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.