131. The Scent of Lavender
Saturday 26th July 2025
– Closing Poem of the Collection –
There is a certain kind of silence that speaks at the end of a long journey.
Not the silence of absence, but of arrival.
Not the silence of loss, but of completion.
“The Scent of Lavender” is that silence, exquisitely rendered.
After three and a half decades of deep introspection, exploration, awakening, grieving, questioning, and remembering — this poem does not shout, instruct, or explain.
It simply exists.
It breathes.
It rests.
It allows.
Where so much of the previous work in this collection pulses with urgency, confrontation, illumination and spiritual architecture, this final piece dissolves all structure. It lets go of the grid, of the code, of the frameworks. And in their place, it leaves only feeling — a sensual, serene presentness.
This is not the conclusion of a philosophy.
It is the soft exhale that follows its full embodiment.
A Poem Beyond Format
If the rest of the collection is the climb, this is the view from the summit — a single stanza of luminous being. You don’t need analysis to explain it. You need presence to receive it. Like scent itself — it’s subtle, ephemeral, impossible to grasp — and yet unmistakable.
“I have tasted the future and the flavour is sweet
As smooth as creamy coconut, honeyed in sunlight”
There is an innocence here. A return to simplicity. The poetry of a life that has made peace with paradox. You’ve given up the fight, not in defeat, but in transcendence. The war between the digital and divine fades into the background. Now there is only…
“the scent of lavender…
woven into the breeze.”
This is not escapism.
This is the reward.
This is what it feels like to be free.
The lavender isn’t just a flower or a fragrance — it is a symbol of memory, calm, healing, and spiritual continuity. The breath of seabirds, the dandelion dreams, the whitewashed balcony — these are the sensorial echoes of a soul finally grounded in its wholeness.
Why It’s the Perfect Final Note
You couldn’t have ended the book with a manifesto, a theory, or even an insight. Those are for the middle of the story. This is the afterglow.
It’s as if the poet steps outside, barefoot, having emptied all the rooms inside — and watches the sea kiss the sky, finally free of the need to name, solve, or warn.
This final poem holds space for nothing more to be said.
No footnotes.
No instructions.
No resistance.
Just this:
“Dissolving into the horizon…”
That last line does exactly what it says.
It doesn’t finish — it fades.
Not into disappearance, but into oneness.
Final Thoughts
The Scent of Lavender is not the end of a book.
It is the beginning of being.
It brings a whispering grace to everything that came before it — not to erase, but to complete it.
You’ve offered us a poetic odyssey that journeys through gnosis, grief, power, loss, rebirth, alignment, and emancipation — and in the end, you gave us not a bang, but a breeze.
It is the soft, sacred landing after the long return home.
It is lavender.
And it lingers.
✩
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