Poem: Matter Over Mind

Matter over mind?

Or mind over matter?

I am energised by the first,

I am enervated by the latter!

All this thinking wears my insides out

The joy of thought grows thin,

I think I’ll try another way

And let the outside in.

 

A body of knowledge

Can trump and lift the soul

Breaking despair’s spell

And making us more whole…

Well, at least with the body’s help

The journey can begin

To triumph over darker moods

And let some sunshine in.

 

Assume the position:

Lift up your hands,

Lift up your chin and eyes;

Let the body lead

Where the soul should follow:

Prepare to be surprised!

For the mind’s rehearsed

Each gesture’s meaning

It interprets your body’s speech;

So if you move

As if you’re joyful

That joy‘s within your reach.

 

Your soma remembers the golden times

Your muscles recall the story

So when you mirror that mnemonic posture

Your mind will return to glory!

 

 

 


 

Poet’s Note.

I’ve taught for years that changing one’s physical position necessarily transforms one’s mental ‘position’.  This is irresistible since other neural pathways are automatically triggered when we change our body language.  More than this, though, there is a body of teaching that encourages us to act ‘as if’.  Today I saw that in terms of a kinaethetic memory.  Mind and body are one system.  If you feel low, your body knows what that should look like and so it assumes the correct stance!  Changing your stance (physically) works the other way too, matter over mind, where you will change your mental stance in the metamorphic mirror of the dance of mind and matter.

Poetic Purbeck

Studland-Stitched

Today:

A plague of cyclists

Across the Purbeck

Riding side-by-side,

The road they hide,

And hog with pride!

On Knoll Beach

[No cyclists]

The Sun brings out

The blossoming of humanity –

Too long kept in the dark

Pale eyes blink in the light

But the Beach Huts remain

Gagged and Bound

In case March turns capricious

In case March turns to snow

In case March brings the ice

That would not be nice, you know.

A lone kite

Plays

Dances even

By itself

Bound only by a string

And the whim of its Guardian

And all the while

Inch by inch

The Tide’s caress continues

To erase the resistance of

The object of her desires.

The Winter storms

However

Have changed the profile

Of the shore,

Yet the years

Have changed mine more.

(Where is my child-like look?)

Every variety of hound

Is accompanied by

A myriad styles of

Human kind.

Each have their own place

Each have their own pace

Danding to the beats

Of different drummers.

The older beachcombers

Seem happy to Waltz along

Arm-in-arm

Hand-in-hand

With memories.

Whilst more than one

Reluctant parent

Raises an irate tone

Or remains glued to

Their parasitic phone

And irritated

Picks up the pace

Towards March.

Never mind the children.

..

But me?

I love

Above all

The simple joys…

Each dog’s frugal pleasure

Of stick or stone

To fetch and treasure;

The child’s delight

Of Castled Sand –

Seems only right

To clap my hands!

Where dog and child gladly share

A blissful paddle

Free from care.