Known by his closest circle as Tom, or simply “T”, Thomas Joseph Walton would have seemed an unassuming man even to most people. He served in the Merchant Navy. Before retirement, he was employed (as far as I understand) as a diver by the Mersey Docks and Harbour Company. He married his childhood sweetheart, Vera, and together they had two daughters and two sons.
He self-published a collection of his poetry, West Cheshire Lad, (1973; 1974) plus an earlier collection titled Poems and Prose (1967). Using the pseudonym of West Cheshire Lad, he also self-published a treatise on his philosophy, which he called Divine Will: The Infinite Influence of All and Everything. Only fifty of these were printed for private circulation.
However, copies are available for public viewing at the National Library of Scotland: http://discover.nls.uk/default.ashx?q=West+Cheshire+Lad&searchtype=1&cx=004988112283334510717%3Alqhse3e39qi&ie=UTF-8
His philosophy was heavily influenced by the teachings of George Ivanovich Gurdjieff, though as far as I am aware Tom had never been one of Gurdjieff’s pupils or had even met him.
Tom gave me the task of passing on his metaphysical teachings. He asked me to share his writings with, and I quote, “Anyone who may wish to see them; anyone who asks.” I was to give no thought to concerns over Copyright ownership; Tom assured me this would never be contested by his family. As nothing exists in writing to this effect, I remain cautious. Besides, my own philosophy has evolved since those days.
Here is one of his poems, Law, reproduced with his permission.
Law
I bless thee a thousand times, my soul journey ‘midst the garden of bones,
Twixt weariness a labour loved to sanctify my seat;
‘Tis by far the highest place,
Perfect by law to oft’ repeat,
To strain the portals of the lofty house
Sets to the wise all nature’s sweet.
Ah! A thousand times I journey on “The Way”
All secret ‘midst the earthly form.
Born to dwell ‘midst scented clay
To fire and heat the garden fair
And watch the lily fade, decay.
My word is high above the wind, yet silent to the throng,
To note the hungered moon fairy tale man’s mind
And puppet his violent animal.
Yet, the child will come again to note all night and day,
Conscious of eternal dawn
And form the bond of love to the ever hungered soul;
‘Tis never dead, but whispers lighter than the fairy wind,-
A stillness in the soul can hear the chime,-
And perfumes all the dung of earth’s decay.
A silent worker, e’er to come, his seed a phantom sound,
The pulse vibrating in the treasure house
Ne’er chants its secret to Memory.
Yet, Understanding chained to Will gives bliss a thousand times,
And nature poised on earthly throne
Unites the atom, builds the stone.
This lullaby that e’er will sing
A thousand voices to comfort ears,
For, within the kingdom many worlds abide,
Housed by countless knaves that daily rule,
And from these many voices the kingdom sways
Unbalanced in its majesty twixt many forms,
Whilst existence in the turmoil ne’er can be.
For wisdom in its speech vibrates countless songs;
One atom holds the splendour of the whole -
A universe that spins in God’s command,
Like crested wave beckoning to the cloud
The atom of the whole that ne’er perceives.
‘Midst Lightening and the thunderbolt fancy forms
To animate the heat and the bones of man,
Yet light the way for very few;
Aware of simple dreams whilst comfort clothes their nakedness,
To sacrifice each bone upon the anvil of time.
Yet, before each battle I pursue solitude,
Each thought to advocate and propagate its splendour.
Like summertime, to shed its leaves at evening tide
And harvest all in every grain of sand,
Each man upon his throne owneth naught,
Yet judges the works of God.
Beware! Impossible builds fantasy.
Initiates ne’er interpret images of the mind.
All is God born upon harmonic law,
To come and go and manifest in the sensual,
Proportioned in lots ‘midst Time, Space and Mind,
Eternally winding the mighty spring of man.
Knowest well the chain of God binds thee fast,
Ne’er can one escape eternal reckoning,
For naught will change one single hair
But guide man’s steps to the ever waiting grave.
Yet, everlasting truth, death ne’er can be,
But, unconsciousness sleep between the realms
Whilst ignorance builds the hours of man’s day.
Possibles are just twinkles in his eye.
The bounty doth change twixt morn and night,
No guide to loose earth’s elements or shade the seven stars,
Whilst the sun each morn anew rules in majesty the fleeting shadow,
To garb the greenwood in its form,
Each picture formed to greet the mortal eye,
And yet, ‘tis clay the garb that clothes the world of God.
Each moment changing fast, its spark uniting with the whole,
And man, not from himself, far beyond the skies
Vibrates his energy to the ever distant stars,
Bewildered in his fog whilst transmutations polarize his entity.
