We’re happy to share poetry from ICNer Pete Armstrong, offered as invitations to guide us into deeper womb engagement. 

He says of his poetry:

These poems mostly arose within a space of meditation, of opening to All, and were shaped-up within that space. Only when they were more-or-less complete were they written down.

There are more poems in five books available on Amazon:

The Commitment of the Lark                 poems for looking deeply.
Target Practice                                            100 poems for your inner journey
The Words on my Face                              poems on opening to God in the silence
Of Love and Bent Nails                              poems on an Integral path
Some Palaeolithic Creature in me        poems on the Way through

For personal and non-commercial usage, please copy, use, and share these poems as widely as possible!

Contact: pilgrimpoems@gmail.com

You can also access the previous week’s poems:
Poems of the Heart

Poems of the feet

Poems of the Mind

The touchings of butterflies

 We sat in a bower.
We were together, open.
We were blessed with being alive
and knowing we were alive
knowing the humming of bees
and the unfelt settlings of butterflies
on a shoulder.

As we separated I saw we had
no need to struggle into the depths
to find the light, the truth.

At this moment I knew fundamentally
Light just is
Love just is
God just is
bubbling away like a spring
rising up through
the layers of our beings
so subtle, then ever denser, more material,
shaped by our common mistakes
and our individual structures
condensing as words, actions, paintings,
manifesting as life.


From: The Words on my Face

Here are three more poems of the womb:

Below, you can also download a pdf of 6 more poems of the womb from Pete

An early morning failed attempt on the Source

Following the thin thread of my breath
I return, in my mind, to the little cell in the rock at Lee Bay
with the cross on the altar
under the barrel ceiling
and sit again in the shadowed space
where through the open door
the sounds of the waves booming on the shore
and the stones crackling down in the undertow
concentrate and amplify around me
so that it is harder than usual to ignore
the elemental source of all.

Still following the thin thread of my breath
I attempt to go further back:
through breaking waves to the origins of sound
through rising thoughts to the beginnings of thought
through being awake to the Source of all.

But the thread breaks and I drift off
into a multitude of voices and memories
and dreams of a broken ignition motor.

I wake up bedraggled on the shore of the day
where breakfast awaits on this bright frosty morning.


From: Of Love and Bent Nails

Squeeze

I guess I was pretty happy in my mother’s womb
till it got to feel crowded in there.
Then the squeeze came on
and boy was that tight.
Still, the space and love into which I emerged
were something else.

Like a torrent in a ravine spreading out
and slowing into the plain below;
like your runner’s body complaining with stiffness
when you set off, but then easing into grace;
like moving through the pain of a break-up
into a new life of possibilities;
like forsaking all others in marriage
and settling into a deeper love;
like ducking under a sump in a cave
and emerging into a new cavern echoing beyond.

So squeeze me, my Friend,
bring me through into the best you have to offer;
bring on the pressure and I’ll join in;
squeeze me through into whatever awaits,
even freedom, even bliss.

From: Of Love and Bent Nails

The Source

Wondering where my words come from
I see a vase on the Ground
a fountain of flow
and enter in, float down,
while I grow less and less
and the flow grows more and more.

Wondering then what the source is,
the origin of these words,
the origin of all,
I know this truth in these words:
You O Lord are the Source.

And when I know this truth in these words
the feeling surges up in me
tears squeeze from my eyes
and my heart is sore with truth and longing.

Then, in this new life,
as my words and I float in the flow
caressed by love from the Source,
I know this in these words:
I will glorify the Lord.

My days will be filled with joy for
in many languages I will
write hymns, sing songs, speak praise:

All this! All this! All this!

From: The Words on my Face

About the Author

Peter Armstrong

I was born into 1950s England, the first child in a very loving family. But our lives were overshadowed by a serious accident that left my father paralysed, and led to his death three years later, when I was nine.

I grew up in the Anglican church, but, as is common, left in my late teens, when the mythological elements of religion became too much for my developing rational mind. I won a place at Oxford to study English, and my intellectual development continued there, but much less so with emotional literacy, or inner awareness, or spiritual connection…

I was determined to avoid a conventional career, and instead launched myself and my curiosity into the delights and flaws of the burgeoning alternative world. There was a lot to explore!

Becoming a parent to three children emphasised the need for greater stability rather than novelty…

Therapy took me further and further into an exploration of the inner life, and later on, serious meditation practices followed. I discovered Ken Wilber’s books and integral thinking, and was deeply grateful for those gifts, because they made sense of so much. His influence, plus that of Thich Nhat Hanh, brought me renewed perspectives on God, and gradually I came back to Christianity, particularly in its mystical guise. Paul’s book was a treasure, and ICN was another!

I had sometimes enjoyed writing creatively. In May 2010, my partner Mary and I, who had been together for many years, got married. It turned out there were to be some spiritual fruits of this new phase of our relationship. That same month, I found myself unexpectedly (and initially reluctantly) writing poetry…

I developed a way of sitting in meditation, opening to All, to God, and allowing new perspectives and insights to emerge. Then, sometimes, I would be able to shape them up into poems from within that space of meditation. Only when the poems were more-or-less complete in my mind did I write them down physically. This ‘poetry period’ lasted about five years.

Now, I continue to enjoy the pilgrimage of this gift of life, hoping to share more of the blessings with you, my fellow pilgrims!