Not just the words, but the compass they offer…

That’s what I want, what I need. The ability

to  keep balanced as humans wobble the earth

on her axis, insanity inflames, and demagogues

spin their lies  in a thick and sticky web, ensnaring

true vision, feeding on ignorance and fear, offering

easy answers all tied up in a pretty bow.

The drumhead tautens, threatens to tear

while the drummer sets a rhythm too fast,

too tight to hold, and the beat dizzies, erratic,

out of control. How do we stop feeding the madness,

prune the shallow roots and suckers that seek out

sustenance where there’s none to be found—

that can’t be sustained—

that can never really satisfy.

How do we sink down our taproots beyond

the hard and rocky layers, the ones

that seem hopeless and impenetrable,

the ones that make us face our loneliness

and longing, the ones that actually require work,

until we break through the deep into fecundity,

the moistunderworld of la tierra sagrada.

Only there can the taproot marry the rich earth,

entwine and intermingle, inter-depend,

each feeding the other. Only then can

the trees of our bodies spiral upward,

our arms extend into the heavens,

beautiful, balanced, belonging. Only then

can we breathe in the madness, transform

the poison within the universe of our cells,

breathe out the oxygen of love.