Alas! Not conscious of a yesterday,
Yet, to ever come and go in fantasy to dream
And build earth’s dark castle his prison house,
Forever more to break his bones
And eternally seek his God.
Do not I ever seek through the valley of death
And sift the weeds ‘midst her garden.
Though I contemplate within the city walls,
Is not my voice heard o’er the mountain and the valley.
Do I not drink from the spring of eternity that gurgles
Through the valley of life, bathe in the waters of time
And purify my bones ‘neath the shelter of your temple.
Verily my eyes behold the gold in the silvered sky
And forever more drink the perfume from your distant garden.
Yet, I only speak an echo that ripples upon the shores of man,
An ocean lapping at the foot-stools of the earth.
Yet, I speak words that vibrate through my consciousness
Like drops of dew from the great ocean that sprinkles
Tenderness upon the thirsty wanderer.
Remember, they hands ne’er scribe the records of your memory,
Nor can you feet climb above the ladder of the earth.
‘Tis known the butterfly seeks not the depths of the ocean;
Beware, lest you seek the shallows of your mind.
Though I oft’ speak (to thee the unattainable),
I am no stranger to the accessible heights.
For does not eternity breath upon deep waters
And bathe the wounds of mother earth,
For all must kill to live on earth’s sacrificial altar.
Mother earth grows the sacrifice,
The vineyard holds the fruit,
Time is the reaper, whilst
The tree of life drinks their blood.
Imagination ne’er built the castles of the mind;
Seek deep within the wilderness and tend well the garden,
For the river of blood flows twixt the mountains and
Valleys to water earthly garments.
I dwell far above the portals of the mind
And ne’er descend to appease my hunger.
My gift is one dew drop vibrating in life’s fountain:
Essence to quench the parched lips of life.
Though the winter knows not the spring,
‘Tis also man knowing not his “Self”;
Twixt night and day the fleeting shadow
Flickers o’er the grave.
I mirror my destiny in silence, and in my deeps
My laughter flows pulsing in the stream of life.
Each vapoured mist is drawn high above the wind
To ever seek the might of time, fulfil no change,
Yet water earth’s golden garden.
Though competition twirls her skirts across my face,
I seek not her gold, for each antenna points its head to the stars,
And puppets each foot across earth’s foundations.
For ‘tis known, oft’ in her wake Expectation brings forth disappointment,
Which ne’er can be buried in the deepest grave.
And e’er God’s face will smile o’er the mountains and valleys,
Laughing ‘midst wind and thunder to volcano and erupt the earth.
Yes, each fly is born upon god’s morn to pulse its mighty atom,
So minute, yet no stranger to “God’s Law”.
So, purified in the sacred fire of God, from black to white,
The atom to the whole,
A tenderness that will feed the pulse of God
And ever contemplate eternal ecstasy.
For each is born upon a lonely shore to meet Envy crawling from the ocean,
And in passion’s flame to kiss full-lipped her jealous head.
Naught have I of my own to guard,
Nor my need to bury bones in earth’s garden.
My essence I fragmentate and scatter far beyond the hills
To stand naked, unclothed from my earth-bound burden.
My dawn is forever my evening tide,
For, ‘midst my slumbers, do not I forever watch.
Long have I spent ‘midst the barren wastes,
A keeper of the door,
The gate ever open to those who hunger and thirst.
For to the hungry I offer food,
And to the thirsty I offer drink;
For, when you eat of the food of “Love” and drink her wine,
The mind is sobered and the veil is rent.
I weave a new garment, the thread is drawn from the soul,
Each stitch formed with knowledge, perfectly fashioned in “Love”.
I eat not that I may live, for naught can die,
Forever wakeful to my evening tide I give my fruit;
Like the rainbow glorifies God’s Law, I hunger to feed.
Like the eye encompassed in the cranium
Sees not its own splendour, the magnificat of its home,
But in the comfort of sleep builds its prison house.
I toil with neither feet nor hands,
But in my consciousness.
Balance the scales of Past, Present and Future.
For, like the ocean, I belong to the cloud,
The unclean is my brother; for am I not the keeper of the door.
And, as each wanderer knocks, unguarded I open wide the gate,
For do I not forever speak “Blessed Be”.
All men forever will work in God’s garden.
Shall I contemplate, then betray my eternal father and mother,
For am I not part of their vine
And the fruit in their keeping.
And is my seed not greater than the vine,
My fruit forever ripe to feed the hungry.
