Slow, gentle steps.

The Gentle Man moves about his life softly. Quietly. In obscurity – taking slow, gentle steps.
He is not seen; he was not there.
He does not speak for silence holds all answers.

Only the fearful are loud. Only the self-loathing wish to be seen. Only the uncertain speak up.

He lounges through parks and befriends park benches and the plants that hug them. Bewildered by nature – his masterful teacher. From the tree he learns stillness. From the feline – presence. From the serpent he learns groundedness. From the ocean he learns movement.

The Gentle Man is not persuaded by worldly possessions. His head is not turned from the way. All is his within. And for he who has all within, all that is his without is inevitably already coming. Patience, then, is the trick.

First comes peace. Then comes clarity. Then comes strength.
From peace, clarity and strength comes of all the wealth you might ever have desired from the prison of weakness – and more.

For me, came my reflection in feminine – who brings with her the realisation of many years of investment in discipline and time. She is the great reflection of all I have become: my internal wealth shown back to me. The source of my gratitude. The spring of my passion. The well of my love for all.

The Gentle Man is eternally victorious, before he even begins. His path in life – assured. All he must do is walk. Discipline and integrity are the keys to the prison you shout your desires from within.
Now become silent. And walk.
You, too, will be free.

 

Charles-Wilkin12
Artwork by Peter Martensen

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Eyes on beauty; Sweet, obliging death.

I breathe in darkness,
I breathe out light.
I step toward destruction,
bleed willingly,
and smile.
Great adversary,
come now toward me.
I have been waiting,
patiently to die.
To then be reborn,
as the vision in my eye.

The Gentle Man does not fear death, but knows it as a necessary, and beautiful, part of life. All of life is dying.
All but spirit, who resides in the bartizans of eternity, is a momentary flicker, destined to puff out and fade back to nothing.

The Gentle Man watches as the sun is born each day and then dies.
He watches again as the moon does the same of its monthly cycle – gently waxing and waning with his woman.
He watches once more as the apple falls from the tree, thuds at the earth below and slowly rots – encasing the seed, now sunk into the earth, with the nutrients necessary for new life.

With the sun, the moon, and the apple, the Gentle Man dies.

He knows no fear. For fear is a liar. Fear is a thief. Fear knows nothing.

And through each death, the Gentle Man experiences more and more of life.
Gracefully, and consciously he walks through each of his lives, this and the next.
Eyes on beauty.
Sweet, obliging death.

JulienMauve-HeadlandOfDreams-3.jpg
Artwork by Julien Mauve-Headlan