The

Waterfall
By Chuck Cliff
The Holy Fountain
Witness to Wetness,
lecture on Reality
Qualities of life
By the Waterfall
Simple Words on
Prayer
The Innocence of
Beautiful Thoughts
Looking for Sunshine
Speaking of Ye God
There is an Answer
Twelve Gates to the
City
This little piece concerns a small waterfall found in an acre of woods located
behind the parish church a few minutes walk from where I live Denmark.
In olden times (which are not all that long ago, or far away as some might
have you think!) many springs were considered holy and that their waters had
healing power. The sick and invalid made pilgrimage to such places.
My spring fills a small pond which then falls off a ledge making a <gosh!> two
foot waterfall. I go there as often as I can to find a little peace of mind.*

________________________________________________________
* In the early spring the ground is literally covered with blue flowers. And it has been a tradition to go down
every spring to the waterfall and look at the beautiful sight of blue flowers between the trees.
From the first year we lived in the town we have gone down very often to the little wood and brook
Very often - all year round - Chuck sat by the pond - always with a notebook at hand, and quite a number of
poetry and songs were created here. April 7. 2014 Helen Cliff
The Holy Fountain
As I sit beside this waterfall, I wonder:
is it really holy, and why do I say that it is?
In the land of the Danes there are many
holy springs...
Most of them suffer now such sad neglect,
that after all these years, it was by chance
alone I heard about healing water
which springs from such unexpected places;
clean and clear, from hidden cracks in the ground!
My waterfall is fed by a tiny pond!
Green with scum, encircled by seven trees,
almost at the top of the hill, the highest spot
for miles around!
So close to the local church!
Some springs heal when their water is slowly drunk;
and some when an aching limb is carefully washed...

But my holy fountain heals with the sound
of her laughing water. Splashing upon the rocks,
she bubbles all my troubles quickly away!
Witness to Wetness,
Lecture on Reality
Im sitting by the waterfall where I learn so many things.
The water drips and drops and splashes from the holy spring,
Wetting rocks, unfolding in my ear sounds of time and space...
Suddenly -- a leaf falls with infinite finality,
to the forest floor --
I am sitting by the waterfall
listening to a lecture on reality.
I am fortunate to have come
To such a holy place,
Qualities of Life
Each time I come to this tiny sacred spot
It is as different as it is the same.
Because, sober or not:
I always come as I am.
This intellect and its complications are not
What I would choose to razzle-dazzle you with
And yet -- but still and yet -- what else do I have?
If not this, then I have nothing at all to give!
I saw a hungry bug just now, it was so glad
To feast upon the pale flesh of a worm
It found among the rotting forest leaves -- and there!
Rust red slugs look for that which slugs yearn...
If you could truly measure such qualities of life
-- would you dare?
For each and every joy there is, at least, one pain
& when you add it all up -- what remains?
A puff of wind?
A memory which quickly fades?
A spark of light and then -- eternal shade?
You can bow down,
punctually,
five times a day;
Confess your sins more often that that to a priest;
Do every do,
refrain from every dont
Of the Halacha;
accept the man on the cross as your
Very own, personal savior;
Raise your hands and say, Sha-na-nah! in toungues...
But none of this or anything else
in itself
Will help you
one twit
to face that final moment
When your life crosses that use-no-later-than date!
Nothing,
except to face with true humility
The essence,
the element of deep eternity
Imbued in our common humanity...
And hanging there,
with the nails in your own hands
Understand what it means to be a man.