My yoke is ever mindful of my death, - a generosity, -
For is not God my father and earth my mother,
That I forever heed their voice.
For am I not a keeper of the door
And forever tend their sacred garden.
He self-published a collection of his poetry, West Cheshire Lad, (1973; 1974) plus an earlier collection titled Poems and Prose (1967). Using the pseudonym of West Cheshire Lad, he also self-published a treatise on his philosophy, which he called Divine Will: The Infinite Influence of All and Everything. Only fifty of these were printed for private circulation.
However, copies are available for public viewing at the National Library of Scotland: http://discover.nls.uk/default.ashx?q=West+Cheshire+Lad&searchtype=1&cx=004988112283334510717%3Alqhse3e39qi&ie=UTF-8
His philosophy was heavily influenced by the teachings of George Ivanovich Gurdjieff, though as far as I am aware Tom had never been one of Gurdjieff’s pupils or had even met him.
Tom gave me the task of passing on his metaphysical teachings. He asked me to share his writings with, and I quote, “Anyone who may wish to see them; anyone who asks.” I was to give no thought to concerns over Copyright ownership; Tom assured me this would never be contested by his family. As nothing exists in writing to this effect, I remain cautious. Besides, my own philosophy has evolved since those days.
Here is one of his poems, Law, reproduced with his permission.
Law
I bless thee a thousand times, my soul journey ‘midst the garden of bones,
Twixt weariness a labour loved to sanctify my seat;
‘Tis by far the highest place,
Perfect by law to oft’ repeat,
To strain the portals of the lofty house
Sets to the wise all nature’s sweet.
Ah! A thousand times I journey on “The Way”
All secret ‘midst the earthly form.
Born to dwell ‘midst scented clay
To fire and heat the garden fair
And watch the lily fade, decay.
My word is high above the wind, yet silent to the throng,
To note the hungered moon fairy tale man’s mind
And puppet his violent animal.
Yet, the child will come again to note all night and day,
Conscious of eternal dawn
And form the bond of love to the ever hungered soul;
‘Tis never dead, but whispers lighter than the fairy wind,-
A stillness in the soul can hear the chime,-
And perfumes all the dung of earth’s decay.
A silent worker, e’er to come, his seed a phantom sound,
The pulse vibrating in the treasure house
Ne’er chants its secret to Memory.
Yet, Understanding chained to Will gives bliss a thousand times,
And nature poised on earthly throne
Unites the atom, builds the stone.
This lullaby that e’er will sing
A thousand voices to comfort ears,
For, within the kingdom many worlds abide,
Housed by countless knaves that daily rule,
And from these many voices the kingdom sways
Unbalanced in its majesty twixt many forms,
Whilst existence in the turmoil ne’er can be.
For wisdom in its speech vibrates countless songs;
One atom holds the splendour of the whole -
A universe that spins in God’s command,
Like crested wave beckoning to the cloud
The atom of the whole that ne’er perceives.
‘Midst Lightening and the thunderbolt fancy forms
To animate the heat and the bones of man,
Yet light the way for very few;
Aware of simple dreams whilst comfort clothes their nakedness,
To sacrifice each bone upon the anvil of time.
Yet, before each battle I pursue solitude,
Each thought to advocate and propagate its splendour.
Like summertime, to shed its leaves at evening tide
And harvest all in every grain of sand,
Each man upon his throne owneth naught,
Yet judges the works of God.
Beware! Impossible builds fantasy.
Initiates ne’er interpret images of the mind.
All is God born upon harmonic law,
To come and go and manifest in the sensual,
Proportioned in lots ‘midst Time, Space and Mind,
Eternally winding the mighty spring of man.
Knowest well the chain of God binds thee fast,
Ne’er can one escape eternal reckoning,
For naught will change one single hair
But guide man’s steps to the ever waiting grave.
Yet, everlasting truth, death ne’er can be,
But, unconsciousness sleep between the realms
Whilst ignorance builds the hours of man’s day.
Possibles are just twinkles in his eye.
The bounty doth change twixt morn and night,
No guide to loose earth’s elements or shade the seven stars,
Whilst the sun each morn anew rules in majesty the fleeting shadow,
To garb the greenwood in its form,
Each picture formed to greet the mortal eye,
And yet, ‘tis clay the garb that clothes the world of God.
Each moment changing fast, its spark uniting with the whole,
And man, not from himself, far beyond the skies
Vibrates his energy to the ever distant stars,
Bewildered in his fog whilst transmutations polarize his entity.
