Tsunami and the Genealogy of Morality
Grass in the place now devoid of God.
Leaves of rustling grass voices of lesser deaths
millions strong leaves of grass.
The Old Order too, shaman, priest
summon sun, rain, son, reign
lesser deaths, sacrifice, wafer, grain.
Why insist on hearing noise as Voice?
wind chimes tinkle and the waves lap, lap, lap, lap
Lion's tongue waiting for the gazelle to thirst too.
More than voices the gods in our heads, visions too
infant mind, fertility goddess turned clay object toy
bountiful crop prayer to mother earth.
Men offered forbidden fruit leaving garden
Bellow of legions charging the front.
Voices in the head bicameral myths.
Ocean on land.
Discourse lost to the wind, the waves, to predator lurking.
Old wisdom lost with God.
Had we heard the leaves rustle, the lapping, would we turn
to plant the spear, to run when the ocean recedes?
By Phil Specht on Feb 27, 2012