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Ameri(k)a
With a "K"? or a you, "choose
An open letter to the good and loving people of America, and the world.
To the angry ones, the happy ones, to those who are carefree, to those who are afraid, to those who do not yet fear.
To all the peoples of the world, we say: Good God, let these times be the worst of America you will ever see. To each other, in PEACE, let us prove this is not our best.
To our politicians, can we say, "Thank you for your service, now you must go?" Do we fear so much their answer? Is it not just more of the same? What then boogieman? Surely it is we who have changed, and in that we owe them a debt. Let us not hate sinners, and surely we will all be loved.
We say, We the People, that each one small person of America is fit to carry the candle of God's love. And also each one of you in all the other great houses. It is a great thing, this thing which we share, this yearning for love. From our first instant to our last, one way or another, through glut or lack, love drives us on. What thing flies before words, and sight? It does not matter the size of ones hand, love itself is our only strength.
Given Infinite time, even the smallest of actions might turn a great ship.
Howsoever wonderful, numbers! Let all nightmares be just bad dreams. Fear not, America, if half the men and women of goodwill take up the load.
An open letter to my beloved America, dedicated to the loved lost everywhere.
The smallest of actions can turn a great ship. The smallest of actions can turn a state ship.
The great ship of this state, forging on rudderless in its darkest hour, lacks only the smallest thing. Such a thing, a thing of such brief spark, that an able ship might witness millions of them in her life.
Of those millions of moments of choice, only the living may partake. Of course, it's chance. But it is also choice. The great moment of our time is upon us. We grow old in the sweet lusty blush of the dawning of the age of Aquarius.
As only those who swallow the full measure of lost youth can know, we know what innocence tastes like. We know.
Knowing that, and having lived through such times, having lived through all of our time, as we step out from the thread of the living, Let us offer up, that we see not only the weft and weave of our lives, but something of the pattern of our success and failure. In so far as we feel the pattern displeasing, we MUST us stand up, and speak out LOUDLY into the approaching light of rest:
We will NOT silently watch our life's work, and good will, turned into profit and money for goods.
We will NOT silently watch our life's efforts sacrificed for money, to fill the skies of the world with the cloying in stink of war.
We will NOT end our days quietly in our rocking chairs watching children die, saying, "It happened not." "It happened to others, hence, matters not."
Were we to do scarce more than that, we would lose every chance of forgiveness for our lapses and failings, living here, leaving here, not so much like children as the living dead.
God himself matters not. If here we are alone, how much more precious is all life?
If God be, the first thing forbidden to us is to destroy her creation. Our very existence, all our wonderful years of choice, and all other life truly is the apple of the old book.
Is anything more aptly named earth than the tree of life? In the end, whom we owe the most to, matters not. If we live the truth of love, facing its' light, it is one in the same.
If America really needs a "K", let it be known for HAIKU
