seeing&unseen SOUL

happy thanksgiving from Canada

some John O’Donohue Thoughts on the Soul:


Everything that happens to you has the potential to deepen you.

Once the soul awakens, the search begins and you can never go back; from then on, you are inflamed with a special longing that will never again let you linger in the lowlands of complacency and partial fulfilment.

There seems to be an uncanny appropriateness between the soul and the shape and physical presence of the body… a secret relationship between our physical being and the rhythm of our soul.

The body is the angel of the soul… it expresses and minds the soul; we should always pay loving attention to our bodies.

from Wordsworth’s Tintern Abbey

… and from the shore
At distance not the third part of a mile
Was a blue chasm; a fracture in the vapour,
A deep and gloomy breathing-place, through which
Mounted the roar of waters, torrents, streams
Innumerable, roaring with one voice.
The universal spectacle throughout
Was shaped for admiration and delight,
Grand in itself alone, but in that breach
Through which the homeless voice of waters rose,
That dark deep thoroughfare, had Nature lodged.

The Soul,
the imagination of the whole.

the white hydrangea is the starburst giving
birth to a new galaxy –
light and design overriding
darkness on the Horsehead
Nebula, and looking, breathing closely
the brain
perhaps the soul

along the Sidney Harbour walk, Vancouver Island
I am a child of the Milky Way. The night is my mother. I am made of the dust of stars. Every atom in my body was forged in a star. When the universe exploded into being, already the bird longed for the wood and the fish for the pool. When the first galaxies fell into luminous clumps, already matter was struggling toward consciousness. The star clouds of Sagittarius are a burning bush. If there is a voice in Sagittarius, I’d be a fool not to listen. If God’s voice in the night is a scrawny cry, then I’ll prick up my ears. If night’s faint lights fail to knock me off my feet, then I’ll sit back on a dark hillside and wait and watch. A hint here and a trait there. Listening and watching. Waiting, always waiting, for the tingle in the spine. [Chet Raymo, The Soul of the Night: An Astronomical Pilgrimage]

f-light of the soul!

the truth of the rose

 the truth of the rose 
I gaze at your beauty and I’m numb
I cannot describe it… I stare and I notice
the innumerable folds, circles, softness, colours,
fragrance and am spellbound until
I am drawn again to the epicenter of your
gaze. “I am obsessed with completions” he
once said… the one I lost and must find.

And I know
this is vital – I play with
something fundamental, Platonic… I have always let
the truth of the rose prevail, while I flee from the invitation
she offers… “come with me, into my gaze” she smiles, “and I will
take you to the machine shop of truth, beauty, goodness,
where the great master of the universe demonstrates his
carpentry of souls, new and damaged, until they shine and fly to
their rightful place. And, all the while, the fathermother
from some nearby room sings the truth of the
universe and blesses, while the spirit, the holiest spirit
soars – goes and comes, comes and goes to the machine
shop, releasing souls to the brotherson’s carpentry for
repair and delivery to new homes.

“Oh, do come,” the beautytruth urges, “you do not have to
stay. Come for a vision. There have been few since John and
Hildegard. You’ll see so much you can’t put into your words (all
words are understood here). It will live wordless in your soul,
sustaining you.”

She sings songs hymns in praise of the absolutes of the universe –
O come and see your home of many mansions…
starsborn, infinity, black holes
eclipses, full moons, setting suns
meteors in verdant greens and fullblooded reds
sprinkling this milkyway
O come and kneel…
and fades away…

I step to that dark abyss, the centre, and

[from my book, orchids and neurons, molecular poetry]


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