Personal Meditations for Mastery and Self-knowledge. This is essential reading for those with an interest in the occult or spirituality. No-nonsense advice on the basics of Magic and Meditation is combined with beautiful and inspiring prose and art to facilitate successful meditation and spiritual development.

Now available in print on Amazon with stunning new images!
View now...

The Beggar

It was the coat that drew me to his side, that cold September day.
He leaned against the wall, inside a porch that barely kept the wind and rain away.
An army coat, just like my dad’s, that came back from the war.
I hoped it kept him just a warm as it kept me so many years before.

I dropped some coins into his cup to ease my passage, as I walked away.
But as I glanced into his eyes, I watched him struggle with some words he had to say.
“God is bleeding into life”, he said. “And life is struggling to escape the mud.
There is nothing in this world which can be made without our sweat and tears and blood!”

His aura stank of urine and insanity, and so, I walked away until he called me back.
“Your poetry is shite!”, he said, “You write of flowers and butterflies like some insipid hack!”
“What can you know, old man, of what I do and who I am?”
He said, “I’ve walked the lonely roads since mankind first began”

“You think that speaking nice and being good will save you from your misery and pain,
But you will walk as many roads as I and birth will come again and yet again.
Your life may be a fairy tale, but fairy tales are born in blood and sweat and slime.
The grimy, gritty glories of this world will last until the very end of time.”

“You bore me with your godly prayers and clean-pressed trousers on the shiny pews.
You tire me with your candles and your bells and all your failed attempts to be a better ‘you’
You drive me to distraction with your chanting and your whistles and your drums.
The only truth is you, - and what you do is what your life becomes.”

“I became this world which we both walk and we both share.
Each moment of my birth was made of misery and pain and dark despair.
You bleed my blood and cry my tears for you and I are one.
This is the mystery which Man has wondered at since Mankind was begun.”

“Forget your worries and your foolish plans and simply be!
You never will be greater than you are, for I am you and you are me.
The measures and the rules with which you gauge your lives are false beyond compare.”
I closed my eyes to still my spinning head, but when I looked again, he was no longer there!

Patrick W Kavanagh
25/03/2018
Art by Bill Oliver.

Tumbling

 The silence was unruffled by the muted ticking of the clock

upon the shelf.

She lay between us like a moody mist which hid the memories of every single kiss.

The years have brought a dreariness which wore away the passion that we felt.

And yet, - of all the losses which we gained, your laughter is the one I really miss.

It’s been such a long, long time since last I saw you smile.

The lack of lustre in your eyes reminds me of the pain we share.

We have not left this dusty dried up world within our own front room in such a while.

The world we used to know outside may long have ceased to be for all we care.


I remember summers, once upon a time, when there was magic

in a sunlit grassy field.

We walked for miles to find a quiet spot where there was no one else around

A tartan shawl laid on the ground became a battlefield where both of us would yield,

And fall into a peaceful interlude, as, cheek to cheek, we lay upon the ground.

But now we sit and stare as if we both have rushed beyond

the veil to share a musty mausoleum

Sometimes I rouse myself from reverie and try to speak, - but don’t know what to say.

The days are just a burden as we sit and wait for sleep and all its promises of dreams.

I wonder if you dream of when we laughed and played and tumbled in the hay.


I see you clearly now through all the years with straw

entangled in your hair.

Your clothes were in a mess and through the creases of your shirt, your passion pressed.

We slipped into the barn and in a stall, we made a nest of cast-off cares.

But when the farmer came we had to run away as maledictions

filled the summer air.

Perhaps we both have lived too long? What use is life bereft

of laughter and of song?

Perhaps we died a long, long time ago when we were struck by grief and everything went wrong?

Perhaps we should have fallen on our bended knees and begged forgiveness for the crime of holding on too long,

To memories of all we had which once had made the love we shared so strong?

We had a miracle and then the miracle we had was torn away.

We had a dream, but then the dream became a nightmare in a
single tragic day.

Our love created life and then that life was torn away.

The god we used to love had punished us for tumbling in the hay.

 Patrick W Kavanagh

16/03/2016

Art by Bill Oliver