Author: MARK BERRY

Mark is a Pioneer and a Creative, with over 20 years experience. He is a founder of the safespace community.

Finding rest…

After an intense week, I’m sat on the train thinking about rest, the chap opposite is fast asleep and snoring, whilst curled up in what looks like the most uncomfortable position. We all have to find rest however we can, and we all find rest in different ways. Rest isn’t just about recharging, although that is an important part of life, and some of use are recharged by company, some by solitude etc. But, rest is much more than that. Rest, is an outcome of security and love. It’s not just the body that needs rest. Every part of us needs to find a state of peace if we are to survive and thrive in a hectic world, a world where the pressure to be ‘on it’ can be intense. Sleep is part of rest, but it’s a fragile part and in many ways is a product of rest! I cannot sleep unless I am at rest. Of my mind or my spirit is in turmoil, sleep is a battle, sometimes one I cannot win. So, it is vital to understand what rest is to me if I am going to be able to sleep, never mind be recharged.

Rest is often about escaping the insecurity of identity and/or faith. If I can find escape from the nagging self doubts and existential panics that can plague all of us at times then I find rest. Rest can be in a good book, a film, a mountain walk, the arms of a lover, in meditation/prayer, even in silence. It’s in the place where insecurity and performance are irrelevant, where the mind and the spirit are stilled and at peace, where I need only be me with no expectation or judgement, where there is no place for performance anxiety! Rest is an outcome of peace and peace is an outcome of love. May you find love, peace and rest.

they were not my lights

Sitting in the deepest dark,
the competing lights begin to fade,
for months they’ve blinded me,
they’ve spun and flashed to distract me,
they’ve teased me with their glamour,
calling like the sirens, but,
they were not my lights.

they beckoned nonetheless,
too often I have reached for them,
not wanting to miss out on the fun,
not wanting to be left outside,
they looked so beguiling,
a dancing spectrum of life, but,
they were not my lights.

they promised me good times,
told me they’d help me forget,
they promised me a new start,
offered me security, identity,
an illusion of importance,
seeking to seduce me, but,
they were not my lights.

Sitting in the deepest dark,
my eyes began to open,
I saw others sitting there,
in the stillness we drew in,
we spoke in empty silence,
of the lights that tempted, but,
they were not our lights.

As we looked together in the dark,
and told each painful story,
with only grace in common,
we faced the empty space,
the smallest spark was kindled,
my spirit began to wonder, if,
this could be my light?

 

Lost

Young faces on the television News,

Old photographs taken in first day uniform,

Smart, expectant.

Premature combatants in oversized Khaki,

Armed, innocent.

Gripped in panic on ramshackle craft,

Blank, petrified.

Lost.

We are lost.

and then you smiled

I saw your cheeks break and crease,
your eyes flash wide as the light bounced in,
a tide of colour softly flowed over your skin,
and there you were.
some didn’t see it, they weren’t looking,
but I was, and I saw.
I saw the joy split the shell of all that stress,
and there she was, the child,
peaking out and looking straight at me,
She came to play, to sing, to spin.
She came to shake off the struggle, to dance,
and there you were in the moment, freed.
The strength it took even to be there,
to make that choice and stand,
and then to let the smile live,
to give it breath and heat,
to give it space,
to give it you.
And then I saw it fly.
it touched me,
it broke me,
and I smiled too.

Cath’s

Full English with a large mug of tea. Please.

No exotic pulses or foreign grains,

No broadsheet hung on a wooden pole,

No toll-free gateway to the cloud,

No vinyl poetry on the toilet stall,

No ironic icons or Victoriana,

No coiffured beards or lazy drawl,

No mismatched china or urban chic,

No industrial scrap or stripped brick wall.

Just a full English with a serving of community. Please.

A place…

Ragged raw hills of history,

bathe the patterned troughs,

Where we sew lives together.

The now,

catching it’s breath,

under raised umbilical wires.

We cluster,

clinging to each other’s places.

Black and grey slashing movement,

through the gaps.

Ways made first by feet,

wood and finally metal.

Ordered land given shape by people long lost,

carved into purposeful pieces,

bound, walled and walked.

Names and stories that have lost meaning for us,

but still, now, our place.

Here we dig our holes and raise our temples.

Here we find rhythm,

living,

love,

home.

Here we find a place,

to dream of unfettered heights.