As I look up at the full moon in the blanketed sky of snow I ask, "is there any goodness in this world left?" "anywhere?" I scan the neighborhood I once lived in and it is covered with dirt and cows that live on filthy dirt. They have dirty hooves and feces up to their knees. Their hair is muddy and their asses red due to the constant diarrhea from all the antibiotics in their feed.
Their eyes are sadder than prisms of stone, but all they can do is eat. Eating is all they can do to relieve the pain of knowing they will die,` soon. And that it will be a gruesome death. They might as well eat and avoid the agonizing itch in their bellies that tells them more food will keep them warm in the frozen ice-burg that looks like a tundra of shit around them.
I mope towards home at this twilight hour. There is nobody around, but there is a strange, still light in the trees. It's glowing from somewhere, somewhere deep inside. It radiates outwards, a symphony of light, of life. Tripping over the sparkling white snowflakes already burrowed deep into the trees, it begins to look like the Aurora Borealus. A hope springs from me, a hope that it is something sacred.
"Trust" the words echo through the air, from somewhere deep beyond the railroad tracks. "Something, unsinister will force new life into the air, causing them to care." I dared allowed myself to read from the shining tree ...."Causing a warmth inside of them to grow into a new heart." Almost as if now it's dead, the human heart, we can barely hear it beating through a stethoscope, so inaudible, untouchable it is, colder than it should be. Not warm enough, bright enough, not using enough power of fusion to flow through the air. It beats like a baby drum, unable to whisper anything outloud. But if the heart could be reached with the electrical force of something more beautiful and touching than the DNA of human blood, perhaps it would beat with the great ancestral tones. The belief's that sing to the core of the natural earth. The singing tone's that might take us home.
Beating hearts, beating human hearts with real blood cursing through the veins and arteries of real living beings. Living beings of flesh, that feel....Feelings that make wise souls want to rush into the world and let the cows run free. Feeling souls that want to flood to the cities and open the damns of the cool headed that have kept the tragedy of the greatest of minds living on street corners, waving flags of pocket book change and open the cathedrals to a night that would bring the mercy of angels to their ragged, knocking knees. Burning incense. Insensual. Sensual to a depth of inhuman experience, Mayan experience, ancient senses.
Ancient living beings. Come. Come through the dark skies that we call home. Bring some of you home, to us, that we can see. Bring life to the hearts of the bloodless. Bring delights to the children of the holy. Bring temptations to the merciful. . I sang that prayer to the singing tree and she sang a beautiful song back to me. I never heard it, but I felt it. And I saw as it's sweet powder flowed through the currents of air.
When I looked back up to the sky, it was as if the whole world looked down and a silver light shone into my eyes. I looked over at the cows, who were now dancing under this dreamy, starry moon and I saw laughter in their eyes. And I wanted to set them free. To run over and open the gates. To say "who gives a shit about private property and the leopard like dog sitting at the gate." "What the fuck, let's do it, I say to myself...." but then I think.... where will they go? Where can they run in a factory farm run institution of landlessness?
The words seemed to dangle through the air, in the dark chilling night that once cared, and said "that is so human, and why cows sit in filthy fields and old bearded men starve on city streets, why animals die in cages and humans die inside of their own caged minds . . . what if, there is nowhere to run to . . . what if, there is nowhere to hide, what if, there is actually nothing on the great other side ....." Humanity is a brutal thing.
The living tree, whispered through her tones of ancient memories, "welcome to the mayan tree of silver spring. Let hearts part side ways while we bring you the ancient, cosmic revolution."
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