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Fife Writes

Billy Grant - When Spirit Speaks


I walked along a grassy track, contained on either side, by walls that held & guided me, towards my own way back.

I thought there was an opening, at the other end, that would take me to a garden, just around the bend.

I arrived to find no opening, just an old & disused gate, run down & capped with thornbush, was this to be my fate.

I checked in desperation to see if I was right, & saw the thorns were placed there, to guard this thresholds rite.   

Beyond it grew some brambles, both wild & uninviting, with a gap that I could manage, if I could take the fighting. 

If I battled with the thornbush, then headed for the gap, then maybe I could make it, to this other track. 

Beyond this lay some barren land, that hadn’t seen much use, & the road of little traffic offered no excuse.

This barren space of lostness, reminded me of me, I looked around to find a seat, in the shelter of a tree.

No place of rest was offered, & I struggled what to do, to flea this place of awkwardness, or just invite a clue.

A seat appeared within a wall, it had been there all along, it called to me to rest a while, for it knew to leave was wrong.


When I reached this pause in writing, I reflected ‘this was great’, these words would touch my colleges, & they’d want to be my mate.

Then came the ‘NO’ to consciousness, with sudden lightning speed, I will not let this happen, steel this beauty for you need.

This isn’t of your making, & it isn’t yours to take, if you tried they’d see right through you, they’d see you for a fake.

‘HA’ ‘HA’ yelled out this voice inside, I think I win again, you think that your so big & smart, I know that your just vain.

You think you’re wise & wonderful, that you can change the world, ‘YOU CLOWN’ I sometimes laugh at you, your mind all warped & curled. 

You had no chance to start with, for it was always me, you fool you just don’t get it, that you is really me.


But ‘I’ could feel its panic, & hear fear within its voice, its challenge almost over, its fight without a choice.  


One tear sneaks up from in my heart & drips upon my arm, it primes the wick for others, though there seems like no alarm.

Then tears flood from my very soul, my heart now rives in pain, a soul that longs to know its Self, & feel alive again.

This pain that feels like more than mine, so old & without end, feels seen for just a moment, & then its gone again.

It knows I can only take so much, & regulates my pain, then with great big breath it lets me go, to return to the world again.



Copyright,  Billy Grant: Retreat weekend July 2010

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