warrior
The moment that he begins to walk along it, the warrior of light recognises the Path.
Each stone, each bend cries welcome to him. He identifies with the mountains and the streams, he sees something of his own soul in the plants and the animals and the birds of the field.
Then, accepting the help of God and of God’s Signs, he allows his Personal Legend to guide him towards the tasks that life has reserved for him.
On some nights, he has nowhere to sleep, on others, he suffers from insomnia. ‘That’s just how it is,’ thinks the warrior. ‘I was the one who chose to walk this path.’
In these words lies all his power: he chose the path along which he is walking and so has no complaints.
Paulo Coelho
Manual of the Warrior of Light
The sun punches through the cloud gaps
with strong fists and the wind
buffets the buildings
with boisterous good will.
Bad memories are blown away
over the capering sea. Life
pulls up without straining
the jungle tangle between us
and the future.
Easy to forget
the last leaves thicken the ground
and the last roses are dying
in their sad, cramped hospitals.
For gaiety’s funfair whirls
in the gray squares. Energy
sends volts from suburb to suburb.
And April, gay trespasser,
dances the dark streets of November,
Pied Piper leading a procession
of the coloured dreams of summer.
“April Day in November, Edinburgh” by Norman MacCaig
life: acoustic & amplified 