lizzie's fairy story

As I was sitting in a chair
I blinked and found ‘I’ wasn’t there
the thought that there had been a ‘me’
dissolved into eternity

A star shone from a jet black sky,
held in its hands what once was ‘I’
yet I was everything that night -
the star, the sky, the source of light

The sound was silence, movement still
there was no purpose, choice or will
‘though for a while life played as ‘me’
it's all Love’s boundless energy

The story died and with it time
but in between these lines of rhyme
I am the lack of time and space
behind the thing I call my face.

© Lizzie Leigh

Originally titled ‘Liz’s Story’ in ‘Simply This’ (pub. 2005, edited 2024)

paradoxically perfect

Grammar, disquieted, dithers…
words are redundant and die
even the question-mark slithers
into the void of its ‘why?’

Life is a road going nowhere,
home is a place ‘you’ can’t find
yet it’s also the longing to go there -
it’s beyond the conjection of mind

You’re bound to something that’s boundless -
it’s Nothing pretending to ‘be’
speaking a language that’s soundless
foreign to ‘you’ and to ‘me’

Yet there’s a strange kind of knowing
which disregards rational thought -
a gale of laughter is blowing
and in it the freedom we’ve sought

That laughter is You, You’re the Lover
delighting in all that You’re seeing
there’s nothing you need to discover
you’re paradoxically Being.

© Lizzie Leigh

From ‘Simply This’ (pub. 2005, edited 2024)

Picture credit: Albrecht Fietz | Pixabay

simply this

Simply this is what you are
the twinkle of an eye or star
however nothingness appears
as smelly socks or pointy ears
or raindrops dripping in the night
it’s all a perfect play of light

Thought puts up a strong defence
for logic and for common sense
claiming there’s a ‘you’ and ‘me’ –
each with its own identity
but what you are is what you’re seeing
springing ‘out of’ pure non-being

In dreamless sleep ‘we’ disappear
our nature is completely clear
the body sighs with soft delight
as we lay down our heads each night
relieved to be without a mind,
we are the ‘thing’ we cannot find

That ‘Something’ doesn’t know a ‘me’,
for nothing is completely free
of form or name or mere description
being neither fact nor fiction
and yet we are that nameless ‘thing’
the silent song of everything.

© Lizzie Leigh

Poem of the title of the book, ‘Simply This’ (pub. 2005, edited 2024)

Picture credit: unknown but happy to credit if identified!