The new is always near,
Nudging, welcoming and calling us.
It waits right on the outer edge of our knowing
Like a word you can’t quite shape with your lips,
Waiting to be plucked like a cosmic cherry.
You can reach for it and claim a taste
If you don’t try too hard,
If you simply allow what’s yours to come to you.
Portals that open into newness are everywhere,
You don’t need a key, just a code.
And the codes are threefold:
Stillness, silence and space.
One, the other, or all three of them will do it.
In less than a heartbeat, you’ll be there.
What is the new?
Can newness exist as an energetic force
In the field of infinite possibility?
Do you belief in newness?
In life, creatively exploring and expressing itself?
If you dismiss newness as a pleasing concept
Or sell it short,
It will surely stay conceptual for you,
A half-remembered dream to taunt your starving soul.
It’s the place that artists, inventors and pioneers
Slip into without effort.
It’s where dreams are hooked and reeled back in
To become the nectar that sustains us all.
It belongs to no one and everyone.
It’s our place. Yours and mine.
Sometimes, we veer off course in dreamtime
And stay awhile. We half remember it and then shrug
It off like some opulent gown that doesn’t belong to us.
We are too humble. It fits us fine.
This magical, multidimensional wonderland.
It’s our homeland. It’s where we came from
And someday, it’s where we will return.
I choose this now, before I am called back.
I choose it because there is no other choice,
I cannot deny who and what I am.
I am a weaver of dreams, of new patterns,
Of unique designs, of unimagined colours,
Of a cloth that no hands, however deft, could weave.
I am a cosmic tapestry weaver and my work is eternal.
© Sue Claughton, 2016