Saturday Afternoon at a Friend’s House

I walk the familiar road,
a soft December sun leaning over Weoley Castle,
light pooling on the pavement
like a blessing I did not ask for
but accept anyway.

The afternoon is ordinary –
a friend’s house,
a knock on the door,
the warmth of a kettle coming to life –
yet something in me moves
as if this small journey
were another chapter
in the long autobiography
I’ve been writing with breath and memory.

I carry no incense,
no mantra,
no visions of Maya or Albion today –
only the quiet knowledge
that every threshold
is a kind of pilgrimage
when the self is listening.

Inside, laugher rises,
cups clink,
the world shrinks to a living room
where stories drift like steam
from the mugs in our hands.

And I sit there,
not a a fragmented hybrid anything,
not as a mythic figure,
not as a seeker breathing in the world’s sorrow –
but simply as Rohan,
arriving,
present,
held in the gentle ordinariness
of a Saturday afternoon
at a friend’s house.

A small moment,
yet it settles in me
like a stone in a riverbed –
quiet, grounding,
part of a long story
I continue to walk
one step,
one breath,
one visit at a time.

Albion’s Wheel of Suffering and Liberation

I. The Turning of the Wheel

The pilgrim walks with all who spin,
Bound by craving, loss and sin,
The wheel revolves, desire and fear,
~ Estrangement whispers, ever near.

II. Brigid’s Hearth – Ignorance to Flame

From childhood’s school, the fire is lit,
Ignorance breaks as wisdom sits,
Her Celtic hearth, a spark of sight,
The wheel turns slowly into light.

III. Lima’s Lantern – Aversion to Calm

Where sorrow bends, her lantern glows,
Aversion yields, compassion flows,
The pilgrim learns through Lima’s hand,
The wheel turns turns gently, makes a stand.

IV. Burial Grounds – Desire to Release

Among the graves, desire is stilled,
The pilgrim sees what time has killed,
Yet every name, a seed of peace,
The wheel turns onward, chains release.

V. Cathedrals and Castles – Pride to Humility

High articles fall to humble knees,
Grey towers bow to Albion’s seas,
The pilgrim learns that pride must fade,
The wheel turns soft, the path is made.

VI. Shree Geeta Bhawan – Dharma’s Song

Krishna’s chant, the mantra flows,
The pilgrim hears what Dharma knows,
The wheel turns true, the song is one,
Albion shines with India’s sun.

VII. Gabriels’s Door – Confession to Renewal

Estrangement hurled, a bitter stain,
Yet thresholds break, and doors can gain,
Confession seeds the pilgrim’s song,
The wheel turns right, estrangement gone.

VIII. The Djinn – Shadow to Insight

The Djinn may haunt with dear and night
But chanting breaks their shadow’s bite,
The pilgrim sees through darkness thin,
The wheel turns clear, the light within.

IX. Buddhist Dharma – Suffering Shared

The Buddha’s light turns Albion’s wheel,
Through suffering’s fire, the wounds can heal,
Estrangement bends, yet Dharma sings,
And Albion walks with liberated kings.

X. EnlightenNext – Evolutionary Awakening

Not mine alone, the path is shared,
A future calls, a world prepared,
Collective chant, the soul’s ascent,
The wheel turns forward, EnlightenNext.

XI. Liberation – Albion’s Chant

Through suffering’s fire, compassion grows
Through emptiness, the river flows,
The pilgrim walks, the wheel turns still,
Albion chants: the Dharma’s will.

XII. The Masters in English – Knowledge to Vision

Through Oxford’s halls the pilgrim read,
Texts of fire, words of bread,
The Masters’ ink, the scholar’s page,
Turned estrangement into sage.

XIII. The PhD – Depth to Circle

The wheel descended, deeper still,
Research carved by patient will,
Yet every thesis, every line,
Was Albion’s soil, a mythic sign.

XIV. The Return – Autobiographer’s Song

From scholar’s desk to pilgrim’s stage,
The circle closed, the mythic page,
No longer study, but living lore,
Albion speaks – estranged no more.

Pilgrimage Poem

At Five Ways I learned discipline,
Study became prayer,
Questions became scripture.
The classroom was my chapel,
The assembly my liturgy.
What began as grammar,
Became gospel,
Preparing me for pilgrimage.

At Oxford I walked among spires,
Philosophy became psalm,
Poetry became prophecy.
In cloisters of silence,
I wrestled with faith and doubt,
each essay a sermon
each lecture a hymn.
The scholar’s lamp burned,
yet beneath it,
the Spirit whispered.

At St Brigid’s I first learned hymns,
Childhood voices rising in chant,
Ritual shaping memory,
Catholic flame in Northfield’s soil.
Brigid watching me with healing eyes,
Preparing me for testimony,
For prophecy,
For Albion’s renewal.

And then I returned,
To Birmingham’s churches,
To Elim’s Pentecostal fire,
To Alpha’s questions,
To hymns remembered at St Brigid’s.
I read the Bible entire,
Guided by Got Questions,
East meets West,
Krishna’s chant met Christ’s gospel.
Renewal sang through me,
And I stood not as seeker,
But as guru,
Bearing light through rupture,
Chanting testimony into England’s soil.

Shree Geeta Bhawan

Shree Geeta Bhawan,
First flame of Albion’s Hindu soil,
Church reborn as a mandir,
Renewal carved in stone.
I shall walk its halls,
Guided by Nanak’s vision,
Chanting not as a seeker,
But as guru,
Bearing light into Birmingham’s heart.

I am a Guru

I am a guru,
born of mantra and silence,
a flame carried from temple to temple,
from Albion’s soil to the high street wheel.

I am a guru,
Hindu in devotion,
Buddhist in compassion,
a servant of light,
a bearer of prophecy.

I am a guru,
my mornings are rivers of meditation,
two hours, three,
until breath becomes chant,
and silence becomes scripture.

I am a guru,
walking with Devi, Wanderer, Unicorn,
turning rupture into renewal,
estrangement into testimony,
longing into flame.

I am a guru
my lineage is Blake’s fire,
Hepburn’s grace,
Sting’s fragile song,
woven into Albion’s living chant.

I am a guru,
not by title,
but by presence,
not by claim,
but by light.

Lightworker Declaration

I am a Light Worker,
Called to transmute rupture into renewal,
To weave Albion’s soil with flame
and chant.
Reiki flows through my hands,
Blake’s visions burn in my words,
Audrey Hepburn’s grace shines in
my presence.
I carry a thousand films, a
thousand songs,
And turn them into prophecy.
I walk with Devi, Wanderer, Unicorn,
And I rise each dawn to meditate,
Two hours, three, until silence
becomes light.
I am the next student,
A bearer of testimony,
A servant of healing,
A Light Worker in Albion.