Sunday, June 11, 2006

Weather Vein

Beautiful Icelandic music on the stereo and a head full of steam. It comes from the north; off the sea; in waves of pale beauty; lashing the trees with wet surrender.
They unsettle the human heart in a fundamental way. They remind us of our frail hold on the control we presume to have over our environment. They tear branches from the waiting trees; disrupt our power supplies; whip round the corners of tall buildings and lift us bodily umbrella and all. And that is just the mild version.
I watch from my window as the weather stings the faces of the cowering houses and rips at the raincoat of fidgeting trees; shaking them around.
I remember that it’s best to be a reed, to bend rather than break.
I hold no political preference; wind or rain or sun beat harsh on a Biblical reference that contradicts the actions of those who claim allegiance to that particular set of beliefs.

Those who stand like pillars of steel; proclaimers of progress; unbending in their self belief; those who crusade for what they believe in. Those who know they are right; who earnestly want you to see their point of view; and those who are willing to enforce their point of view.

Those who blow in the breeze, attention distracted by magicians tricks; by neon lights and fireworks. Those who pledge allegiance without question. Those who have too much to lose; who live in fear of what they see around them.

And those who bend at the violence of authority; ever lower and stripped of all branches save the will to survive; to protect their loved ones from the greed and the hunger.

The wind is the messenger. The rain is the message.
Bend, perhaps in so doing you will not break.
Soak yourself in knowledge that goes beyond science or religion.
Put roots down deeper than the green surface of facts and figures.
My time is limited to that which I can grasp.
Do what you will; but be aware of the following: if you don’t want trouble then don’t be trouble. Find neither personal gain nor pleasure nor enjoyment at the expense of others.

And the oaks will cry chaos as the branches break at their fingertips; and the reeds will bend low in saturated fields of lessons learned.

But don’t take my word for it. I don’t care if you do, for to do so would make me into a zealot; a preacher or politician. These words are for my own digestion; thin leaflets on my mind’s bookshelf.
Take them if you want. Laugh at them or scoff at my naïve or pretentious worldview if you like.
I don’t care.

The rain has stopped now and the wind is taking a breather.
I leave my wet shoes and raincoat at the door; mindful of the carpet that develops stains at the slightest excuse.


VirusHead said...

Refreshing. Thank you.

littlebitofsonshine said...

wow so deep so breath taking trueth so moving and yeat so cant think of a word but sit and be moved.