In the most obvious places…
The concrete streets , the citadel of power over the people
They sing, they dance they cry out for freedom.
Their hearts for a time sore into the joyous realms because those very acts are reflections of their souls language .
And for those moments they are in ecstatic communion with each other
With their One.
But the dark ones, encased in the concrete neon lit tower
They can’t see these souls , they can’t feel them.
They are lost in their own darkness ,
Their own distance from that One.
And so two parallel worlds side by side
With the deepest of deep canyons between them
Cannot meet in the middle .
Because either one , or both
Would fall to their death.
So the dark ones ,
All they see is threat to their ways
They tighten their controls,
Their attempts at their harnessing of the wild and free .
The wild and free,
They fight the harnessing ,
Forgetting they are wild and free
And the other side of the canyon .
That out beyond those concrete streets
Are fields and forests of infinitely giving Life .
And there is a different kind of rebellion happening there.
The trees rebel by feeding their hungry forest neighbours
Through the channels of a magical underground network.
In the fields ,
The microcosmic scientists,
The ones the citadel thinks are killers
To alchemising death into fertile life;
And in the soil,
The divine seed
within which is an ancestry as old as time
And a descendency
Reaching all the way into a future
That will travel as far as the One decides .
It embeds itself and waits,
For the holy waters to come,
To soften its hard protective shell,
Penetrate its core and caress its potential to Life .
If they unite, the wild ones have no need of the dark ones.
If their rebellion is lead by the trees ,
Who know how to take care of their brethren ,
They will be too busy to cry across that canyon.
Instead let their be rebellion
In song and dance and togetherness and seed sowing.
In the villages and towns and communities
Let the dark ones write law after law and regulate themselves into their graves.
Let the wild ones come together,
In the fashioning of a world apart from that concrete tower .
Let them come to their wild neighbours,
Their seed sowers,
And ask them to join them in this new old way of being .
Let them turn their gaze
From the murdering eye of Balor ,
Who cannot kill those who do not meet his glare .
Let them defend the elders ,
And the seed .
Lest in their distraction from their own lands and communities . Balors army comes
And imprisons their sacred teachers and wisdom keepers
Before they have a chance to hear their knowing .
Annette Morris Keane , July 21