The simple grace of being

We present three poems which focus on the greatness of existence: celebrating our being, playfully celebrating a banana’s being, but showing also how we can waste our lives. We can treasure or squander reality. The choice is ours.


In this beautiful poem, Audrey White celebrates authentic existence. She explains: “This poem reflects the quote ‘perception shapes truth’. I wanted to express the joy of living out a good, true life that is uniquely one’s own. This means finding moments of gratitude, and aligning one’s actions with the values of one’s essence. In this way, we can each arrive at the simple grace of being.”

Like the sheen of my being, my soul’s sparkle

Embraces and excites its essence:

A warm light glowing through my heart space,

Overflowing into the world around it,

Dazzling my awareness into action.

Life inflates and uplifts my lungs.

My skin glows like an ocean glittering in the sun,

My soul expands into a boundless field,

Surrounding me, energising my world from within,

Sharpening sight and amplifying sound,

Garnishing taste and fragrancing smell.

My presence pours into blissful harmony.

The aura is within me, an inner force,

Vibrating inside out,

Emitting waves from the source,

Rebounding and remitting like my ozone.

It sings the silent gamma hum

That attracts positive polarity,

Resonating with my unique frequency.

The rhythm of my heart,

The tides of my breath:

I receive what I elicit, I elicit what I perceive.

This is the law of reactivity.

My mind is a radio, tuning into truth.

And when it is heard, it echoes into my life,

Offering a more soulful existence.

Purity hums in high frequencies,

Illuminating perception – 

To be pure is to be celestial.

I am washed by wisdom, 

Like rainfall on leaves:

Her maternal love inflaming my being,

Firing my passion,

Sparking my understanding.

Appearance and being converge,

I see the world as I feel it,

In the truth of my aura.

Banana Noster

You thought bananas were prosaic? You’ll never look at them in the same way again after this playful poetic exploration by Monica Sharp.

Our Mortality who art Banana

Spotty be thy Hide.

Thy Flesh turn brown

Thy appeal worn.

Your freckled Fruit no Lip shall touch.

Yea, for this day we shall bake Banana Bread

We shall renounce our craven insistence

For young, green Flesh.

O bruised and soupy 

Soggy sweet bananas without equal!


O my children!

We shall cease to whine.

We shall learn that New Bananas have their time.

Now is brown.

Bananas too live three ages.

O Bananas, may you teach us.

O Bananas, may you charm us.

We will not peel, nor will we savor, a New Banana today!

What is young will ripen then wither.

Love is come again. Bananas springeth green.

If we do not gather Keats’ bananas while we may

To the compost they shall be tossed!

O Keats, who never freckled.

O Keats, who never softened.

O Keats, sunk when firm and raw.

We rejoice in the sweetness of age 

Sugar that comes with passing time

Sweetens every Sacrifice unto Death.

O Bananas, may you teach us.

O Bananas, may you charm us.

Yea, today we shall bake ye Banana Bread

We shall renounce our hunger 

For young, green Flesh.

We rejoice in the Heavenly Kingdom of Baked Goods.

We release the earthly banana.

We glory in vanilla and coconut,

Eggs and flour,

Parchment paper and the dark oven’s heat.

You will be sliced and devoured 

By mouths that so recently scorned you.

Banana bread, rise in Glory!

O Bananas, may you teach us.

O Bananas, may you bless us.


This poem by Joseph Evans warns against another possible path: not the celebration of being but its squandering through excessive activity.

The tragedy

Beauty lost

Distracted through work

Or destructive leisure.

The tragedy

Chances missed

Hardened by haste

Ignoring the treasure

Of a simple

Deed of love, time spent

Time gained

Time sanctified.

The tragedy

The idolatry

Of achievement

The list that lied

To us, crying

For completion

Louder than the child

Or poor man in his need.

The tragedy

The anxiety

Of our selfish goals

The lust to feed

This greedy god


To its urgent cult

Love calm peace;

The cult of success

The goals which God

Won’t bless nor his grace

Make increase.

The tragedy

Not seeing, not stopping

Losing, dropping

Life’s precious jewels.

The tragedy

Oft repeated, so old

The exchange of gold

For the trinkets of fools.

Like what you’ve read? Consider supporting the work of Adamah by making a donation and help us keep exploring life’s big (and not so big) issues!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *