Stream of consciousness exercise:

London.
Strange place.
Or maybe it is because I have left the cosy cockles of my Manchester spiritual family behind.

Money, clothes, property.
He went to an Argentinian restaurant and ate a steak an inch thick, he boasts.

Where are they going these people?
Some voice inside is shouting and screaming:
What are you doing with your lives?

Money, clothes, property;
It all shrivels and dies

And the inextinguishable light,
burning fire,
dancing flames
of Dharma
stifled by
Money, clothes, property.

What use is a 3 bedroom house
with 2 reception rooms
and plenty of storage space
When you can’t pause to hear the stillness throbbing within.

Stillness that will carry us to the sweet depths of Eternity
and then wash us up on a shore
where we can build new homes
on foundations of what we know,
what we feel,
not how much money we can spend.

Money, clothes, property.
Empty clothes
with no one inside.

Sitting on the tube,
Faces looking this way and that.
I see Consciousness locked inside,
Hidden in the shell,
Singing, singing,
trying to break through
and merge.

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