It’s tempting to
neglect that
Rainbows tower over
rains,
but we look down at
times instead
of up, seeing only
our pain.
Christmas comes
around, a spirited
winter fiesta of
lights and sound
to celebrate Solstice
and Jesus,
cold weather games
and the Word.
Good words are just
that whether you
call yourself this or...
that, no matter
your religion or
creed. The joy we
give is found within,
the snow
glistening in times
forgotten, trying
in Turtle Island to
make a go—
Calling it America,
raising guns
and glasses against the
darkness.
But it comes anyway;
there is no
Daylight Savings that
can alter
Nature; humanity
asking you to
be a part of the
sunshine that is...
Eternal life. We are petty in our
self-pity, are wise
to pound that water
back instead of
flammable things,
Ask a Higher Power
for help this
Christmas, and see
the help as it
rains. Back to the rainbow, a red
and green song by Nat
King Cole,
our ancestors
blending with theirs.
Imagine if we only asked
the Indians
instead of taking. Never take a step
in hurry or haste,
recall our place,
ask before doing and
the humble rock
of joy is ours to
roll... Toward the
New Year, not “New
York” and Times
Square, because
really: There was nothing
wrong with the old
York and no real
justification for
taking Native American
land away, renaming
it in European
images. Crosses can be idols, too,
suffocating the natural
water falls,
Rivers and Trees,
whose songs will
continue to be sung
forever. I will
not die if in the
face of pain I yelled out
joy; I cannot suffer
long, if I take
the hand of help,
only there if I call.
The joy we give, at
Christmas or any
other day... Is the eternal
salvation
we miss staring at
the bottle.
Merry Christmas, 2020,
the best year
of my life. Be not a slave to fear and
what has been, for
the hope of all
mankind on earth for
all times, let’s say:
Is not in a man, a
woman, a report from
the news, a new road
built or another
traffic jam. All of our hope rests on one
single, solitary
thing...
Today.
No comments:
Post a Comment