David Cauldwell

Language of Rainbows


Language of RainbowsDavid CauldwellComment

How many of us stop to ponder the movement of clouds above city skyscrapers? How many of us take time out of busy schedules to go and sit in the forest and watch all of the interactions bustling in Nature?

I lived in a forest for two years, surrounded by nothing but trees on all sides. I had the great joy of eating meals on my balcony, of observing the way the black cockatoos come into the forest a couple of days before of rain. I watched echidnas rummage in the rock wall I built, foraging for ants. I saw glow in the dark blue mushrooms at night. And I realised how everything is interconnected. And how humans are an important link in that process, even though we seem intent on excluding ourselves from a relationship of cooperation, preferring, instead, one of control.

If we don’t listen, then how can Nature divulge its secrets?

What secrets have you divined from Nature? Share any magical sit spots or tales of Nature connection in the comments below…


Silence, for this is a connection not easily heard
Yellow flowers sway in sultry zephyrs
Merging, pirouetting pollen throughout the forest
Blissfully moved by a force born of surrender
I do hereby give myself to this wind
Origin unknown, but trusting its thermal thread
Spiraling in geometric swirls
Indigo corridors to the land where soul tribes roam
Sacred caravans devoted to the turning wheel of alignment

Language of Rainbows

Language of RainbowsDavid CauldwellComment
Cellular Fusion

Cellular Fusion

I am but a prism of light, nurtured into being by the colour of your imagination. I can appear as a multi-faceted diamond in the microcosm of a dewdrop. I emerge as opposites collide, as bruised clouds clatter into clear skies. I'm effervescent from a distance, yet invisible when you stand right beneath me. Some say I'm intrinsic of inspiration. Others may think that I instil melodies within their soul; I'm only a reflection of the person that sees me. And if I do harbour pots of gold at my extremities, then none of them are redeemable. My symbiotic offering is beyond trade. Worth words. My language is complex. Its syntax governed by creativity, its phonetic flair fluid through free expression. I'm ungrammatical, free to arc wherever I please, unable to be defined by punctuation. 

All creation stems from light, whether it's the geometry of a leaf or the glistening garnish of sunbeams glimmering on water. It's the same language expressed differently, uttered on a collective breath that undulates within the lungs of Existence. Know my language, and you will find your breath. You will find your true creative voice.