Alas! Not conscious of a yesterday,
Yet, to ever come and go in fantasy to dream
And build earth’s dark castle his prison house,
Forever more to break his bones
And eternally seek his God.
Do not I ever seek through the valley of death
And sift the weeds ‘midst her garden.
Though I contemplate within the city walls,
Is not my voice heard o’er the mountain and the valley.
Do I not drink from the spring of eternity that gurgles
Through the valley of life, bathe in the waters of time
And purify my bones ‘neath the shelter of your temple.
Verily my eyes behold the gold in the silvered sky
And forever more drink the perfume from your distant garden.
Yet, I only speak an echo that ripples upon the shores of man,
An ocean lapping at the foot-stools of the earth.
Yet, I speak words that vibrate through my consciousness
Like drops of dew from the great ocean that sprinkles
Tenderness upon the thirsty wanderer.
Remember, they hands ne’er scribe the records of your memory,
Nor can you feet climb above the ladder of the earth.
‘Tis known the butterfly seeks not the depths of the ocean;
Beware, lest you seek the shallows of your mind.
Though I oft’ speak (to thee the unattainable),
I am no stranger to the accessible heights.
For does not eternity breath upon deep waters
And bathe the wounds of mother earth,
For all must kill to live on earth’s sacrificial altar.
Mother earth grows the sacrifice,
The vineyard holds the fruit,
Time is the reaper, whilst
The tree of life drinks their blood.
Imagination ne’er built the castles of the mind;
Seek deep within the wilderness and tend well the garden,
For the river of blood flows twixt the mountains and
Valleys to water earthly garments.
I dwell far above the portals of the mind
And ne’er descend to appease my hunger.
My gift is one dew drop vibrating in life’s fountain:
Essence to quench the parched lips of life.
Though the winter knows not the spring,
‘Tis also man knowing not his “Self”;
Twixt night and day the fleeting shadow
Flickers o’er the grave.
I mirror my destiny in silence, and in my deeps
My laughter flows pulsing in the stream of life.
Each vapoured mist is drawn high above the wind
To ever seek the might of time, fulfil no change,
Yet water earth’s golden garden.
Though competition twirls her skirts across my face,
I seek not her gold, for each antenna points its head to the stars,
And puppets each foot across earth’s foundations.
For ‘tis known, oft’ in her wake Expectation brings forth disappointment,
Which ne’er can be buried in the deepest grave.
And e’er God’s face will smile o’er the mountains and valleys,
Laughing ‘midst wind and thunder to volcano and erupt the earth.
Yes, each fly is born upon god’s morn to pulse its mighty atom,
So minute, yet no stranger to “God’s Law”.
So, purified in the sacred fire of God, from black to white,
The atom to the whole,
A tenderness that will feed the pulse of God
And ever contemplate eternal ecstasy.
For each is born upon a lonely shore to meet Envy crawling from the ocean,
And in passion’s flame to kiss full-lipped her jealous head.
Naught have I of my own to guard,
Nor my need to bury bones in earth’s garden.
My essence I fragmentate and scatter far beyond the hills
To stand naked, unclothed from my earth-bound burden.
My dawn is forever my evening tide,
For, ‘midst my slumbers, do not I forever watch.
Long have I spent ‘midst the barren wastes,
A keeper of the door,
The gate ever open to those who hunger and thirst.
For to the hungry I offer food,
And to the thirsty I offer drink;
For, when you eat of the food of “Love” and drink her wine,
The mind is sobered and the veil is rent.
I weave a new garment, the thread is drawn from the soul,
Each stitch formed with knowledge, perfectly fashioned in “Love”.
I eat not that I may live, for naught can die,
Forever wakeful to my evening tide I give my fruit;
Like the rainbow glorifies God’s Law, I hunger to feed.
Like the eye encompassed in the cranium
Sees not its own splendour, the magnificat of its home,
But in the comfort of sleep builds its prison house.
I toil with neither feet nor hands,
But in my consciousness.
Balance the scales of Past, Present and Future.
For, like the ocean, I belong to the cloud,
The unclean is my brother; for am I not the keeper of the door.
And, as each wanderer knocks, unguarded I open wide the gate,
For do I not forever speak “Blessed Be”.
All men forever will work in God’s garden.
Shall I contemplate, then betray my eternal father and mother,
For am I not part of their vine
And the fruit in their keeping.
And is my seed not greater than the vine,
My fruit forever ripe to feed the hungry.
My yoke is ever mindful of my death, - a generosity, -
For is not God my father and earth my mother,
That I forever heed their voice.
For am I not a keeper of the door
And forever tend their sacred garden.
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