I scribe. The teacher speaks. . . Nature expounds her presence with all. She ventures to shout her presence. She sends storms and pestilence and calm days and sunny skies to announce her presence. She grants to all the balm of her existence. But she angers and cries . And in frustration teaches what no other thing or method can. She is a great lady but given to little patience. The earth is in dire straits, she says. She hurts and I cannot let her bleed to death. So she rages and fumes and she tires. Will she give up? The earth gods know. The earth gods know.
It is a good world. You had a dream, once. We watched and talked amongst ourselves whether it was worth it. And how could you be so intense when none about you were. They took it but did not see from where they supped. They drank and they did not see who poured. The warm milk, the bread, the shot of dry whiskey that burned the fire in their belly. . .
(I say, fire them up. Teach them all. The elders their responsibilities as well as their rights. And the adolescents who have the fire in the belly, to quarter it and contain it and put it all to constructive use. And to the babies, these who have memories that will not quit, do not let us disappoint them. For we will have a generation of vipers on hand and we will have done it. We will have terrorists of the first order and we will have no one else to blame but us . . . .again, all time is simultaneous. From a journal of December 6, ’92, valid then and certainly NOW.
For Now. . .
Let your mind answer
your heart’s murmuring,
for in the sanctity of self,
you will see your divinity.
In the august crucible
that is Earth, latticed by clouds
hovering the trees,
you gain your peace.
In the musing of the grass growing
to reach its height and to color
the bare earth with a carpet
you feel the hallowed crest. . .
In all, gently tend
the heart’s rending and choose
the teachers who match
the performance. . . .
of your innate goodness. . . .
poem written
August 9, 1985
photo by
Kathy Rybacki Qualiana