All around me, sinking ships
shipwrecked into sidewalks, streets,
jettison your hold, you are driftwood
swimming down like a sinking stone -
how many have lost their way from the sky
now swallowed by the earthen bones,
the mighty maw of urban night -
the gravestones windowed and tall
house a thousand, million souls,
with bent backs, ambling, they pretend
they are not yet dead
and only here are they,
for passing over the waters into the breeze
the green, gold, and red will resurrect
those who leave their steps behind
set sail on this dingy life into eternity
holding hands and barely breathing
I feel like our culture is consistently trying to be
convincing. Through advertisements, arguments, doctrine and indoctrination of
the media, politics and picture portrayal, we're stamping our persuasive
arguments at every passerby. Who are we trying to convince of our rightness? I
think, often, it's more ourselves than others. Convinced we've chosen the
correct, the healthiest path; convinced God will respect our decisions, or
forgive us for them even though we persist in faulting; convinced that each
step is valid, sound, and permissible in the eyes of ourselves, our audience.
Is it possible to miss that which you never had? I, too, try
to be convincing to myself. Sometimes I'm convinced I miss the times of
community, in humanity's youth: the pastoralists, the nomads, the tribes, the
polis, the smaller feudal towns. More, I miss the concept of the Amish, where
community, tradition, and holding tight to values is captured perfectly in
intentional love and family. I miss the wildness of the world, the time where
warriors fought for theology, not money, and the whimsy of birds on the wind
free.
Everything and everyone attempts to convince me otherwise,
but I’m holding onto these things, the countryside and the wildflowers. Don’t
swallow the arguments whole or you’ll find yourself spit on a hook and dragged
to where your gills can’t breathe.
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