Winds of change
stoke hidden fires
Buried in the underbrush of chore and secret misgivings.
Smoke ascends slowly at first,
Unnoticed in the midst of the grand race we run.
The curlicues drift high into the limbs,
Threaten stands of innocent forest,
Or drift across planted plains
of life-giving grain,
Suckled by the air into red hot flame.
Like troops of wild monkeys racing from branch to branch,
searing leaf and limb,
Condemning to dust hope
and the claims of history.
Old and young overcome by flames,
Topple to the ground,
Soot and ash spread across earth’s fertile mantle, a charred bed of dreams,
Ruins offered for an archaeology of power and destruction.
Humans in the heat of desire,
Fired by vainglory,
Plan heroic contests unending,
Each new birth fans upstart passions.
No time for reflection,
too quickly we burn in mad pursuit
through seasons of labor,
Action and reaction.
Fire and flame
Consume everything on its march,
In glory and greed,
In searing deed,
Until burned out.
Left to cool under dark skies,
Smoldering emotions long to be rekindled,
But the light has died,
Destiny of desire is spent,
and left on fields of battle.
The ash remains,
Blackening the survivors anxious brow;
Only ritual forces some depth of recognition,
begging understanding from darkness, to make of sacrifice a hallowed loss.
For ashes crushed, crossed and brushed away by time, or with luck by neighbor or friend
Bring tears with a human touch —
And the fiery moments too easily recalled and so misspent.
Suddenly life’s put on hold.
Causes believed in, lost or forgotten,
Leaves one to ponder, how to begin again?
A monk once inquired of Abba Joseph how to progress to sainthood;
The old man stood at his cell door,
raised his hands skyward,
And said,
‘If you will, you can become all flame’.
But what, then would any of us be ?
THH 3/15/24
Thoughts Have Hands 