********************
By the Waterfall
If I should say a word, what will it be?
Until I speak, even to me
it is a mystery!
I watch this thought unfolding in my mind,
where does it come from and to
whom does it belong?
The waterfall in front of me;
the woodpecker tapping lightly
on some tree behind me;
the blackbird startled to find me,
sitting here,
where no-one usually sits.
The chill of my coat collar against
the nape of my neck
The small myg dancing above
the cold water of the brook
All these things,
(and so much more)
are revealed in each breath we breathe!
Will he ever get to the point?
(I thought I heard someone say)
Ah, but we passed it long ago!
Stay awake! (he says)
Its coming around again...
That for which I have sought so long;
I caught a glimpse of it a whiles ago...
______________________________
Myg pronounced myk or moek
is a mosquito in Danish
A forest deer diving into foliage
-- there, then quickly gone!
A word poised upon the tip of my tongue
-- a dragon fly, it quickly darts away!
It may well be (I must face the fact!)
That I have failed in this, my holy quest
to find my-all-my-everything.
Perhaps Ill be allowed to leave
some stepping stones
and fashion a peaceful spot where other
travelers may quench their thirst
and find a bit of rest,
by this waterfall,
before traveling on...
********************************************
Simple Words on Prayer
In order to pray, belief is not needed
nearly as much as faith!
There are those who believe the Moon is a rock,
and others
who believe she is a god!
God -- rock -- rock -- god -- faith does not care!
Faith rests secure in the bosom
of the knowledge
that what-is, always has been, and always will be!
When you pray, do thus:
throw belief over your shoulder and trust!
Trust?..
Trust in what?..
In no thing at all!
Pray in ever deepening simplicity,
listening through the words.
Reality is the love of being-aware.
The Innocence of Beautiful Thoughts
O, what a beautiful thought:
We tiptoe thru the tulips
(or, are they daffodils?)
gathering our thoughts
into little woven baskets...
Won't grandma be happy,
when we get back home?
...uh, was home that-a way?
O, well -- da! da!
Looking for Sunshine -- Expecting Rain
I want to write a poem full of sunshine!
Im tired of all these shadows in my eyes!
I want to spread my wings again, and fly!
I want to live beyond the how? and why?...
I want so many things and do I have
Any of them?
I really dont know!
If you dont plant the seed, nothing can grow!
Theres not much more to say, except that life
Really does have what I might call, a bum side,
And there really is a shitty-end-of-the-stick,
Thats how it is.
Theres no denying it.
Life can be a dance on roses -- or thorns,
Regardless of how we live, or where were born.
Compassion is not the worst thing that you can have.
Speaking of Ye God
This piece addresses the dilemma all montheists need to face, with allusions to both the Shahada and the
Shema
O...God!
If we could speak of You
without thinking, You!;
What would we then say,
speaking from silence?
We say, There is no god but God
and we say God is One
and then we chop
god into tiny bits...
Where then is our Submission
and who then heeds our call to
Listen?
Sitting by this holy water fall, I think:
What! Do I think?
What is this?
& what is thinking?
I sit and I seek
a word for nothing at all
a waterfall...
Jordan is just another word for
the River Descending!
There is an Answer
The fact is that there is an answer!
There is a multiplicity of answers!
But they can only be uncovered by us,
In the context of our common humanity!
Perhaps some angels, in thin beams of light,
Or silver spaceships, will come sailing down
With the New Jerusalem on a platter...
But it will never be before we find
At least the kernel of a valid answer
Inherent in our common humanity!
The truth, in all its bare simplicity,
Is that were nurslings of eternity!
But no Gardener, worth his salt at all,
Will move the plant before its, at least, this tall!
Twelve Gates to the City
I want to be very clear on this.
I have no intention or desire to shake any ones true faith or through any
negligent flippancy to tarnish anyones innocent belief.
Its true, I do poke a lot of fun at peoples beliefs -- but note that it is at belief
without faith my small arrows are aimed.
There are, in truth, twelve gates to the city -- and there are twelve paths which
lead to each one.
The paths of doubt and knowledge, as well as those of simplicity and
understanding are just as true and valid as the paths of devotion and purity and
joy and sorrow.
All paths are equally wide or narrow and the heavens to which their
corresponding gates open up- or in-to are just as high and wide or profound
and deep.
It is my conviction that all paths are one -- which is not to say that every alley,
backyard or high way is a path.
Although we may append a hundred names to what may appear to us as even
more than a thousand paths, in the Final Analysis there is only one Path and
one Gate.
It is also my conviction that the path and the gate are also one and same.
That is to say: however long or short a time you may have been on the path, you
are already at the gate; if you are at the gate and even if you have actually
entered the gate and are winging it through the highest heavens -- you are still
on the path
I appear to be my own contradiction.
There are certain missionaries who cry all religions are one... and there are
others who say ...there is only One Way! and condemn all others to occult
darkness.
They all give me an equal pain, although each to a different buttock...
The oracle is: all that is holy is one and all that lives is holy
So true, and yet it is so easy to fall right from holy into a hole and off your
cloud.
The key is that the critical words are not so much holy and one -- for a
thing can be called holy and be quite profane; a thing can also be said to be
one and be a snakepit of division and confusion.
The key words are is and lives
In the deepest sense: what-is is the same as what-lives; and what-lives is
the life itself.
What can be more Holy or One than that?
************************