Beautiful culture

Anyone can detect that which is less than ideal. My eye is amazing at picking out the detail of imperfection – whether in what should be a straight line, or a “perfect” smile. Culture trains us to discern nuance. What is stylish; what is acceptable: what is beautiful; what can I do without?

The reality is that I have been sculpted to gravitate towards those who fit the mould labeled “valued”. It takes grit to turn my heart from superficial fickle appearances to the undiscovered beauty that awaits discovery behind eyes that lie empty.

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An apple seed contains the future tree in all its glorious splendour. Interestingly, it bears no resemblance to its promise. The tree’s tremendous complexity and fruitfulness is encoded within its depths. This future reality is difficult to perceive and identify. I value a seed for what it will be as much as for what it is. The two are vitally linked.

A seed planted and nurtured opens the power of a harvest that is well worth waiting for.

Beautiful culture that is rich and rewarding requires my investment in the seeds of those around me. Unless we cultivate the treasure of each other, we will consume our inheritance in the desperation of the moment. What we create is a barren desert for those who come after us. All the while I criticized the imperfection of seeds that were never given the chance to germinate!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

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Add a moonbeam

Walking home alone at night, makes the familiar strange. In place of colours and detail grand, there ’s awkward forms that haunt the gloom. These daytime trees loom dark against the sky, and in the shadows creep things that seem to hide.

And then above, a beam springs out. A soft white light that hid behind a storm. It’s silver light spins webs of life upon the giant forms that loomed.  A glorious stream of sparkles now appear to paint the world as if surreal. And in the glow I smile.

Then I sense the humid air and with it fragrance sweet. The blossoms have opened up their hearts to share their beauty in the dark. It always is a grand surprise to meet a symphony at my door. I look around and wonder why the night has no encore!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Simplicity – a lense

Simplicity

is a flame – a passion that delights; to find a joy that opens wide my ignition into Life.

Simplicity

is a single focus- it has no fractured lies; to balance on this razor’s edge, creating a surprise.

Simplicity

flows from being still; to pierce delusion’s mist, my inner being opens wide liberating peace.

Simplicity

grasps my everything; I know my future in my past and become the anthem sung.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Simple things

Simple things that sharpen my senses, often surprise me as they drift on by. My moments get filtered by other’s perspectives, demanding focus and breaking calm’s frame.

Yet deep within I know hunger, for those things that flow when I’m still. It is in that instant when focus is sharpest that suddenly insight dances with me.

The sunlight seems brighter, the breeze oh so edgy, as crystal sharp light  that opens my dreams. I choose to release it, to step free of shadows and simply delight in the dew and the rain.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

 

Thunder’s forecast

I was walking home in the rain last night -without an umbrella – and in the dark, with no flashlight. The power was off in the neighbourhood! I was able to just focus on  the beautiful gentle warm sprinkle that was kissing me.

Yet, as I walked I became surrounded by the flash of lightening; they were huge glistening bolts that shattered the sky. The thunder in warm tropical air is something to experience. It rumbles and shakes your soul and feels like the whole sky is being torn apart. The evening became filled with those searing moments, when every detail of each tiny pebble on the road ahead was laid bare – yet for just that fractional second before the thundering rumble of the drum from heaven beat down upon the earth. The storm seemed to be around me, upon me and within me! It was amazing.

And still, each step I took was within the tranquility of a gently falling rain. A drizzle – so at odds with the storm above.

Sometimes – Life seems like that!

I have to choose – what details will I attend to?

Will I panic at the sense of something scarier possibly coming –

 -and miss the moment of grace I am actually in?

The storm never did become the torrent that the thunder and lightening foretold!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Perceptions

It is haunting how perception shapes my world!

I look into your eyes and with delight and joy I see – the dazzle of a dream and creative artistry. I see the blaze of wonder, the recognition of being known; the symphony of laughter finding a home. I walk away refreshed. I’m left with hopeful pause – what will tomorrow be like as you rise – this shining star?

It is haunting how mis-perceptions shapes my ambient life!

I peek into your face and frame a shocking place. I see your threat and danger posed by difference so unknown. I recognize the signs – of brokenness and strife. I now feel justified in coldly freezing out humanity. I’ve played it safe and walk on by – not knowing – I’ve imprisoned you and I within the chains of vice!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Why?

Why in a world of so much grace -does desperation thrive?

When men can fresh design some human gene, “one small child” abounds across the globe, still caught in suffering’s bloody hate.

Billions in gold sit in bank’s deep holds, guarded darkly from any so bold to ask for food as babies cry.

Creative genius works to frame some new design to save the world, yet only those with cold hard cash are taken in within the fold.

Why in a world where many seek to protect mother earth from harm and filth, we find her children dying beneath the crush of arms bought from men whose simple vice is making gain?

Innocence is lost when a child seeks firewood outside a camp, while strong men guard with arms the post that politics says defends the weak.

Children sweat and chemicals burn while things extracted grant others multiplayer reality to fight boredom’s sorrow.

Mothers cry and fathers rage as one small child burns with heat, still waiting for the tender grace of one small dose of medicine – out of reach of poverty’s cage.

Why in a world where freedom lives and movement is guaranteed amongst a people strong and brave, do millions tread wrapped up in chains bound into servitude and violence’s pain?

A child dreams of living well, within a home with roof and chair, a bed with one simplistic cover – safety and peace that lasts all night!

A young girl dreams of a doctor’s voice guiding her as she learns to give the gift of life to others dear who wait for hope and healing hands.

A young teen dreams of discovery’s awe, as hope is opened for this earth’s redemption, while all around the tentacles of vice removes the dream and injects a shame.

Why, when so many can see the pain, do systems grind fine the ones who resist the lies?

Students stir awake and cry injustice, yet quickly lose their voice as promotion woos them sweetly.

Idealists convene to plan and scheme and then they silently diffuse their cries as we rationalize that people trapped in prisons hate, have only themselves to blame.

Living calls for action until I’m swamped by distraction’s fragrance that sings a dream that never grants discomfort.

Why?

Author – Bill Tidsbury