel: where a god in fear

comes down to confuse,

throwing forth a multitude of languages

to cause dissent?


Perhaps some enterprising scribe,

out of work, with tears in eyes,

realized he could not, ever

pen down our thoughts

unexpressed by words?


A controller, a conqueror,

knowing that without words

no record of his misdeeds

would remain to throw fear

in the hearts of a struggling,

evolving

race of beings?


Is this trying to tell us

that languages in any tongue

are not a natural result of evolution

but un-natural interference?


Can you read my thoughts on this?

In The Wake Of A Whisper


The tundra’s sun rises

to colour rocky out-cropping:

will this place also

be raped and pillaged

for what resources

may lie frozen under the soil?

Will man succeed

in his bid to subdue and destroy

every living thing from this world?

Can man still make right

all he has made wrong?


Perhaps in the wake of a whisper

the voice of hope may answer,

“Yes.”

But the heavy machinery

of drilling trucks and cranes

is moving in the distance

and I know deep within

there never was any hope for man.


It is but a matter of time

before the life-sustaining environment

finally collapses;

before man himself becomes

his own victim - and perhaps just as well

such a creature does not deserve

a world as beautiful as this.


Certainly I will miss

the beauty I see before me

but I know I have to go:

I see no point staying around

to watch the deliberate destruction

of yet another world

at the hands of insatiable creatures.



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