The strawberries are blooming again. During the past few weeks, with my encouragement and approval, they have sent runners in every direction. Joint by joint, new plants are tacking themselves to whatever bare ground they can find. And where they are growing over rocks, they are rooting in the gaps in between. The secret? Water, along with the understanding that every inch of this wise old earth is a sacred burial ground that loves living things. ’Tis a spirit-world we live in, and it suffers everywhere that is foolishly laid waste. Choose your disaster: the destruction of the rain forests; the mining for useless wealth; the grazing of great herds of beef; the polluting of rivers, oceans, and lakes; the paving of whatever remains — the freeways, the driveways, the parking lots. Bless the moss and the weeds. Bless this world that bleeds. And may strawberries grow over me, and bluebells, and may the roots of old oaks set me free.
August 23, 2019
Or Should I Say
All through the night, rain — or should I say, kindness, and grace?
Pain is gone from your face, Mother, light is taking its place.
And the sky is a prayer — or should I say, love, singing through space?
Recently Banned Literature, January 24, 2018