My Simple Life 4

My apology for the long delay between posts. If you’ve managed to follow along from the beginning of this series the discordant nature of it’s organization was glaringly  apparent by my publication of no less than three essays before it occurred to me that I needed to write a prequel so that we may start off on equal footing.

There were several causal factors for the incongruity. Foremost among them being my seat-of-the-pants writing methodology. Secondarily, my guiding life philosophy is a work in progress and while I usually have a reasonable conception of it’s skeletal appearance the overlying tendons, ligaments, and muscle tissue remain in a constant state of evolution.

Now that the apologies and confessions are out of the way, let’s pick up the thread where we left it in the prequel. I put forth the premise that viewed through history’s lens nothing unnatural what so ever was happening. A brief glance back to previous societies illustrates this clearly enough, and is why I asserted that panic is not a useful response to the current circumstances. As we go along we’ll discuss various types and degrees of response that are considerably more likely to be of some benefit.

The other suggestion ending the prequel was making an effort to prepare the next generation to successfully cope with a different set of realities than those we were conditioned to. The responsibility for doing this lands squarely on our shoulders. After all, we helped make the mess, and sidestepping the cleaning chores now is far beneath the heights we like to believe we’ve reached.

This seems a fair point at which to close for now. In the interim prior to the fifth installment I urge you to spend some time meditating on what things are necessary to move you toward a state of contentment within your own life.


 

Courteous, thoughtful comments are always welcome.

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The Pagan Poem

Come,

Sit by the bright, bright fire,

Your eyes show all who look,

that you are tired,

What’s this?

You’re shivering with fear?

Know now that,

Naught pursues you here,

The dark forest where you felt alone,

Is to us a sacred grove,

The beasts that yowled and those that cried,

Announced to us that you’d arrived,

That clamor that the wild things made,

Was a welcome to you that they gave,

Freely enter the stone circle if you like,

None are barred except by choice,

Of judgement we will extend none,

Druids offer only love.

 

 

Lost Children of Science

To the lost Children of science,

sequestered in sterile labs,

untouched by solar rays,

toiling to decode the nature of life,

Beyond Your high walls,

each tree, each flower,

intone pheromone answers,

to all Your many questions,

in their silent language,

offering truths deeper,

than any that can be contained,

within a spoken word.

Sowing

Kneeling in the damp soil

dirty fingers gently make holes

for seeds.

Across the road

a construction crew builds

many houses.

Like me they sweat

mud-spattered and muscle sore

from the labor.

Like me they believe

what they do is right, is good

they are not evil men.

They began their work

in a copse of trees which had to be removed

allowing space for building.

Mine began

on a small, sandy patch of ground

where sparse grass grew.

They cut trees

dug stumps

preparing the land.

I spread depths

of mulch and  compost

preparing the land.

From the high seats

of diesel excavators

they waved hello.

My bare feet

damp and connected to the earth

I smile and wave back.