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Storm warnings on the Western Front Storm warnings on the Western Front
by David Sparenberg
2013-05-24 10:11:46
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Listen.  This is plain talk, serious and urgent.  Listen carefully.  Stop making noise.  Even our footsteps, perhaps our very breathing, is composted into the pollution of our presence.  It is beyond sorrow; pitiful, even beyond the tragic.  Earth is speaking.  Who listens?  An Earth mantra is swelling up, repeating in intensity.

Stop being so full of yourself.  There is so much life beyond us.  And be clear about it—we are both absurd and extravagant.  And the point, or even diverse guidance systems, may well be moving beyond us.  What then?

Be still. Control your aggression, greed and the arrogance of human entitlement.  Earth—a dynamo of organic forces—is talking to us.  Increasingly we are told: “Go away.  Life will close up behind you.  Change into what is better for all, or get lost.” 

Do you think this is a joke?  Where is there to go if we are not wanted, are unwelcomed, not permitted here?  Death is an open abyss of course.  And beyond the bewilderment and broken heart of a God who has trusted us despite our history, a mass grave is gaping with a tombstone etched on human bone.

Don’t smirk at me when I say this.  I am nobody except the lover at your ear and elbow.  Don’t turn away your face and turn up your isolating noise.  We are vulnerable together, you and I, and our skins are equally exposed.  My words do not matter more than a passing moment. But the mantra of the Earth is resounding.  More than a warning now—in weather sounds a summons.  Storm warnings on the western front and bad weather is the serpent of bad karma.

If you shrug and say, “We are coping here in the new normal, “ you might be condemning your neighbors, abandoning your children.

Change yourself into a prayer of healing; lose your car keys and move leaving footprints lightly.

There may yet be a midnight for the forgiveness of mystical weeping.  There may yet be mornings when angels welcome you amid meadows and mountains.  There may yet be a lifetime when we learn to live in peace, returning to the family of creation. 

There may yet be rain as soft as kisses; wind like mother’s lullaby.  So tell me honestly, as I have no patience for the game of heroics, isn’t it better to plant grain for grandchildren than to stand stunned in the ruins of destruction?  Better to face the dialogue, howsoever daunting, than to crouch in a box of darkness beneath the ground?

Listen, listen carefully.  Storm warnings on the western front.

David Sparenberg
22 May 2013

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RD Laing used to ask, “How often are you simply handed a cup of tea?” A Zen question! Or gifted 2 free eco ebooks? Just check HERE!  

 

 


   
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